CHAPTER ONE

Earth Date: 2105 Port Ireland, Terra Four 70 A.C. (After Colonization)

“Listen Garrett, I don’t give a rebel’s damn what game or whose bed you have to drag him out of, just get Banner! You hear me?”

Standing behind his massive desk and bracing his weight upon the knuckles of firmly planted fists; Jonathan Loring’s voice could be heard into the main hallway of LorTec’s Central Control.

Lending him distinction, Loring’s dark hair was dusted with gray at the temples. Though generally good-natured and quick to find humor, a frown now creased his brow. “According to his itinerary,” Loring continued with less volume, “he should have arrived in port sometime this afternoon.”

Dan Garrett’s shoulders slumped. “He’s here all right, Mr. Loring, but it’s been over two hours since I last saw him. He had just finished unloading a large shipment and said something about heading to the Star Cruiser. Sir, I’ll never find him in that place—providing he’s even still there.”

“Look, I don’t give a damn where he—”

“I’ll get him,” Garrett quickly cut in. “I’ll find him for you, Mr. Loring.”

* * * The Star Cruiser was noisy and crowded. The atmosphere was a mixture of music, loud voices, laughter and a heavy blanket of smoke.

A wide variety of people mingled together. Some were off long-haul freighters, eagerly celebrating the end of an eighteen-month run. Then there were the miners —diggers, as they were called —just in from the asteroids and anxious to set their fantasies into motion, most of which had been months in the making. Still others, like Nick Banner, were there merely to celebrate the payout of a six-week cargo run.

Like so many other freelance cargo pilots, Banner was the owner and sole operator of a small cargo ship. With cargo runs being long and lonely, it was common for some pilots to take a woman aboard. In essence, she needed a lift to his destination, and in exchange offered her companionship with all its connotations. Nick Banner wasn’t interested in that kind of arrangement. Six weeks in space can be a big mistake when stuck with someone you don’t happen to get along with.

He’d tried it once—shortly after he’d acquired the Victorious. It turned into a catastrophe and from then on he resolved to limit his women to port only.

Terra Four’s port taverns, and the love-starved crewmen who frequented them, were no different now than they were on Earth a little over two centuries ago when the tall sailing ships would come to port. Just as it was then, an easy lay could always be found hanging around the port bars. Banner, however, had never known a time when he wasn’t surrounded by women vying for his attention. He had never once paid for a woman’s favors, and being with the same one for more than a couple of days didn’t happen to be his idea of a good time.

He was barely twenty-one when he fell hopelessly in love with Linnae. So crazy in love, he turned his back on all the others, even walked away from the gaming tables and asked her to marry him. Blind to everything, he closed his mind to the ugly rumors going around about her.

“She’s a whore, Nick! Dammit man, open your eyes; she’s using you! Why can’t you see that?”

More than once Nick’s fist had split his older brother’s lip for those very words. Even his friend, Zeke, had tried to dissuade him, but to no avail. Stubborn and hardheaded as they come, he had defended Linnae’s honor right down to the bitter end, when he’d shown up unannounced one evening. As the door opened, Nick simply stood there in mute shock while a man scrambled about for his clothing. Drunk and giggling, Linnae tried to coax Nick to join the fun, but he turned away without a backward glance.. And in many ways was still on the run.

He left home shortly thereafter. Setting out for a small, untamed world called Echo, he spent the better part of two years burying his heartache and anger in hard labor and life-threatening assignments. If nothing else, those years had taught him the meaning of being tough and living hard. He also earned damned good credits for his endeavors, and when he returned to civilization it was with a determination to live again.

The first thing he had done was place a hefty down payment on a small cargo ship, already christened the Victorious. Not long after that he formed a partnership with a drinking companion, Quint Kendyl. It was a business venture that entailed using Nick’s ship to make short runs for a local courier. Eventually, however, the partnership failed due to conflict of interests between the two men.

Looking for bigger and better brought Nick to Terra Four when, operating under the name of Banner Enterprises, he picked up a variety of freight and mail runs within the sector.

By now he was over Linnae, though the scar of her betrayal ran deep. Vowing no one would ever own his heart again, he regarded women as nothing more than playthings—entertaining diversions to be used and left behind.

Nick Banner had been branded a hard case back then. Come payday he could usually be found bucking roulette at one of the local port dives, where he drank everyone under the table, fought half the security force with his bare fists, and generally wound up passed out in some woman’s bed.

But that was then. Miraculously recognizing Nick’s ingrained honesty and reputation as a hard worker, a man named Linc Sheldon took Nick under his wing. It was Sheldon who, in time, introduced Nick to Jonathan Loring.

** *

Dan Garrett entered the doors of the dimly lit Star Cruiser. To his left, a brawl had broken out in the corner, and two men seated at a nearby table were taking bets on the winner. To Garrett’s right, a group of inebriated coworkers were starting the next game of “Bounty”.

“Hey, Garrett, come on over. You wanna get in on this? We’ve got room for one more.” James Cleary had a stupid grin plastered on his face and eyes at half-mast. Four others in the same condition were poured into their chairs around the game table—full mugs of ale within easy reach. One of them absently shuffled a deck of cards while the others had already positioned their pawns on the holograph game board.

“Not tonight, Cleary. I’m looking for Banner. You seen ’im around?”

“Yeah, not more than thirty minutes ago,” Cleary answered.

“’Ee’s ’ere . . . somewhere,” one of the other men spoke up. “Lucky devil had two blondes hangin’ on ’im.” The man grinned, and then added, “Both of ’em clinging to ’im like shateries.” With that, the men at the table burst into a round of raucous laughter. It seemed that the shateri was always the brunt of someone’s joke. The small fur-bearing animal, found along the southern coastline of Terra Four’s main continent, was not only known for its luxurious fur but was also notorious for its enthusiasm for procreation.

Garrett couldn’t help but grin; their laughter was contagious. “Thanks, fellas. If you happen to see him again, tell him I’m looking for him.”

Dan Garrett continued making his way through the crowd, his eyes intently sifting through a murky sea of smoke and faces. Finally he climbed a set of wide stairs that led to a mezzanine from which he could survey the entire main floor. The mezzanine was an extension of the bar, a balcony furnished with tables and chairs that completely encircled the room.

Garrett found an empty table near the balustrade, claimed it, and began methodically scanning the entire main level from his perch. Behind him several drunk and boisterous crewmen were engaged in singing a bawdy song. All around, people were drinking and laughing, either burying their fears and troubles or celebrating their good fortune.

Banner, who seemed to rarely have fears or troubles to bury, was drinking to his luck when Garrett’s eyes finally locked onto him. Seated at a game table on the opposite side of the room, and true to form, Nick Banner was casually sprawled in his chair. All six-foot-four of him. From the smug grin tugging at the corners of his mouth and the stack of game chips at his elbow, there was little doubt who was winning.

There was an unconscious grace about Nick Banner. He always seemed to turn heads. In all honesty, Garrett was envious of Banner’s magnetism and innate ability to attract women. Though they were traits he yearned to possess himself, he had resigned himself long ago to the fact that he simply didn’t have it and never would.

Even the faded, scarred leathers that Banner wore would have looked shoddy on anyone else. But with his dark hair and hard, lean body the well-worn attire lent a primitively appealing air of danger.

Reaching for his mug of ale, Nick laid the winning cards on the table. He liked winning, but cleaning up on a table of drunken comrades wasn’t much of a challenge, not to mention that it grated on his sense of fair play. It was time to call it quits. “Gentlemen, I believe this completes the game, and it looks like I win.” He grinned and added, “Again.”

A stunning brunette now stood at his back, both hands draped possessively over his shoulders as though she might lose him to another should she dare to let go. Leaning down, she whispered something in his ear that brought forth a crooked grin as he downed his last swallow of brew.

“Fellas, what can I say? I hate to win and run, but worse yet, I hate keeping a lady waiting. Here,” he said, separating half of his winnings and tossing the coins back onto the table. “The drinks are on me.” With that, the table burst into a round of boisterous cheers and Nick rose to escort his luscious companion to the nearest exit.

He no sooner began guiding her, his hand at the small of her back when, “Hey Nick! Wait up!”

Banner turned to see Dan Garrett elbowing his way through the crowd.

“Garrett. What’s up?”

“Loring wants to see you.”

“Tell him I’ll drop by first thing in the morning.” He turned and resumed guiding his companion toward the exit.

“Nick. He means to see you. Now.”

Groaning inwardly, Nick stopped short, turning to Garrett in exasperation. “And it just can’t wait until tomorrow.”

It was clear, from the look on Garrett’s face that he was painfully aware of his ill-timing. “Sorry Nick, but no it can’t. I wish I could tell you what it’s all about, but I’m sure it’s important.”

With a heavy sigh of regret, Nick turned to the girl. Tightening his hold on her, he drew her near. “Baby . . . ” he began, capturing her chin in a hold that appeared both gentle and possessive at the same time.

“

“Gina,” she corrected. “My name’s Gina.”

Nick grinned. “Gina, honey…” Nuzzling against her ear he murmured something that made the woman glow, then punctuated it with a lusty kiss.

At last he turned to Garrett. “Let’s get out of here ‘fore I change my mind.”

A landcraft waited outside the Star Cruiser for the 30-minute ride from Port Ireland to the headquarters of LorTech Equipment. The sleek, low-slung vehicle was a sporty two-seater model. Her shiny black exterior said she was new; the logo on her doors said she belonged to LorTech.

“Well, I see Jonathan finally broke down and replaced a few of those tired vehicles. How long have you had this?” Nick asked, running an appreciative eye over the smart new rig.

“About three months now.” Garrett answered, fishing a remote from his pocket and entering a code. In response, both doors disengaged and slid silently backward to disappear into the rear quarter panel on each side.

Emitting a low whistle, Nick climbed in and continued his appraisal from the inside. The complex dash was a mini cockpit, loaded with options ranging from a host of digital readouts to a small rear display monitor. “N i c e,” he drawled approvingly as the control console snapped to life the instant Garrett’s weight settled into the driver’s seat.

Owned by Jonathan Loring, LorTech was a fast-growing research equipment company presently booming with a recent contract to supply equipment to Echo, a small and relatively unexplored rim world.

It was nighttime, and traffic was heavy at first, but thinned progressively the farther they traveled from the city. Soon the landcraft picked up speed and the landscape began whisking by in a blur. Patting his pockets, Nick found a thin cigar and lit it. Both men remained silent, each deep in his own thoughts.

The environment was particularly dreary, consisting mainly of processing plants and warehouses. Then the scenery gradually changed. The buildings became taller and seemed to stretch farther apart. Some had tanks attached to them. Others had pipes that ran from one building to the next. Eerie puffs of vapor rose from their stacks, illuminated by the surrounding floodlights.

Terra Four was a Class E planet, located within the Sector Five System. Its distance from Earth measured in time was roughly six weeks. Before Stellardrive, it had taken years to reach the Sector Five System.

First discovered around the turn of the century by an unmanned probe during Earth’s so called “Race For Space” era, Terra Four was the fourth of five planets that were named for their likeness to Earth. Colonization didn’t occur, however, until almost thirty-five years later.

The first settlement formed was a tiny mining colony, Port New America, nestled high in the Cascades, Terra Four’s northernmost mountains. Eventually more colonists arrived; more settlements sprouted up, and with them various forms of livelihood developed. Ultimately, through economic evolution many small mining towns combined to create thriving cities. Port Ireland grew to become the largest and most advanced city on Terra Four.

Pulling up to LorTech’s outside gates, Garrett flashed the required credentials to the guard and they were waived on through.

As Nick palmed the security lock at the main entrance to the massive complex, a hidden scanner began crosschecking his palm print, retinal and voice patterns with his stated identity. “Come on. . . come on,” he muttered, releasing an impatient sigh as they waited. As if prompted by his impatience a green light snapped to life on a small panel and the lock on the door clicked open. Nick wasted no time barging through. Garrett followed at his heels, trying to keep up with Banner’s lengthy stride.

Taking the steps three at a time, Nick hastily made his way up a flight of stairs and down a long carpeted hallway until they finally came to a door with “Jonathan T. Loring, President” inscribed on it.

“Hi Lizzy,” he muttered, striding through the reception area toward the inner office.

“Nick! Jonathan’s been—Wait! I’ll let him now you’re—”

“Its okay darlin’, I know my way in.”

“Yes, but—”

Skipping formalities, Nick hit the pressure-plate and barged-in as the door opened into Jonathan’s spacious office.

Loring’s back was turned as he stood before a floor to ceiling glass wall overlooking the compound.

“Ah, Nick!” he said, whirling around. “Thank God he found you.”

“Yeah. Your timing’s impeccable.”

“Have a seat. Please,” Jonathan said, indicating one of two leather chairs in front his desk. At the same time he turned to Garrett, thanking and perfunctorily dismissing him.

Nick sank into a comfortable chair, planting one booted foot across the opposite thigh. “So, what’s up?”

Taking his seat, Jonathan lifted an envelope off his desk and wordlessly handed it to Nick

Accepting the note, Nick held eye contact with his friend, assessing the indisputable mixture of terror and anger in the man’s eyes. At last he withdrew the note from its envelope and began reading.

Mr. Loring, I overheard part of a conversation that could cost my life as well as those in my family. For that reason, I choose not to reveal myself, but I want you to know that your daughter’s life may be in danger. I wish I had heard more, but I strongly suspect “The Leader” is behind this.

Without comment, Nick casually withdrew a slender brown cigar, lit it, and blew a lazy stream of smoke toward the ceiling where it was instantly ushered into the nearest vent. “I seem to be missing a few lines here, Jon. Maybe you’d better take this from the top. And who the devil’s The Leader?”

Staring at Nick with blank eyes, Loring began. “That’s just it; I’m not sure. There are several possibilities. Rumor has it there are at least two mega-corps that want total possession of Echo.”

Maintaining eye contact with Loring, Nick took a slow drag from his cigar. “Just exactly who are these supposed corporations?”

Loring hesitated. “Hell, it’s a rumor, Nick. Your guess is as good as mine.”

“Then guess, dammit!”

A long moment of silence passed before Loring reluctantly offered a name. “Frontier Enterprises could be one.”

“And?”

“These are just guesses, Nick. There’s no way of—”

“And?” he persisted.

“Possibly . . . Chase Explorations.”

Nick examined his cigar intently, deep in thought as he watched smoke curl off the tip. “Chase Explorations,” he mused. “Aren’t they based out of Paragon?” What the devil are they doing clear out here, messin’ around with a small rim world like Echo?”

“Howard Chase has become greedy over the years.” Loring explained, dragging his hand through his thick hair. “His company has grown, but at the expense of others.”

“So you figure Chase is The Leader?”

Loring shrugged. “It’s possible. They’ve certainly managed to cut down most everyone in their way. It’s known they want control of Echo, and LorTech is one of the few left in their path.”

“Making you their target now. Right?” Not waiting for an answer, Nick lifted the note for emphasis. “Does she know about this?”

“Hell no. And that’s the way it stays . . . at least until I can get her out of here. Knowing Tressa, she would refuse to leave.”

Reading the note over again, Nick stuck the cigar between his teeth, wincing against the smoke trailing up into his eyes. “So, what is it you want from me?”

Jonathan dragged in a deep breath, letting it out slowly. “Nick,” he began, “I want you to take Tressa off-planet for me. Surely you know of some place where she will be safe until we find out what the hell this is all about.”

One dark brow arched. “Me? It’s a bit out of my line, wouldn’t you say? Sounds like you need a hired gun. Not some randy cargo pilot traipsing all over the galaxy trying to find a safe place to stash—”

“Dammit, Nick, you’re a hell of a lot more than just a cargo pilot and we both know it. “Besides,” he added, “I don’t need a hired gun. I’m not asking you to assassinate anyone. All I’m asking is that you get my daughter out of here until we can get to the bottom of this.” Loring’s voice eased off, betraying the depth of his feelings. “Believe me, if I thought there was anyone else . . . ” He left the sentence hanging.

Nick calmly leaned forward, depositing a lump of ash into the ashtray on Loring’s desk. “I’m not sure I’m your man for this, Jon,” he said quietly. “Besides, I still have two deliveries yet to make. I can’t just take off.”

“I understand your position, Nick. Go ahead and make those deliveries. She wouldn’t be a problem. I just need her out of here.”

Nick tensed, shifting uncomfortably in his chair. Glancing away, he smiled in polite restraint. “We’re talking about a chunk of time here,” he said, turning back. “You aware of that?”

Three hellishly long weeks, a silent voice echoed.

A frown creased Loring’s brow and his gaze darkened as he slowly rose and moved from behind his desk. There was no misreading the grim look on his face as he came around to settle hip-shot upon the front corner of his desk. “Make no mistake,” he began slowly, his tone laden with warning. “I know full well what I’m asking of you. Just as you do.”

Loring’s grave expression eased. “Besides, you seem to forget, I’ve always seen more in you than you see in yourself. If I didn’t, believe me, I’d never entrust Tressie into your care for so much as a single minute.”

For a long span of silence Nick stared at the smoke trailing up from his cigar.

“Dammit Nick, it’s my daughter!”

“And I’m telling you, you’ve got the wrong man.” With his beautiful daughter, Loring didn’t know how wrong.

“But you’re the only one I trust. I know what you’re thinking,” he added, “and it might help to know that she’s already spoken for”.

Nick’s eyes lifted to meet Loring’s. “Oh yeah? Anyone I know?”

“He’s new around here. Name’s Sinclair—Look, I’m not saying it would be easy. You’ll need to let her know who’s boss right from the start. After that, she’ll settle right in for you.

“Oh, and those rumors you’ve probably heard,” he added, “Tressa has not inherited her mother’s gift. Thank God.”

Nick shot him a puzzled look but said nothing. It had been eight years since he had first walked through the doors of LorTech Equipment. Tressa was just a kid then. With her being away at school most of the time, their initial introduction had never progressed much beyond a nodding acquaintance. It had only been in the last six months that he remembered seeing more of her around the complex. She had definitely grown up. And along with it, her personality had changed from giggly to politely aloof.

He had heard of Jonathan’s desire for Tressa to work at his side, so whether her aloof indifference was due to shyness, conceit or professionalism, it was hard to tell. At any rate, he had never lost any sleep over it. Spoken for or not, she was Loring’s daughter and that made her off limits under any and all circumstances—even if he was interested. Which he wasn’t.

Now here he was, doomed to baby-sit this spoiled, liberated woman/child for how ever long it took. Worse yet, he would have to still be on speaking terms with her by the time they arrived at their destination—wherever the hell that was.

“Well?” Jonathan asked with an edge of desperation.

Doubt laced with irritation coursed through Nick. Leaning back, he unconsciously studied Loring, wishing like hell he could come up with some alternative. At last he released a compressed sigh. “So, when do we leave?”

Relief flooded Loring’s face. “You’ll do it then?”

“Under the circumstances I don’t have a hell of a choice. I’ll take her to Acacia. It’s roughly a three-week flight from here. That should buy you a little time. Delta will enjoy the company, and after I see Tressa safe, I’ll do what I can to help.”

“I’m thinking that it might not hurt for you to stay off-planet for a while yourself. If that electro blade had gone much deeper . . .”

Nick’s entire left side still ached, a pain he had successfully been ignoring until Jon brought up the subject. For a brief moment he reflected on the night he’d been attacked. He had just finished loading a shipment into the hold. Turning to key-in the security, he had detected movement in the shadows and a glint off something metallic. He vaguely remembered whirling to ward off the attack, but too late to evade the thrust. Gut-wrenching pain began in his lower back and ripped up his side as he went down.

In that clouded moment, he had recognized one man. His ex-partner, Quint Kendyl.

The pain kept him semiconscious as he lay facedown on the scarred surface of the landing zone. And although he had been unable to distinguish little more than the grating edge of voices, there was no doubting the distinctive boots of the man who stood before him. “Kendyl” was the last thought that registered as he slipped into unconsciousness.

“Are you listening to what I’m saying?” Loring broke in.

Without comment Nick leaned forward to deposit another lump of ash into the ashtray.

“I was saying—that if…”

“Yeah, I heard you,” Nick mumbled, shoving the cigar between his teeth. “I’ll deal with it in my own way, Jon. I won’t hide, if that’s what you’re suggesting.”

Silence passed as Nick contemplated the plan. “I’m going to be up-front with you. No matter how careful we are, there’s no guarantee that Acacia’s going to be a safe haven. It’s not common knowledge I’m from Acacia, but if someone gets to nosing around, it’s on the security records. You have no way of knowing how big this operation is, or who’s watching who.”

“I’m aware of that.” Jonathan relaxed. “Look, I know this won’t be easy, but I’ll see to it you won’t regret it. I assure you there will be a double bonus in it for you.” A smile tipped the corners of his mouth. “I’ll even double your high-risk credits on this one.”

“I’m not doing it for the bonus, Jonathan. Besides, you couldn’t afford it, even if I were. And as far as regret is concerned,” he grimly added, “I started regretting, the minute I heard Garrett’s voice.” He fought down the mental image of Gina.

Ignoring Nick’s cynicism, Jonathan continued, “Now I figure if you come back to the place with me, we can work out the details on the way. Then we can bring Tressie on back with us. Besides, I know Mary’s going to want to meet you. Hell, she’ll probably want to speak privately with you.”

Oh great. Nick nearly groaned aloud “That ought to be real interesting. I just got into port, Jon. Look at me. I’m not only beat, I’m half-crocked.”

Questioning his own sanity, Nick rubbed the back of his neck and tried to sort through his feelings. Having hit port three hours ago from a five-week run, he had spent the first hour and a half overseeing, as well as assisting in the unloading of cargo off his ship. He was tired, and the way he figured it, he should be getting drunk, counting his winnings and getting laid, in roughly that order.

Though past experience had taught Loring that Nick Banner was a man of his word, he looked at him for the first time since he had entered his office. Unshaven; worn leathers; his hair in serious need of a cut; he grimly admitted that Nick Banner looked every bit the rogue. Jonathan was certain Mary would not approve of Tressa leaving with him. In fact, he was tempted to question the wisdom of the plan himself.

Nick’s eyebrow arched knowingly. “Second thoughts?”

“I haven’t got time for second thoughts! I’ll go on back and square things away at home. You, on the other hand, have exactly two hours to make yourself presentable. We’ll meet you back at the Victorious at that time.”

Swinging his feet down, Nick stood, crushed out his cigar and turned for the door. “You’re the only one I’d do this for,” he said, pausing briefly at the threshold.

“Yes, I realize I’ve called in my markers on this one, Nick.”

“Damn right you have.”

CHAPTER TWO

Nick found Garrett waiting for him as he stepped out of the complex. Climbing into the front seat of the landcraft, he instructed Garrett to drop him off at the spaceport.

He couldn’t believe he had actually agreed to such lunacy. Total insanity, he thought as they sped toward Port Ireland. A muscle twitched in his left cheek at the prospect of a little over three weeks confined in the cramped quarters of the Victorious with Loring’s daughter.

The last time he had a woman on board it had been at his invitation, and even then it didn’t work out. Though he never found out what had her storming off the ship, he suspected it must have been something he’d said.

The lights of the port facility gradually came into view. Nick was pulled from his thoughts as the landcraft hissed to a halt before the space terminal’s front entrance.

“Good to see you again, man. Take it easy now.”

“Yeah, you too.” Climbing out, Nick reached for a cigar, bent his head and lit up. Releasing a stream of smoke into the cool night air, he gazed out over the landing field, his eyes fixed on the silhouette of his sleek ship, the Victorious—the Vicki, as he referred to her. Anchored at the far end of the landing field, she sat patiently awaiting the completion of routine servicing.

A maze of high-octane fuel, fresh water and liquid waste pipes snaked their way across the durasteel decking and rose up into the belly of the ship. Each pipe, as it serviced the Victorious, had its own tiny pulsing light system traveling its length. From a distance they appeared as glittering arrows chasing one another in a merry race across the landing zone.

Out of habit, Nick always kept the Victorious ready for immediate lift. Even with LorTech being his primary contract, one never knew when an unexpected run would arise—the kind that came with a hefty bonus for the trouble. Although to his way of thinking, some bonuses just aren’t worth the trouble.

Once again he asked himself just what the devil he was doing. Loring’s daughter. It was crazy, and gut instinct told him that he’d regret it before they even cleared the atmosphere. Hell, one hour ago he was sitting in the Star Cruiser enjoying himself and thinking he had his evening all planned out. And now…

Withdrawing a small comp remote, he tapped into the Victorious’s primary onboard computer, releasing the security on the main entry. The familiar stench of exhaust and raw fuel hung heavy in the air as he made his way across the landing zone. The high-pitched whine of a departing freighter escalated to a deafening roar.

Once on board, Nick absently wondered how long it would take to make things presentable. But then, he decided the ship wasn’t all that bad. Nothing a little crammin’ and jammin’ couldn’t fix. Grabbing a quick shower, he changed at last into a comfortable white crew shirt and black trousers. He rebelliously pitched the idea of shaving. Dammit, this fiasco was Jonathan’s idea, not his. It had destroyed what had begun as a perfect night, and Little Miss Loring would just have to take him—and his ship—as is.

Nick’s sable, collar length hair, normally worn long by the standards of some, was getting a little too long—even for him. Now it seemed his plan for getting a trim while in port was out the question along with everything else.

The next hour was spent plotting the coordinates for the voyage that lay ahead and running a diagnostic check on the ship.

Mary Loring stared at Jonathan in disbelief. At forty-six, her beauty was exquisite, almost fragile. “I can’t believe I’m hearing this, Jonathan.” In spite of her reserve, there was a tinge of alarm in her voice. “But why Tressa? Surely there are others who can handle the clearance on that equipment. And who, again, is this man that’s taking her?”

“One question at a time, Mary.” Jonathan said calmly, masking the flood of emotion that was threatening to overtake him. As much as he hated it, there just wasn’t enough time for two stories: the truth to Mary, and a concocted version to Tressa.

Besides, if Mary were to know the truth, Tressa would take one glance at her face and the entire plan would be blown.

Firmly reminding himself that at this very moment there was a ship waiting in port to take Tressa to safety, Jonathan once again bolstered himself for the task ahead.

“First question,” he began. “Yes, unfortunately, Tressa is the only one besides myself. And second: the name of the man she will be traveling with is Captain Nick Banner.” He had thrown in the title with the intention of reinforcing a mental image of honor and respectability. “And yes, before you even ask, I trust him.”

A look of anguish crossed Mary’s face. “She’ll be all alone with this man?”

“Yes,” he replied, knowing his air of nonchalance was totally out of character in this instance. He was opening himself wide for criticism . . . and for Mary’s special gift.

“I can’t believe what I’m hearing.”

“Tressie’s responsible, Mary. Besides, there’s nothinghardaboutthis.It’sjustamatterofsigninga few—”

“If everything is so up and above board, why are you nervous?”

Jonathan groaned inwardly, hating the truth—hating the lie and hating the air of nonchalance he had to fight to keep up. More than women’s intuition, more than just reading body language, Mary was right one hundred percent of the time when it came to understanding his emotions. She didn’t just know them, she felt them the instant he did.

He had learned long ago the art of masking his vulnerable side when it became necessary to protect her. Usually he hid behind a bright, cheerful façade. Sometimes he even hid behind anger. And if he concentrated real hard, either worked.

“You’re nervous, Jon. Scared. What is it you’re not telling me?

“Hey . . . ” He laughed lightheartedly. “You act as if I’m sending her off with an Arian mountain wolf!”

Swallowing hard, Mary looked away. “I want the truth.”

“I just told you. I need her to—”

“So what kind of a man is he? How old?” she asked softly, still without looking at him.

“I know him, Mary. He’s a good man.” His tone grew serious. “One of the very few to whom I can give a responsibility and know it will be done right.” Again he rallied his sense of humor and added with a silly smirk, “As for his age, I’d say he’s about ninety, bald, walks with a cane, and has—”

“Jonathan.”

Still grinning, he shrugged his shoulders. “I don’t know. He’s about thirty-two I suppose. Maybe a little older.” Jonathan paused, fighting for self-control in the face of Mary’s intense scrutiny.

Tough it out, Loring. You’ve got to do this.

He knew what she was doing-—looking for a weak spot in the jovial exterior he was working so hard to keep up. Yet as much as it repulsed him, the lie in this instance was worth it.

“You’re holding something back. I can feel it inside. Number one, if he’s so praiseworthy, why isn’t he able to affect that special security clearance himself?”

“Simply because it takes a principal of the Corporation to release it,” he lied. Offering her a tender smile, he continued. “You see, this shipment isn’t just a usual security pickup, it’s—”

“Oh, I see, and Tressa is one of the principals, is she?”

Jonathan hesitated. “No,” he replied at last. “But she’s being groomed for a position down the road.” He held himself still under her study, praying she couldn’t break through the mask he had erected.

Some called her talent a gift, the ability to experience another’s emotions. Creohens called it a curse. And a spouse called it an intrusion. Whatever; Jonathan was especially thankful at this moment that the gift—if you could call it that—didn’t also include mind reading.

“Jonathan . . .” she said finally, her eyes piercing the distance between them, “please, what is it?”

He crossed the room, coming to a halt before her. “Mary,” he said, reaching for her hand and kissing her open palm, “you know me better than that, darling. Besides, when have I ever been able to keep anything from you?”

Oh, how he longed to unload the burden he carried. Eventually he would tell her the truth, but only after Tressa was safely off-planet. Like it or not, Nick Banner was the only man he trusted this side of the Milky Way to take his daughter to a safe haven. He had nothing to worry about. And Tressa would never know about the bogus shipment through Nick. Thank goodness she had tested negative for her mother’s special talent.

“I might be only half Creohen, Jon, but I know what I’m feeling inside. And these are your butterflies in the pit of my stomach. Not mine. And I want an explanation!”

Jonathan winced.

This wasn’t the first time he rued the day Terra Three had been colonized, opening the lid on Pandora’s Box with its damn Creoh mines. Mary’s father had been just one of the many young miners affected by the raw mineral. By the time they discovered the irreversible brain-altering side effects of Creoh, the damage had been done. And by the time they were discovering that the disorder was almost always passed on to the offspring, Tressa had been conceived.

* **

Tressa knew something was amiss the minute she entered the room. Despite her mother’s serene countenance, the air was thick with tension. “You wanted to see me?” she asked, her eyes falling upon her father.

“Yes, Tressie, please come in. Have a seat, honey.” Jonathan motioned to a nearby couch.

Tressa sat down, glancing first at her mother and then back to her father. “Is something wrong?”

“No, no dear,” Jonathan replied casually. “I just need your help with an important errand, that’s all.” Tressa’s face lifted slightly as Jonathan went on. “There’s a crucial piece of equipment that needs to be picked up. I need you to accompany one of our pilots to Shaiel and sign for the clearance on the shipment.”

“Shaiel?” Tressa’s mouth dropped. “That’s a ten-day voyage from here.”

“Yes, it is,” Jonathan admitted. “I’d go myself if I didn’t have to be here for that board meeting coming up in a few days. I’d hope that with your security status you’d go in my place.”

It seemed strange—the whole idea of being the only one qualified to go. Nevertheless, Tressa’s devotion to her father was stronger than any sense of doubt. She focused on the excitement of an off-planet flight. “All right,” she agreed.

“Good. Now I want you to go and quickly pack a couple of travel cases. We don’t have much time, honey.”

“Pack? You mean I’m to leave now?”

Jonathan stepped forward, tenderly wrapping his arm around her shoulders. “Tressie, honey,

listen to me: As we speak, there’s a ship waiting in port for us. Yes,” he confirmed softly, “it’s critical that you leave tonight to make schedule.” For a long moment there was silence as Tressa studied her father. Then at last she nodded. ** *

Nick was in the process of tapping information into the ship’s NAVCOMP when a soft chime announced the arrival of company. Engaging the surveillance camera, he saw Jonathan and his daughter approaching. “Smart female,” he mumbled, noticing that she had only two small travel packs.

Although he couldn’t quite make out her expression, from the set of her shoulders and her rigid gait, she didn’t appear any happier about this than he did. “Real smooth, Loring,” he muttered.

Folding his arms across his chest, he leaned back in the command seat and continued to observe them on the ship’s monitor. Suddenly Tressa stopped mid-stride about a hundred feet from the ship. “Now what?” he muttered.

* ** “How could you?” Tressa all but stamped her foot. “I can’t believe you would do this to me. You conveniently never mentioned the Victorious because you knew what I’d say, didn’t you?” “Tressa, I’m sorry.” Jonathan offered lamely. “Despite all the things you’ve heard, Captain

Banner is one of he most honorable men I know.”

“Honorable!? Ha! Dad, do you have any idea—”

“Believe me sweets, I’d never send you off with him if I didn’t believe that with all my heart.”

Tressa turned and faced him squarely. “Maybe you know something I don’t, but honorable doesn’t exactly coincide with what I keep hearing.” With that, Tressa whirled around and continued her resolved trek toward the awaiting Victorious. “I have half a mind to turn around and forget this whole thing.”

“Wait a minute, baby.” Jonathan picked up his pace.

“You might as well have thrown me into the den of an imperial snapper,” she muttered, not waiting for him to catch up.

Wincing at her words, Jonathan moved quickly, spinning her around to face him. “And just what is it you keep hearing? Huh? Are they firsthand stories, Tressa, or dreamed-up rumors?”

Jonathan studied her intensely. “You think I’m old, don’t you? Too old to pay attention to the rumors about the notorious Nick Banner? Too old to notice the way women throw themselves at him—and maybe even too old to understand?”

Tressa lowered her eyes. “I never said that.”

“Of course you didn’t,” he said softly, “but it’s what you meant. Let me tell you what I do understand,” Jonathan continued with fatherly gentleness. “Judging from what I see, and given the fact that none of those eager young ladies—particularly the ones down in Shipping—have yet to personally boast of her social experiences with Nick Banner, I’d venture to say it’s more hot air and wishful thinking than anything.” He smiled. “Though I’m not dismissing nor defending his reputation, neither am I blind or deaf to what really goes on. Tressa, believe me, there is a lot more rumor than there is truth in what you’ve been hearing.”

He didn’t need to say more. It was true; not one of those stories she had heard were first hand. And to the best of Tressa’s knowledge, none of the LorTech girls down in Shipping had ever socialized with the illustrious Nick Banner, despite their attempts to interest him.

Defiance returning, Tressa lifted her chin. “Well, those rumors started somewhere. He’s just too smart to try anything right under your nose.” With that she turned and once again resumed her march toward the ship.

* * *

With a frown and a heavy sigh, Nick headed for the main entry port. At a touch, the inner hatch cycled open. Palming the outer lock, he met Jonathan and Tressa as they made their way up the boarding ramp. A set of recessed lights in the ceiling of the entry snapped to life as the two guests stepped over the threshold.

Mahogany highlights danced in Tressa’s rich brown hair as she passed beneath an overhead beam of light. Despite Jonathan’s presence, Nick was finding it difficult to drag his eyes from her. He had forgotten how pretty she was, and he’d be willing to bet there was a heart-stopping body beneath that liquid-soft jumpsuit she was wearing.

It took every ounce of determination he had to suppress his amusement as Tressa gazed about the cabin, surveying the compact and painfully limited living quarters.

“Nick, you remember my daughter, Tressa,” Jonathan said, breaking the tension.

Tressa offered her hand. “Hello.”

“Tressa.” Nick took her hand. “It’s been a while. Welcome aboard.” Immediately releasing her, he turned to Jonathan. “For now, just stash her things under the bunks.”

With a nod, Jonathan turned and headed toward the berths just astern of the main entry. There was a moment of silence then . . . “Uh . . . Nick? Can I see you for a moment?”

Excusing himself, Nick turned and made his way down the narrow corridor to where Jonathan waited. “Is there a problem?”

“That’s an extensive inventory of ale you have stashed back here,” Jonathan said in undertones.

“Yeah, it sure is.”

“I realize it’s none of my business, but—”

“You’re right, Jon. It is none of your business.” Nick grinned. “But to set your mind at ease, it’s for a customer.”

* * *

The moment he’d taken her hand, the connection was instant, unlike anything in Tressa’s experience. As though coming out of nowhere, the sensation jolted her into an unfamiliar awareness of this man.

Had he felt it too? Striving to separate her jangled emotions she remained just inside the main hatch, her eyes on Nick. He was engaged in conversation near the rear of the cabin and though she could only make out part of what was being said, from the look on her father’s face it was clearly something serious and unpleasant.

Arms folded, Nick braced a shoulder against the bulkhead and responded in a voice too low for her to understand. Occasionally he would nod his head, and Tressa could only imagine what sort of idiotic stipulations were being laid down.

Unable to resist, she drank in the sight of the legendary Nick Banner. Starting at his booted feet, she slowly worked her way up long, muscular legs, past a broad chest, and finally came to rest on a ruggedly handsome face. He simmered with a sensuality that Tressa barely understood. In truth, he took her breath away. Always had. Trouble was, she thought she had outgrown her childish infatuation.

Eight years had passed since that first day when he had come to see her father. She was fourteen at the time, and Nick was by far the most gorgeous man she had ever laid eyes on. When the rumors began, she was not immune. She had heard each story at least a dozen times. And in her innocence, Nick’s fast life-style and inherent sexuality made the stories seem almost romantic.

How many times had she given in to the secret fantasy of imagining his arms drawing her close, his low voice murmuring love words in her ear. Reality was they barely knew each other. Not that she was his type anyway. She could only imagine what he considered appealing in a woman. Blonde and experienced probably topped the list.

“Tressie,” Jonathan’s voice broke into her thoughts, “I’m going to leave now, honey.” Both men came forward and farewells were exchanged. Within minutes Tressa was seated in the passenger seat to the left behind Nick, her heart pounding as a mixture of emotions raced through her mind. Banner’s very presence was both disturbing and exciting as she watched him go through the process of sealing the ship.

Careful that you don’t go dropping at his feet in worship like all the others.

Tressa had no sooner formed her plan of immunity when Nick swung about, regarding her with an intensity that made her insides flutter. Leaning forward, he pulled a safety harness across her lap, fastening it in place.

“You ever been off-planet before, Tressa?” The smoky timbre of his voice quietly broke the silence.

“Only once. I was nine at the time.” She laughed nervously, quickly adding, “but I have flown many times to neighboring ports here on Terra Four.”

“Uh-huh.” Nick nodded politely, but Tressa caught the look of suppressed amusement. His eyes danced with it. “Well, this will be just a little different than port-hopping,” he said. “I’ll explain what to expect as we go along. In the meantime,” he grinned, “relax.”

“I am relaxed.”

Languid laughter filled his tone. “No, you’re not,” he said, turning his attention back to the controls, all business as he ran through the pre-lift procedures.

Tressa swallowed hot words of denial. Judging from his expression, he found her inexperience entertaining. Turning her attention toward the viewport, a tiny pulsing strobe light caught her eye as it marked the very tip of the port wing. Four high-intensity landing beams snapped to life, instantly bathing the LZ in bright light.

It was dark outside and Tressa pressed closer to the window, blocking out the refection of the ship’s interior. Cupping her face with her hands, she peered out at the surrounding spaceport. The docking bays were occupied with everything from large freighters to small mail boats. Several docks in particular were a bustle of activity.

When a subtle vibration became the low rumble of ignition, she turned just as Nick flipped an overhead switch. In response, a bank of tiny green lights came alive on the console, and when he tapped a final button, the low rumble slowly began building into a muffled whine.

He opened the com-link. “This is the Victorious, Delta Beta, Six-Niner-Four, requesting clearance for lift.”

A sudden wave of apprehension swept through Tressa. Turning toward the viewport, she searched out the landing zone in a desperate attempt to glimpse her father just one last time.

CHAPTER THREE

“That’s an affirmative, Victorious,” came a feminine voice. “You are cleared for vertical lift to twenty thousand feet. After that you’re on your own. See you on your return trip, Nick.”

The controller had no sooner given clearance than the sound of the ship’s thrusters began escalating. Though the sound was muffled inside, Tressa knew that on the outside, the noise level was rising first to an ear-piercing scream and then a deafening roar as the Victorious lifted.

Pinned to her seat, she watched in fascination as the lights of Port Ireland became smaller and smaller, gradually disappearing into the distant horizon as Nick set the course for Port Canada.

“I’ve got a couple of stops to make first; then we’ll put into space,” he said without taking his eyes off the console.

Tressa’s gaze shifted back to Nick, perusing every virile inch of his profile, from glossy black hair curling over his collar, to the way his shirt clung to the corded muscles of his back. Slowly her gaze traveled southward, visiting a flat-planed stomach and hip, settling at last on a hard muscled thigh.

Her own stomach tightening in response, she looked away, silently denying the surge of feminine awareness charging through her veins.

Put your eyes back where they belong, Tressa. Besides, you’ve heard the rumors about him.

Yes, she had. She had heard them all—and more than once. Nick Banner left no question in anyone’s mind but that he was a maverick with his own damnable way of doing things.

Settling in, Nick swiftly finished entering the coordinates into the NAVCOMP. His swarthy features were illuminated by the orange glow of the console, and Tressa found herself still drawn to him, in spite of the inner turmoil going on. Clenching her hands in her lap, she straightened her back, reminding herself that she was no longer an infatuated teenager.

Finishing a final procedure, Nick turned to face her and the knot in the pit of her stomach tightened. “You feel like taking a little tour?” There it was, that easy little boy smile that had charmed her from the first day she laid eyes on him.

“Sure.”

Tressa found the Victorious to be efficiently compact. The main entry port through which she had first entered was located on the starboard side toward the bow of the ship. From there forward was an open helm.

Next came the sleeping quarters, located just aft of the main entry port. It consisted of two bunks, a stationary lower bunk and an upper one that had yet to be unlatched and let down from the bulkhead. The berths were boxed-in by two floor-to-ceiling partitions, one at the head and one at the foot.

Dogging her steps, Nick drew her attention to the lavatory. Despite its compact size, the “head”, as he called it, seemed complete. Tressa was glad to note it even included a shower, a triangle-shaped unit situated in one corner.

“Small but functional,” he said in a tone that was anything but apologetic. Crossing the cabin to the port side of the ship, Tressa came to the entry of a small galley.

“Well, it’s certainly cozy,” she said cheerfully.

“Yeah, that’s one way of putting it.”

As they stepped into the galley, interior lighting responded, illuminating the room. “Have a seat,” he said, motioning toward the small lounge situated in front of an octagon viewing port.

Remembering Jonathan’s advice about laying down ground rules, Nick turned for the kitchenette along the aft wall as Tressa took a seat. “Would you like something hot to drink?” he asked, already reaching for a couple of mugs.

“Thank you, that would be nice.”

Nick opened a container and began spooning green crystals into the two mugs. “Ever heard of Tenga Tea?”

She frowned. “No, I don’t think so.”

“It’s made from the crystallized sap of a small bush. A friend in the importing business gave me a supply of this stuff.” He positioned the mugs, one at a time beneath a small spigot and began filling them with steaming water.

Returning to her side, he handed her one of the mugs. Tressa inhaled the aroma. “It smells good,” she said gazing curiously at the steamy green liquid.

Nick smiled and sat down beside her. “This stuff is supposed to be better for you than Terran coffee.”

Tressa took a tentative sip. “Umm, it’s sweet. I bet its good iced too.”

“Never tried it iced.” A moment of silence passed and then with a heavy sigh, “Tressa, we need to take a minute here and go over a few things.”

“All right.” She looked up at him expectantly.

Nick shifted. “First of all,” he began—not one to mince words, “I want to make one thing perfectly clear. Despite the fact that I freelance for your father, the name Loring pulls no weight on board the Victorious. You’re a passenger, Tressa. It’s that simple.” Steeling himself against her fading smile, he pressed on. “And as long as you remember that, everything should go smoothly around here.

Tressa’s smile had turned cool. “I assure you, that won’t be a problem.”

“And another thing, if you’ve got a complaint I don’t want to hear it unless it’s life threatening. The Victorious is set up to haul cargo. She’s not a luxury liner and you’ll find the comforts around here painfully limited.

“I’m sure I’ll manage.”

“Good because we’re talking three weeks of living with each other, and unless we get a few things straight . . . cozy just might not describe it by the time we reach our destination.”

“You’ve made yourself clear.” Dismissing him, Tressa looked away and took another sip of tea.

“Yeah, well I hope so, because with the exception of the head, privacy around here will be virtually nonexistent.”

Tressa’s voice cooled another notch as she turned to face him. “Then let me set your mind at ease.” She smiled sweetly. “Despite the fact that you freelance for my father, the name Nick Banner pulls no weight with me. You and your painfully limited cargo ship are a means of transportation. …It’s that simple.”

Sensing somehow that he had just been outflanked, Nick was suddenly overcome with an urge to crack that shell of regal composure. One corner of his mouth lifted. “All right, Tressa,” he began as though accepting a challenge. “The point is: I never take passengers on board, therefore, I’m not in the habit of exercising modesty. Like I say…the only way you and I are going to coexist and stay within the bounds of civilized behavior is if we set down a few rules and stick to them.” Having said that, he leaned back, stretching his long legs out before him.

Despite her claim of disinterest, he’d noticed the stolen glances. Oh yeah—he’d noticed, and he knew that look all too well. Spoken for or not, Tressa Loring was going to be trouble.

Tressa cleared her throat. “Your lack of modesty isn’t surprising. Studies reveal that for some men, self-control doesn’t really develop until maturity.”

Nick grinned, his interest escalating. “Is that right.”

She rose from the lounge and made her way to the sink where she calmly rinsed the mug and placed it on the counter.

She was pissed as hell at him. He’d bet his paycheck on it. Yet so far he couldn’t seem to break through that veil of propriety. “I’ll tell you what, Tressa,” he said, trying a new tactic. “I’ll make you a little deal.”

With a small sigh, she cast him a retiring look.

“Over the next few weeks I’ll try my damnedest to maintain a semblance of modesty and self-control. But you must promise to do the same, and that includes, sweetheart, making sure I’m not subjected to your intimate belongings drip drying off every hook in the lav.” Clasping his hands behind his head, he remained in his sprawled position and waited.

Calmly turning for the exit, Tressa glanced his direction and drawled, “Only in your dreams, little boy.”

Nick bolted upright. “What’d you say?” But she had already exited the galley.

“Tressa,” he shouted. “Get back here. We’re not finished.”

“And furthermore,” she added, returning to poke her head around the corner. “I don’t appreciate being subjected to an over-sexed and under-hung fly boy.

He barked a laugh. “What . . . ?”

“I can think of a thousand other places,” she went on, “that I’d rather be right now than on board this ship with you. To be perfectly honest, I want to stay here only marginally more than I want to die trying to escape.

“I was all but forced into running this errand,” she continued, “and the only reason I agreed is because my father asked it of me.” You, on the other hand, surely could have come up with a thousand and one reasons for declining this run. Am I right, Captain?”

“Go on,” he coaxed, intrigued.

Tressa’s mouth thinned. “Your immaturity obviously will make things a bit difficult, but you needn’t spare me a moment’s concern. I’ve brought enough reading material to relieve the tedium of witnessing your bare backside.

“Oh and just so you know,” she added, “expecting special treatment for any reason, let alone because of my last name, has never been my style.”

Nick grinned, completely unrepentant. “Terrific. Everything should be just wonderful then, shouldn’t it? Like I said, I don’t want any misunderstandings between us.”

“Misunderstandings?” she repeated with a knowing smile. “I understand you perfectly, Captain.”

He was the image of cocksure arrogance and Tressa had an overwhelming urge to march over and kick him in the shins. Squelching the impulse, she turned once again to exit the galley.

“By the way,” he called after her, “You can drop captain. The name’s Nick.”

Tressa quickly headed for her place at the helm. “Swamp Rat,” she mumbled to herself. It was perfectly clear that he didn’t want her on board and had every intention of making her life hell for the duration of the trip. Arrogant, chauvinistic, over-sexed—

…and under-hung flyboy!

Instant heat rushed to her cheeks at the memory of her hasty retort. Dear god, had she actually said that? To Nick Banner, of all people?

How many times had she laughed at her friend, Aisha, who was forever mumbling that phrase under her breath. But to actually come out and say it. Well, one thing for sure, it was a little late to do anything about it now, and she certainly wasn’t about to apologize. Not after his baiting lecture. Who knows, maybe he’s learned a lesson and tomorrow he’ll—” Tomorrow. Instantly Tressa’s thoughts turned to the sleeping arrangements. Glancing toward the bunks, the shock of discovery hit her full force—-there were no privacy curtains!

By the time Nick finally strolled up front, Tressa was sitting in the passenger’s seat, quietly stewing over the sleeping arrangements and meticulously examining her perfectly manicured nails.

“Under-hung, huh?” With a snort he dropped into the command seat and began making a few adjustments on the console.

Ignoring him, she turned toward the viewport to stare out at absolute blackness. With the cabin lights fully lit, what she saw was the mirrored image of the cockpit, and in the reflection she watched “swamp rat” go through what seemed a practiced routine. No words were exchanged between them, least of all, the apology she felt she deserved.

* **

Cord Wheeler rounded the corner and headed away from his office. Another day was coming to an end. Starting down the duracrete walkway, he had the unmistakable feeling that he was being lfollowed. Whipping around, he scanned the open street with a glance. No one looked particularly suspicious. But then, what did he know? Having grown up in the sheltering shadow of his grandfather, he had always known the finer side of living, and dealing with questionable people had never been part of it.

Now, against his will, here he was living in Port Ireland, running a subsidiary mining brokerage. He hated Port Ireland; hated Terra Four—hated the brokerage, for that matter.

He could still hear his grandfather’s words: “Young man, if you want Wheeler Explorations when I retire, you’ll settle down and prove yourself worthy to take over.”

He groaned at the memory. Worthy meant coming to Port Ireland and spending two damn years of his life running a small brokerage and proving that he was capable of turning a profit.

It wasn’t an easy task, but so far he had managed to land several highly profitable contracts, yielding large commissions. So what if his methods were a little unethical? The figures he just finished entering in the books were impressive. And, after all, wasn’t that the main objective?

Yes, the name change from Cord Wheeler to Burke Sinclair had been a wise move. It had opened connections he never could have managed under the respected name of Wheeler, the name his grandfather had worked hard to build.

It was while he was living under this new identity that he met Jonathan Loring. With the charisma of a snake oil salesman he had sold Loring on both himself and the reputation of the brokerage. Next thing he knew he was sitting across from Loring and offering his bid for a large commercial mining contract. The very contract his grandfather had been striving to secure. The final decision, of course, was yet to come, but he felt sure his grandfather would be awarded the contract.

Another fringe benefit to meeting Loring had been meeting Loring’s daughter. Tressa turned out to be an unexpected edge in his quest for “worthiness”. What better way to satisfy his grandfather’s wish, than to settle down and take a wife? And a wealthy one, at that. The only problem was, he had spent the last six months courting Tressa, and he was still seething over the fact that she needed time to think about his proposal of marriage. Back home there were dozens of women who would jump at the offer with a man of his standing, not to mention his looks and charm.

No, the entire plan was irritating, and if he had his way he would pack up and leave this god forsaken place now, head for home, and slip back into the luxurious life he had been used to. But since he couldn’t do that, he had devised a little insurance plan.

Just this morning he had made the final arrangements with Tressa’s future kidnappers. Sinclair smiled at the thought of how grateful she would be for his timely rescue—how indebted even Loring himself would be for the display of heroism. It was all so simple. He’d win Tressa’s undying love and no one would be the wiser, least of all, his grandfather.

Randy by nature, courting Tressa properly was taking its toll. Yes, he would continue his display of perfect gentlemanly manners, but he would also allow himself an occasional visit to a certain brothel where discretion was guaranteed.

He was headed there tonight. Dammit a man has his needs. Besides, a celebration was in order, and this particular high-dollar palace of pleasure offered him just what he needed.

“Mr. Sinclair?”

Burke drew in a sharp breath at the sound of the raspy voice intruding upon his thoughts. Turning abruptly, he faced a middle-aged man who looked as though life had been one rugged road. Unshaven and filthy, he wore little more than rags in Sinclair’s estimation. Steely gray eyes peered out from beneath bushy gray brows as he moved closer. He smelled disgusting, and Burke was intensely repelled. “Yes?”

The man snatched his cap from his head and clutched it to his chest. “Name’s Toby McIntyre,” he said extending a grimy hand.

“Yes? What is it?” He wasn’t about to touch that hand on a bet.

McIntyre retracted his outstretched hand, shoving it into a pocket. “Mr. Sinclair,” he began again, “I wasn’t sure what to do. I’m not one to be sellin’ information, you understand, but got some news you just might be interested in knowin’… ” He deliberately allowed his words to trail off.

In spite of himself, Sinclair’s interest was piqued. Assessing the man, he hesitated for a moment, and wondered what information the old guy could possibly have that would interest him. “Let me guess: You feel you’ve got something I’d be willing to pay for, right?”

“Oh no. But if you decide it’s worth somethin’ . . . ”

Sinclair pointedly raked him from head to toe. “Why should I be interested in the first place?”

A grin began to spread across the man’s pasty face exposing badly decayed teeth. “Because it involves a certain little missy leavin’ in a big hurry. That’s why.”

CHAPTER FOUR

“Who?” Sinclair demanded anxiously.

The man grinned. “I thought you might be interested. Done some askin’ around, and I know of a couple stops they’ll be makin’ before headin’ off-planet.”

Payment was offered and McIntyre gladly told what he knew.

“The Victorious . . . ” Sinclair mused, frowning. “The Victorious. I’ve heard of it.”

“She’s piloted by a man named Banner,” McIntyre continued. “And, for what it’s worth, I hear he’s no one to mess with.”

It was Sinclair’s turn to grin. “I have just the friends in mind. Four against one ought to do it, wouldn’t you say?”

McIntyre winced. “Yeah, or make him damned mad. One or the other.”

As far as Sinclair saw it, there was no problem—just a matter of making a couple of changes in the plan.

** *

Before Nick had a chance to get her, Tressa drifted in from the galley. Silently coming forward, she took her seat and fastened the safety harness. Determined to ignore him, she immediately turned her face toward the viewport.

The main computer had already been in contact with Port Canada. Basic identification, navigational data, and clearance had all been exchanged by the time Nick switched the controls over to manual.

As they neared the spaceport, Tressa could see a circle of pulsing blue lights outlining a designated L.Z. they were to land on.

It wasn’t long before she gave in to her curiosity. Turning to watch Nick work the controls, her traitorous eyes once again began tracing every line and contour of his profile. Despite her annoyance with him, Nick Banner was still the most gorgeous man she had ever laid eyes on.

Within moments the Victorious was being gently lowered onto her landing jacks. After shutting the power down and securing the ship, Nick took a minute to sweep the scanners across the surrounding landing field. A few ground runners scurried to and fro on assorted errands. One ship was just lifting off, and three others were sitting unattended on the field. No one seemed particularly interested in the Victorious, and that was just the way he liked it.

“Tressa,” he said swiveling about to face her, “You’re to stay here while I’m gone.” Nick rose from his seat, towering above her. “It’s just another dull mining settlement, and depending upon how long I’ll have to wait, the most I should be gone is an hour. I’m setting the perimeter security so whatever you do, don’t open the main lock for anyone.

“Got that? No one!”

He had her undivided attention now, and he paused allowing his last words to sink in. “I’ll also set the exterior surveillance cam so that it will remain on for you. Should anyone come within a designated range of the ship, the proximity alarm will go off inside and you’ll be able to see who’s out there by looking right here.” He pointed to the monitor.

At last retrieving a small package from the ship’s hold, he strode to his bunk and reached for the gun belt hanging just inside the berth. “I’m expecting a shipment to be delivered while I’m gone. The on-board computer has already been programmed to accept the delivery.” Tressa listened as Nick strapped the gun low on this thigh and tied it down. “The proximity alarm won’t sound since it’s been coded to accept the delivery. You’ll no doubt hear the freight doors to the hold open up, but there’s nothing you need to do. Okay?

She nodded.

He withdrew a small black object from his utility belt, checked the energy level, then replaced it. Finally tucking the package under his arm, he turned to face her. “When I return, I’ll let myself in. By checking the monitor, you’ll know it’s me before I even get here. Okay?”

“Yes,” she said, following him to the main lock.

“Now remember, do not touch anything up here in the cockpit.” His tone was somewhere between a command and an entreaty.

Tressa nodded. “I won’t.”

Palming the lock, he turned to her again. “I won’t be long.” With that he disappeared through the hatch and into the cool evening air of Port Canada.

Turning her attention to the overhead monitor, she watched Nick disappear into the shadows of the landing field.

At last with a sigh, she decided to make use of the lav facility. Though small, she had to admit it was not just functional, but impressively compact.

It didn’t take more than a quick glance to note the stark difference between Nick’s no-nonsense toiletries strung randomly about on a shelf and her own perfume-laced necessities neatly packed away in one of her travel bags.

She made her way back to the dimly lit galley. Though earlier, he had been sarcastic in referring to the galley as being cozy, she had to admit the pocket-sized dining area seemed quite efficient. Giving in to curiosity, she peeked into the ship’s compact cooler, finding it stocked with more chilled bottles than she cared to count of Echo Extra Dark. The attached froster, at least, was well stocked with commercially prepared meals. So much for fresh cooking.

Finally making her way over to the octagon viewport, she stood for several long moments, watching the bustle of activity going on outside the ship. So, this was Port Canada. It certainly wasn’t much to look at it, judging from the starboard viewport. She watched a robo loader making its way across the landing field toward the Victorious. Probably the shipment he’d spoken of.

Within moments it was wheeling to a stop and two men got out and disappeared beneath the belly of the ship. Just as he’d said, she heard the electronic growl of the freight loading doors cycling open, Several minutes later, the doors cycled close and she watched as the robo loader made its way back toward the terminal. Might as well relax, she decided, kicking off her sandals and curling up on the small lounge before the viewport.

Tressa never heard the soft chime go off as Nick entered the proximity range of the ship. Nor did she hear the main lock hiss open as he came aboard. Relaxing for a brief moment with her eyes closed, sleep had come by accident.

Nick quickly scanned the cabin for Tressa. With a frown, he turned to replace his utility belt on the hook just inside his berth, then made his way to the galley.

It was there his eyes fell upon her.

Quietly stepping into the galley, he greedily took the liberty of appraising her while unfastening the leg tie and buckle of his gun belt. He carefully studied her delicate features, noting her thick, long lashes, flawless complexion, the pout of her mouth, the dimple that was even present as she slept.

Over-sexed and underhung. An unexpected chuckle rose in his throat at the memory, and he was forced to stifle it for fear of waking her. Where the devil had she ever picked that up, he wondered?

Instinctively, his gaze slid downward to the dipping neckline of her lavender jumpsuit, and naturally, being the over-sexed bad boy she had accused him of being, he didn’t miss the cleavage as it teasingly disappeared beneath the cut of the garment.

Emitting a sigh, he clamped down on the rampaging thoughts his mind had begun to entertain. A muscle jerked in his left check as he quickly reminded himself just whose daughter she was.

Reaching into his pocket, Nick removed a small stone. Holding it in the palm of his hand for a moment, he examined it.

Creamy white in color, the rock was smooth and oval in shape. And as he continued to hold it, the color gradually began changing to a soft blue. Slowly he curled his fingers over the object, feeling the cold stone warm beneath his touch. When he opened his hand again, the stone had changed to a vibrant shade of pulsing cobalt.

Not that he was admitting to a twinge of guilt over the hassle he’d given her earlier. Nah, it was just the fact that he’d enjoyed it a little more than he should have. He pondered his plan to offer the stone as a peace offering. Whether she would accept it or not was yet to be seen. One thing for sure—he would have to keep a tight rein on sarcasm.

Ever so carefully Nick laid the stone in Tressa’s open palm. Lingering for a moment in fascination, he watched as it slowly changed from cobalt to purple to violet and finally to bright crimson, all in a matter of a minute.

He remained a moment longer, drinking in the sight of her. Finally he turned to make his way for the cockpit. One more stop to make before putting into space.

Since Jonathan had said nothing about Acacia to Tressa, he wondered just what the devil he was supposed to say to justify the trip. With a compressed sigh that puffed out his cheeks, he dropped into the command seat. He’d think of something and hopefully she would buy it.

Once again the Victorious lifted, leaving nothing more than a trail of vapor in its wake.

Tressa awoke with liftoff, unconsciously curling her fingers about the stone she hadn’t yet realized she was holding. “Ohhh,” she whispered at discovering the glowing crimson treasure in her hand. Soon as she felt the ship leveling off, she rose and turned for the helm, never taking her eyes off the stone.

“We should hit Port New America in about two hours,” Nick said without glancing up. “Then I intend to put this baby into space as fast as possible.”

Tressa quietly padded toward the passenger’s seat. “Nick?”

“Hmmm?”

“Did you give this to me?”

“What? Oh, that . . . Yeah.” He hated moments like this. Hated, number one, having to admit that an apology might be in order. Number two, hated making a big deal out of it. And three, as far as apologies were concerned, this was about as far as it was going. If she was looking for a speech, she was out of luck.

“It’s beautiful,” she breathed, settling into the passenger’s seat behind him. “Thank you.”

Nick completed the process of turning control over to the main computer; then, swiveling about to face her, he patted his pockets for one of his thin cigars.

“You’re welcome.” He watched her intently as she scrutinized the stone in her hand.

“What is it?”

“The slang term is sympathy stone. Supposedly, it changes colors with your mood.”

“Really?” Her eyes sparkled. “And why does it pulse like that?”

“I imagine from energy trapped inside.” He paused to light the cigar, expelling smoke toward the ceiling. “But why it changes color is beyond me. I’m sure there’s a logical explanation.”

“Would it change to a different color if someone else were to hold it?” she asked, looking at him in anticipation. Before he could respond, Tressa was out of her seat. “I want to see what happens when you hold it,” she said excitedly, pressing the stone into his hand.

Nick shoved the cigar in his mouth as Tressa’s small hands molded his fingers around the stone.

“There. Now what do we do, count to ten or something?”

“I’m not sure,” he said softly, suppressing an unexpected reaction to her innocent touch. “You’re the one calling the shots.”

“All right then. Ten it is.” With that, Tressa began slowly counting. “One . . .two . . . three . . . ”

With his cigar still firmly clamped between his teeth, Nick winced against the up-trail of smoke as he held eye contact with Tressa. She was so engrossed in her experiment that he doubted she even realized she was still tightly clasping her hands over his fist as she counted.

Maybe she wasn’t aware, but he sure as hell’s blazes was. So much so in fact, the effect was playing total havoc with his wall of immunity. As it was, he was hard pressed to keep from pulling her into his arms and running an experiment or two of his own. Nevertheless, her enthusiasm was contagious; Nick found himself surprisingly curious as to just what color the stone would be when he opened his hand.

“Ten!” Her voice broke into his thoughts. “Okay, now quick, open your hand.”

He could tell she was holding her breath as he teased her with deliberate slowness, peeling open his fingers one at a time.

“Ohhh . . . Nick!” she gasped before he had even completed the process. “Why, just look at it! It’s . . . emerald!”

He released a cloud of smoke toward the ceiling. “Hmmm, I wonder what that means?” he drawled, failing to keep the smirk off his face and his mind out of the gutter. He placed the stone back into Tressa’s small hand and leaned back in the pilot’s seat, watching her, totally mesmerized by her excitement.

With fixed fascination, Tressa held her palm open. “Watch,” she said as the stone, by degrees, gradually changed back to crimson again.

After a while Nick rose to his feet and stretched boisterously. “I don’t know about you, Irish, but this has been a long day. I’m going to bunk out for a little while before we reach the next port.” With that, he headed for the sleeping area and dropped into the lower bunk.

Clasping his hands behind his head, Nick lay there watching Tressa work with the stone. Her mass of rich brown hair, danced with mahogany highlights as she sat beneath a high-intensity reading beam. She looked very young and soft curled up in the seat, and Nick drank in the sight of her.

That’s right, pal, a silent voice cautioned. Young, soft and far too innocent.

Regardless, it didn’t take much on the part of his imagination to once again envision her shapely feminine curves beneath the soft fabric of her jumpsuit. Before he knew it, he had taken it one step farther—imagining just how perfect those curves would feel lying beneath him.

Ten seconds of creative fantasy was all it took; Nick was acutely aware of his body’s predictable response. With an inward groan and a tiny measure of self-disgust he rolled over onto his stomach and willed himself to concentrate on something other than Tressa. Geez. Loring’s daughter.

Tressa could feel his eyes on her and it was making her uncomfortable. At last sliding the stone into her pocket, she rose from her seat and quietly made her way past the bunks and into the galley.

Okay, this is day one, she mentally told herself. Nine more days to get to Shaiel and ten to get back. Brooding over her present predicament, she filled a tall mug with ice-cold water and stirred in a spoonful of crystals. Testing it with a sip, she turned to survey the small galley once again. A number of log sheets lay strewn across the table where Nick had left them. Two overflowing ashtrays were shoved up against the wall, along with a half-filled mug of coffee that looked like it had been there a while. With another sip of her tea, she set her mug down and began gathering up the few dirty dishes. Might as well make herself useful.

An hour had passed before Tressa quietly made her way out of the galley. She’d cleaned and tidied up things, finished her tea and browsed through a magazine. Taking her seat, she slipped off her shoes and drew her feet up beneath her. Hundreds of gauges, switches, and winking lights spanned the width of the cockpit. More dotted the ceiling above the pilot’s seat. Suddenly a soft chime sounded and Tressa felt the ship alter course—obviously on autopilot while the captain slept.

She was just contemplating how anyone could ever remember which buttons to press, when a low moan drew her attention.

Nick was on his side, turned toward the bulkhead. For a long moment, she simply sat there observing him, watching his body flinch as a tremor shot through him. Again he moaned.

So subtle, so faint were the sensations, Tressa barely noticed them sweeping through her, let alone the fact that they were synchronized with the tremors racking Nick’s body.

Another deep groan and the decision was quick. Rising from her seat, she approached him, driven to release him from whatever hellish war he was fighting within.

“Nick?” she called softly, “Wake up.” She gently touched his shoulder. “You’re having a—” Carole Ann Lee

CHAPTER FIVE

Nick flew off the bunk so fast Tressa never saw it coming. With a muscular twist that wrung a gasp from her lips, he brought her tumbling down beneath him in one agile movement. One hard knee drove the air from her lungs as something very cold and solid was pressed firmly against her temple.

She froze, hardly able to draw a breath.

Another agonizing second passed before Nick’s eyes finally blinked in recognition.

“Get! Off! Me!” She uttered each word on a separate gasp.

With a muttered oath, Nick levered himself up just enough to take the bulk of his weight off of her. “What the hell are you trying to do?”

No apologies. No regard or concern.

Still without fully removing himself, he leaned forward to return the weapon to his utility belt. She didn’t even want to speculate on how he’d gotten that into his hand so fast.

At last he eased off her completely and stood up. “What were you doing anyway?” he asked with a little less volume.

“You were—having a nightmare.” Ignoring his offered hand, she sat up.

Silence lingered between them. Time seemed suspended as his sapphire eyes observed her with such intensity that it brought a deep flush to her already heated cheeks. It was bad enough that his gaze was focused on her mouth, but sensing his barely leashed passion is what unnerved her more than anything.

A moment passed before he finally answered, “I get them now and then. They’re a souvenir from a nice little place called Steel.”

Tressa hid her trembling hands in the folds of her jumpsuit. “Nick, you don’t have to suffer with horrible dreams like that. There are things you can take to . . . ”

“Yeah, well they don’t work for me.”

“Then you haven’t tried Steton-3,” she persisted. “It’s what they use in the hospitals when the miners suffer from digger’s fever.”

“I’ve tried them all, Tressa. The only thing that works is getting good and drunk.”

“Well, I would hardly consider that a solution.”

His grin sent her heart pounding with a force that almost made her sick.

He raked a hand through his hair. “You all right?” His tone had definitely softened.

“I’m fine.” Rising to her feet, she struggled to adjust her outfit. “I simply wanted to wake you, that’s all.”

He made his way forward into the cockpit. “Sorry about jumping you like that.”

“I’m okay.” Yeah, maybe this time, but what about the next.

Eyeing the console, he searched his pockets, found one of his smokes, bent his head and lit up. Tressa watched as he leaned a forearm against the soffet of the cockpit and studied the control panel in silence.

Her heart still pounding, she came forward, as he worked the controls. As always, he radiated a sensuality that drew her like a moth to the flame. And now, the intimate memory of his weight pressing her down, the intensity of his heated gaze brought back all the butterflies—all the old feelings she had worked so hard over the years to bury.

Sending a lazy stream of smoke to the ceiling, Nick reached down and depressed a red-lit indicator, watching as the light turned green. Next he dropped into the command seat, shifting his gaze to the vidscreen. “Tressa,” he said, never taking his eyes from the controls, “plan to strap in before long. We’ll be hitting dirt in about twenty minutes.”

Tressa had no sooner taken her seat when a crack of static snapped out over the speaker. Nick engaged the vidcom, revealing the face of a very pretty blonde. With cool formality she began providing not only verbal clearance and landing coordinates, but current temperature, weather conditions, and docking assignment. Once the essentials had been routinely dispatched, the interaction became more personal.

“Nick, darling, you’re early—or did I misunderstand? I could have sworn you said you’d be in tomorrow.”

Tressa’s undivided attention was instantly glued to the vidscreen. Blonde, blue-eyed. The young woman was classically beautiful and obviously knew Nick Banner well. Even intimately, she surmised, ignoring the stirrings of jealousy over the idea.

Half grinning, Nick expelled another stream of smoke. “Lissa . . . ” he began, “you’re not going to like this—”

“Don’t tell me. Let me guess. You’re not staying. Right?” Her expression was staid, despite the cynicism.

Tressa listened as Nick effortlessly offered a quick and none-too-detailed explanation for the sudden change in plans. And though clearly disappointed, Lissa appeared to take it all in stride. It obviously wasn’t the first time he had pulled this sort of thing on her.

Within moments the Victorious began gently banking to the left. As Nick reversed the thrusters, Tressa turned toward the small window, watching as the ground slowly rose up to meet them.

The ship’s landing beams flooded the area, offering a glimpse of the port as Nick hovered the Victorious mere inches off the surface toward their assigned docking bay. Cupping her face to the glass, she pressed closer, taking in the sights.

Similar to Port Ireland, Port New America contained a wide variety of ships ranging from very large interplanetary freighters to small private jobbies, with everything in between. The spaceport consisted of individual landing zones—-dozens of them, each defined by a large circle of float beams.

Rooster tails of dust, stirred up by the thrusters, coiled about them as the Victorious slowly progressed toward its designated L.Z. At last feathering the thrusters, he lowered the ship onto the deck with a gentle thump.

Tressa watched as he ran through the final steps of securing the ship. Finally he rose to his feet and began instructing Tressa on such things as surveillance cameras, proximity alarms, and once again warning her not to open the main lock to anyone. He concluded also by reminding her not to touch anything in the cockpit.

Having once again secured the gun on his thigh, Nick double checked a couple of papers.

Folding them back up, he stuffed them inside his jacket and turned for the main hatch. “Uh, Tressa,” he said, turning to face her, “about—what happened back there—you sure you’re okay?”

It was an unexpected moment of concern she hadn’t expected. “Yes, I’m sure,” she said rising from her seat.

Nick’s eyes swept over her. “I’ll hurry. It shouldn’t take as long this time.” He turned and palmed the lock, the main hatch cycling closed behind him.

Tressa watched him on the monitor until he was out of sight. At last drawing in a long, shuddering breath, she closed her eyes and tried not to think about the feelings stirring to life inside. More than that, she struggled to deny the desire that had shot through her as she lay pinned beneath him.

Reaching into her pocket, she withdrew the stone he had given her. It pulsed in her palm as she settled into the passenger’s seat.

A half hour had passed before a soft chime drew her attention. It was the proximity alarm announcing an intrusion into the ship’s security parameter. Glancing up at the control panel, Tressa’s attention was drawn to the flashing red indicator. Her eyes shifted to the monitor. But instead of seeing Nick, as she had hoped, four shadowy figures emerged on the screen. The scanner was equipped with night vision, yet it was hard to decipher just what was happening outside.

A surge of panic sliced through her when another alarm sounded. This one different, louder and more insistent. At the same time another red light snapped to life on the control panel, and a glance at the monitor confirmed her worst fear. Someone was tampering with the main hatch.

By now Tressa’s senses were on full alert as she recalled Nick’s stern orders: “Don’t open the main lock for anyone!”

Frowning, she leaned forward, studying the monitor. Clearly seeing a man’s face, she shrank back when she saw the long jagged scar that slashed across the left side of his face.

Trouble! Anxiously, Tressa’s eyes flew across the instrument panel, searching for some way to warn Nick before he returned. If only she were more knowledgeable about the ship.

Her eyes locked onto a toggle switch with the words “Landing Beams” inscribed above it. Turning them on might scare the men away as well as warn Nick. But then, another pad marked “Security” caught her eye. There were three positions of use; Off, Manual and Automatic. Presently, it was resting in the off position.

Security. Was it some sort of siren or warning device, she wondered? Nervously Tressa reached out, fingers hovering above the pad as she contemplated engaging it.

“Don’t touch anything up here in the cockpit.”

Catching her lower lip between her teeth, she slowly withdrew her hand and sunk back into the pilot’s seat, her eyes fixed on the monitor as she made the decision to wait. ** *

From the opposite side of the landing field, the landcraft glided to a halt. Sliding his credit disk past the scanner, Nick paid the fare and stepped out. The Victorious sat beneath a heavy shadow. Increasing clouds now hid Terra Four’s twin moons, darkening the field. He noticed that two other ships had docked nearby during the time he had been gone. Scanning the field, he quickened his stride and hurried toward his ship. It was probably nothing, but he couldn’t seem to shake a growing feeling of apprehension.

Ahead, against the shapeless patterns of darkness and reflected floodlight, a silhouette moved near the Victorious. Nick fixed his sights on that spot and waited. The shadow moved again.

Quickly working his way around the area, he moved-in directly behind his target, silently withdrawing a thin wire garrote from his utility belt as he moved.

Remaining motionless, he pressed-in tightly against a stack of freight pallets and quietly waited, twisting the ends of the metal strands around each hand.

Suddenly Nick shoved off. Swiftly reaching the man in one lithe movement, he slipped the wire over the victim’s head and tightened it with a twist of his wrist.

The man struggled, reaching up to grab at the contracting device. But Nick kept the wire tight. A knife slipped from the man’s hand in the process, hitting the surface with a reverberating clang.

“All right,” Nick growled, his voice low and deceivingly calm. “Who are you?” He released the garrote just enough to barely allow his victim to reply.

The man shook his head in negation. Nick again twisted the device. “What are you doing here? Who sent you?”

Nick jerked the man’s head around and noted the terror in his eyes. Leaning closer, his face only inches from the strangers, he continued his interrogation. “I’m not asking you ag—”

Muscular arms suddenly grabbed Nick from behind. Struggling to free himself, the wire slipped from his hands. From the scraping of footsteps, there were others involved. At least two, maybe three.

** *

Inside the Victorious, the alarms were still sounding. Faithfully remaining at her vigil, Tressa noticed a flurry of movement on the screen, but it was hard to see more than rough outlines of figures.

Frantically studying the instrument panel, she noticed a small control lever located near the bottom of the monitor. From the marked positions of X50, X100, X200, X300, she felt certain it was some sort of magnification device.

Up until this point she had followed Nick’s orders and touched nothing, but her interest in the magnification device was rising.

One of the moons slipped out from behind the cloud cover, flooding the landing field in soft light. Tressa’s eyes searched the screen with desperation. The moonlight not only made it easier to see what was happening, it confirmed her fear—there was a brawl going on out there.

Searching for Nick’s tall, distinctive form, she anxiously studied the screen. But it was impossible to distinguish him from the others.

Finally, in a rush of panic, Tressa forcefully pushed his explicit orders to the back of her mind. Without reservation she reached out and slid the control lever to X50. The screen wavered for just a moment, then refocused with a magnified version of the image. What had been overshadowed and confusing before, suddenly became clear and precise. Immediately she caught sight of Nick. He was struggling against two men who were in the process of locking his arms behind his back.

Tressa gasped. Again her eyes rapidly flashed to the command console, searching for some means to interfere as a third man, rubbing his throat, staggered to his feet and aggressively advanced toward Nick. Lunging out with a booted kick to the groin, Nick sent him sprawling to the ground. Unable to break free, however, he remained defenseless as an enormous fourth man appeared on the scene.

She watched in horror as this over-muscled giant came forward and without hesitation delivered two sharp, crippling blows to Nick’s midsection.

“Nooo.” Tressa let out a distressed cry as Nick buckled and sank against his captors. Without second thought her hands flashed to the security system she had noticed earlier. She selected the pad labeled Manual and pressed.

Nothing could have prepared her for what happened the moment the system engaged. What she had taken for an alarm, turned out to be much, much more. She was instantly immobilized, every nerve ending ablaze as if her entire body had suddenly been torched. Never had she known such agony.

CHAPTER SIX

Suddenly released from his captors, Nick hit the deck facedown, hard. For a brief moment he simply lay against the cool surface of the landing zone, expecting at any moment to be jerked to his feet and exposed to a fresh tide of raw pain. When it didn’t happen, he began gathering his dazed senses. His belly ached, he felt nauseous and it hurt just to breathe.

It didn’t take more than a moment, however, to decide it was pay back time.

And that meant getting up.

Feeling as though he had just been kicked in the gut by a pakagodian, Nick painfully rose to his knees. From there he staggered to his feet, stifling a groan against the searing pain that gripped his rib cage.

Bracing his palms upon his knees, he fixed his attention on the simple act of dragging air into his deprived lungs and the excruciating pain that went with it.

But it was the realization that his assailants were lying on the ground that forced his muddled brain into action. Nick straightened, frowning as he looked around. Collapsed about him were the limp, weakened bodies of the four men who, moments ago, had overpowered him. Now they lay sprawled about, faces contorted in anguish and moaning incoherently.

“What the—Oh shit!” he whispered. Instantly his eyes flew to the Victorious. The RIPPER! Yet the ship sat quietly in the shadows, looking peacefully harmless, serenely innocent of the agony and disorder going on around him.

Breaking into a run, Nick snatched his remote from a pocket and quickly punched into the ship’s main comp. Instantly a tiny green light passively confirmed his worst fear, THE RIPPER had indeed been engaged. With a muttered curse he quickly punched in a sequence of numbers, canceling the unique defense system. Dear God, he didn’t even want to think about what he would find once he got on board.

Quickly releasing the ship’s seal on the main hatch, he charged through the entry. The chorus of proximity alarms were still blaring their loud cadence as Nick’s gaze frantically swept the cabin in search of Tressa’s unconscious form.

He checked the bunk area first. Then, turning to face the cockpit, he discovered her slumped body on the floor in front of the pilot’s seat. “Tressa!” Uttering a string of oaths she mercifully never heard, he flew to her side.

** *

“Nick,” Tressa moaned at hearing his voice. He sounded so far away, and he was shouting at her. Ohhh . . . she hurt.

“Tressa! Can you hear me, honey?”

She moaned again and it sounded almost foreign, as if it were someone else. He was at her side now. She could feel his light touch at her throat. She thanked God he was there. Nick. She wanted to say his name but couldn’t manage to form the word.

He was prying her hand open and muttering something about that damn sympathy stone.

Another moan escaped. Why did she hurt so bad?

“What the hell were you doing?” he shouted, leaving her to wonder why he was so angry.

And then she felt herself being lifted up and carried as though she were a child. He smelled so . . . good. Every sensation was so oddly acute—touch. Smell. Hearing, even her perception of colors. She felt the coolness of a pillow against her heated cheek as she settled onto the bunk. Even in her stunned condition, Tressa knew instinctively it was his pillow, his bunk.

Tressa, can you hear me?” Another involuntary moan burst through her wall of oblivion.

“Dear God, Tressa, what the devil were you doing up here in the cockpit,” he ranted. “This is exactly why I told you not to touch anything.”

She felt his cool hand on her face. Every nerve ending was still ablaze, even the slightest touch was felt with exaggeration. She tried opening her eyes, but couldn’t make her body obey even the smallest command. Another try and this time her lids fluttered open to meet Nick’s deep sapphire gaze.

“Tress! Can you hear me? It’s all right, honey. You’re safe now. It’s over.”

Tressa squeezed her eyes shut again. “Nick—” her voice was little more than a broken whimper, “will—you please stop—shouting.”

Through slitted eyes she watched a grin spread across his face. “Tressa,” he said more tenderly this time. “It’s all over.”

“You already . . . said that.”

She heard him chuckle. “Yeah, I guess I did.”

“Two or three times already,” she whispered. Opening her eyes further, she struggled to focus on his tormented face. Finally, she locked-on. “Those men . . . ” her whispered voice trailed off as she winced against the pain. “Had to do . . . something.”

“Shhh. Close you’re eyes, babe. We can talk later.”

In agony, she closed her eyes only to have them pop open again. “Nick—”

“Shhh.”

“But—”

“Later, Tressa.”

But she wanted to tell him about those men. She felt him arranging a blanket over her. At least he wasn’t still shouting. Stars, she hurt all over.

He strode to the cockpit and deactivated the perimeter sensors, silencing the pulsing alarms inside the ship. Speculating about the men outside, he turned and headed for the main hatch. He could have sworn he recognized one of them.

“Tressa, I’ll be right back,” he said as the main hatch cycled open. Taking off across the landing field, Nick glided to a halt before the man he thought he recognized. With a nudge of his boot, he rolled the unconscious man onto his back.

Just as he thought, Lee Bryant, one of his ex-partner’s cronies. Dropping to one knee, Nick rapidly searched through Bryant’s pockets, hoping for some clue as to what they were after. Checking the others in much the same manner, he found no hint of their motive. Except—Tressa. She had to be it. Especially since he wasn’t carrying anything of value in the hold. The why eluded him.

Within thirty minutes the Victorious lifted for the long voyage ahead. One more stop, then on to Acacia.

He should never have allowed Loring to talk him into this little escapade. It had not only interrupted his plans, it sure as hell had brought an abrupt end to his idea of peace. Dammit. He’d had his plans all mapped out and everything had been going smoothly.

What the hell did she think she was turning on, anyway? Nick’s anger gradually ebbed, giving way to compassion and a twinge of gratitude. He couldn’t remember a time when a woman had laid her life on the line for his sake. Without a doubt she had spared him a lot of pain and suffering, if not his life. He cringed at the agony that lay yet ahead for Tressa as a result of her heroics. Recovery was often as agonizing as the initial assault, and she still had a long way to go.

** * Six hours later Tressa awoke feeling as if her head was in a massive power vice. She couldn’t have prevented the moan that escaped her if she had tried. “So, you’re finally coming out of it. Just lie still and I’ll get you something for the pain,” came a familiar voice from somewhere nearby. Wincing against the agony, Tressa moaned again and opened her eyes, only to squeeze them shut. Her whole body throbbed, especially her head. Even the ends of her hair felt on fire. “This will knock you out again,” Nick said as he returned to her side. “I hate doing this to you honey, but at this point, escape is the only way to beat it.” With that Tressa felt a firm grip on her upper left arm, followed by a strange tingling

sensation.

“I promise to do my best to help you through this, Tressa.”

“I’m sorry,” she gasped, closing her eyes.

“I know, baby.”

“But you told me not to touch—”

“Shhh.” Nick gently laid her arm back at her side. “Don’t try to talk. Just relax and allow the medication to do its work.” Tressa nodded, too weak to do anything else.

Feeling suddenly strange after a few moments, she slowly lifted her lashes to find herself staring directly into Nick Banner’s luminous blues.

Lowering her gaze, she emitted a sigh. “Sapphire . . . ” she breathed.

Nick knelt beside the bunk and took hold of her hand. “Shhh. Try to get some rest now.”

She blinked heavily. “How long,” she swallowed hard, “was I sleeping?”

Nick glanced down at the gold Rolex on his wrist. “About six hours.”

The watch had belonged to his great-great-grandfather and was technically an antique. As a boy, Nick had discovered it amid some of the family’s keepsakes. Though he had never voiced his interest in it, the watch was suddenly presented to him on his seventeenth birthday. Eventually he had modified it to accept his interplanetary lifestyle. And aside from a few scratches and countless face-crystal replacements, the watch sparkled like new and was still as dependable as it had been for his ancestor.

“Are we—in space yet?”

“Yes. Just a little over five hours out of port.”

“Ohhh . . . ” She turned her head as a single tear slipped from the corner of her eye.

“I know the hell you’re going through right now,” he said softly.

Tressa managed a weak smile and quickly blinked back another tear. “Had I only known the consequences, you might have remained at the mercy of those men.”

Nick offered a sympathetic grin. A long moment of silence passed as he continued to observe her closely. Under normal circumstances he knew exactly what to expect from the drug he had just given her. The trouble was, he had never seen it administered to a woman before. Having given her only half a dose, he wasn’t sure if half was enough or still too much. He waited for the effect to kick in. Shit, Loring would have his hide if he knew this.

Tressa suddenly emitted a soft giggle. She was peering at him with one eye closed. “There’s three of yew.” She frowned pensively. “Now why is there three of yew?”

Stifling yet another giggle she gave an unrefined snort. “It’s bad enough shust being locked in with one of yew. I don’t stand a rat’s shance in hell—oops!” She giggled again, slapping her hand to her mouth.

Nick couldn’t help the grin. Under different circumstances—

“Wanna know a s-s-secret?” she slurred, looking up at him dreamily.

He indulged her. “Sure Tressa.” The drug was definitely kicking in faster than he had anticipated, and with an interesting side effect.

Tressa started to rise up on her elbows but instantly fell backward onto the bunk in uncontrolled mirth. Her tousled dark auburn hair splayed across his pillow. Several locks fell across her forehead.

“Ohhh, I feel sooo funny.” With that she crooked her finger at him, and he dutifully bent his head.

“Ashually,” she began in a husky voice that was becoming more slurred by the minute, “this ishn’t s-s-so bad afferall. I could save yew again. Juss say when.”

Her eyes suddenly became hooded, and she smiled wistfully. “Do you know, Cap’n Banner ... Ssrrr, you have the sestiest . . . ” She frowned and tried again. “seshe-est . . . ” Tressa closed her eyes and chuckled. “Sex-ti-est,” she slowly pronounced… “safar eyes I ever met?” Her profound statement was followed by a distinct hiccough that promptly sent her into another round of boisterous, unladylike laughter.

With one eyebrow raised, Nick listened with undivided interest as Tressa continued to ramble on about his physical attributes—mumbling more to herself than him. “Ya juss can’t imagine what those eyes do to me. And that smile . . . Stars, when ya smile, my lil’ heart skips so many beats that I . . . ” Yawning, she left the sentence hanging and settled back against the mattress.

For the moment he thought she had fallen asleep; then her eyes lifted slowly, silently searching his features. “And yer hair, too.” She lifted her hand, touching his dark hair with her fingers. “It feels s-so s-silky and s-soft, juss like it looks.

“And when ya talk,” she purred, sliding her hand down his cheek and grazing a finger across his lips, “yer voice—it sounds like velvet and—and steel all swirred t’gether.”

Tressa’s voice was laden with desire, and Nick was sure she didn’t have the vaguest idea of what she was saying. Unbidden as it was, it was a definite turn-on. He swore softly. The thoughts he was entertaining at the moment would shock her sober. Damn, he shouldn’t have agreed to do this.

“ . . . and that body, that gorgeous muscled body—all bronze like a s-sun god—long legs poured into shnug-fittin’ black trousers, huggin’ every curve . . . and muscle.” Tressa paused, as though a wave of sleepiness had swept over her. “Leaves nothin’ . . . ” Again she yawned, finishing her sentence in the middle of it, “…to the imashinashin.”

Nick frowned at her last comment, mumbling beneath his breath as he glanced down at himself. What the hell did she mean by that?

A long moment of silence passed before Tressa made another effort to rise. Making it only as far as her elbows, her heavy lashes lifted seductively and she stared up at him with pure longing. “Did I ever tell ya, yer eyes—they’re like safars?”

“Yes,” he answered tightly.

Tressa blinked heavily. “I did? Ohhhh.”

Again jerking his fingers through his hair, Nick was beginning to wonder if he was going to survive this experience. At this rate, he strongly doubted it. What he wouldn’t give right now to get his hands on Loring.

“Do ya wanna hear my shecret?” she cooed, nailing him with a look of unadulterated passion.

“No!” he ground out. Grasping her by the shoulders, Nick pushed gently until her elbows buckled and she fell back onto the bunk. “Tressa,” he began in a commanding voice that was beginning to sound hoarse, “I want you to lie back and stop talking. Besides, I doubt you’re going to want to remember any of this.”

Suddenly Tressa’s expression sobered. “Are—you mad?” Her slurred speech seemed to mock her sincerity. “I dint know what to do. There were four of ’em . . . ” She drew in a ragged breath, “and—and I couldn’t—“

“Hush. It’s over now. We can talk about it all later.” He brushed a lock of hair from her brow. “Let go, babe. Okay? Quit fighting the medication.” With that Tressa closed her eyes, succumbing to the drug and the deep timbre of Nick’s easy voice.

He remained at her side until he was sure she was asleep. At last rising up off his haunches, he felt the unfamiliar yet unmistakable sensation of heated cheeks. He had never considered himself a modest man, and had never known a time when a woman had made him flush— including his first. Just why he had found Tressa’s appraisal so damned embarrassing, eluded him. Anyone else but her and he would have no problem proving himself worthy of her praise. But with Tressa it was different. For one, he couldn’t respond—period. She was off limits. And two, under the circumstances it would be major advantage-taking. Even for the likes of him.

He just hoped she didn’t remember any of this. It was bad enough that he would.

Snug-fitting trousers that left nothing to the imagination. Hell, he had been in one continual state of semi-arousal from the moment she had first set foot aboard the ship.

For a mere half second he contemplated changing into a pair of old baggy sweats, but on second thought, he immediately blackballed the idea. There were only two ways to look at it: She either liked snug pants, or she didn’t. If she did, why change? And if she didn’t, Too bad.

** *

“Help—please—somebody?” From behind a row of stacked shipping crates a mixture of soft groans and pain-filled pleas drew the attention of a passing Port America security guard. Within minutes, three angry men whose inert bodies had been securely bound together were released.

“Hansen dead!” one of them announced as he knelt before Jess Hansen’s lifeless body. In reality, they were lucky they weren’t all dead. Instead, suffering excruciating headaches, they vowed their relentless determination to find Banner.

An hour later three men entered the local port bar, feeling and looking only slightly better than when they’d first been rescued. They’d stopped at a medical treatment facility, but it did little good. The medication they’d received didn’t begin to compare with what Nick had given Tressa. But then, neither the RIPPER nor Nick’s medication were exactly legal.

CHAPTER SEVEN

Sam DeVries stepped through the door first. He was the big man who’d bruised Nick’s ribs. “I’m through playing games. Now it’s personal,” he said, wincing against a stab of pain.

Lee Bryant was right behind DeVries. “I don’t know how the hell he did it, but when I find him—”

“I tell ya, he’s on his way to Acacia,” James Catlin cut in. “If he’s got the girl, I’ll lay you odds that’s where he’s headed.”

“He’s got one more stop,” Bryant interjected, “and I say we put a tracer onboard. There’ll be no guessing, just easy following.” He shrank against another agonizing stab of pain.

DeVries made his way to the bar, ordered a cold drink, then turned to Bryant. “And I know just who to contact to get a tracer onboard. If Banner wants to play rough,” he said reaching for his ale, “then rough it will be!”

Mat Kelly sat alone at a corner table, silently observing the haggard trio as they began making plans. “I hate to interrupt your party, girls—but would one of you mind telling me where you’ve been? You were to be back here two hours ago. And furthermore, where’s the girl?”

A moment of silence followed as DeVries took a large gulping swallow of brew. Turning to face Kelly, he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “Hansen’s dead,” he said, as if discussing the weather, but his grim look belied his casual tone.

Catlin took over from there. “Never had a chance,” he began, explaining to the best of his ability what had happened.

Kelly’s eyes narrowed. “Run that by me again. You’re saying I sent four men to come back with one little girl and instead they find themselves tied up behind a stack of shipping crates, and one of them is dead? I don’t like sloppy work. You want to know why?” he continued. “Sloppy work leads to trails, and trails lead to me and my employer.”

Bryant crossed the room with predatory swiftness. “You wait just a minute,” he growled, slamming his mug of ale down onto the table. “Nobody told us we’d be dealing with some kind of stunning device!” He gritted his teeth against another stab of pain. “We’ll get the girl. Our way! And in the meantime, Banner’s going to regret the day he was born.”

Kelly rose to his feet, meeting Bryant eye to eye. “What you do with Banner is your business—after you get the girl.” ** * The cabin lights had been dimmed. Slowly reality eased its way back to Tressa in small doses as she recognized the cockpit of the Victorious.

Only the soft lighting from the control panel illuminated the cabin, casting muted reflections upon the ceiling. Other than the constant hum of the drives and the steady hiss of the ventilation, all was quiet. The last thing she remembered was intolerable pain. No, the last thing she remembered was…sapphire.

Shards of memory rose to the surface, only to vaporize into nothingness. It made her head hurt just trying to think.

Slowly testing her strength, she eased onto her side and glanced about the cabin. Nick appeared to be asleep in the command seat, his back to her, his head down and his long legs stretched out before him.

That’s when it hit her. She was in his bunk! Not her own. Humiliation and guilt washed over her. How long had she been there?

Swinging her legs over the edge, she eased herself into a sitting position and, from there, stood. The intense pain she remembered had dwindled to a dull throbbing.

Glancing at Nick again, she thought of waking him to give him back his bed, but quickly banished the notion. Not after the last time she had tried waking him. Once was enough. She would live with the guilt of his stiff neck anytime over a repeat of that experience. Right now all she wanted was to stand beneath the soothing hot spray of a shower. Quietly withdrawing one of her travel pacs from beneath the bunk, Tressa quietly padded barefooted to the lav.

Having to lay the seat back down on the commode served as yet another reminder of the intimacies of sharing tight quarters. With every turn she was becoming more aware of this man and his domain.

Tressa was working at the delicate buttons of her jumpsuit when his pointed warning hit her. Given the lack of privacy in general around here, along with my lack of modesty, I’d say we have a potential problem. Tressa remembered his words with precise clarity. There was a wealth of possibilities in that statement alone, and it left little doubt as to how he managed in the tiny lav. He probably left the privacy panel open, or something equally insufferable.

Standing in nothing more than her panties, Tressa eyed the spigot warily, wondering what magic it would take to get it working. Within seconds she had it figured out and was stepping out of her remaining under things and into the shower. She luxuriated beneath the soothing warmth of the spray before finally reaching for her cleanser, its heady fragrance adding to the bliss.

After rinsing, Tressa pressed another pad and warm jets of air shot at her from all directions, blow drying her entire body and hair in a matter of minutes.

At last quickly dressing in an ivory-colored shift, she emerged from the lav. A glance toward the cockpit told her that Nick had changed positions, yet still appeared to be sleeping. Silently padding across to the galley, she took a seat on the small lounge in front of the observation window. There, clasping her arms about her legs, she drew her knees up beneath her chin and let her mind reflect on the events of the past two days—in particular, this disturbing fascination over Nick Banner.

Having long denied that she might be the type that was drawn to dangerous men, Tressa thought she had out-grown her girlish attraction to him. But there was just no getting around it; the mere thought of him put butterflies in her stomach.

Between his distinctive, rich voice and his luminous blue eyes, there was no denying he was handsome enough to charm and literally take any woman he desired.

And he was just unscrupulous enough to do so, she quickly reminded herself.

One thing for sure, the girls at LorTech, with their batting eyelashes, were living proof of the intoxicating effect he always seemed to have on the fairer sex. As far as she was concerned, they made total fools of themselves whenever Nick was waiting for a consignment to be processed.

But what tormented her more than anything was the clouded memory of making a fool of herself. Had she actually said those things to Nick—or was it a dream? Her memory, though foggy, was enough to cause an unwelcome blush to heat her cheeks.

Searching for answers, Tressa tried to remember the events that had occurred after Nick had left the ship. The proximity alarm, the men outside, the magnification device. And when she saw Nick in trouble she remembered reaching for the touch pad on the defense system.

And then . . . excruciating pain.

Her memory after that was aimless and jumbled. She vaguely recalled Nick at her side, hearing his voice but remembering nothing of what was said. Fragments seemed to drift up to tease her, only to disappear again.

But the word sapphire surfaced several times, and each time she pushed the memory away. Surely she hadn’t said such things to him.

“Beautiful, isn’t it?” It was a smokey, velvet-edged voice that jolted her from her thoughts. The same voice that only moments ago she’d decided had the natural ability to melt even the most frigid barriers of resistance.

Tressa turned to see the very subject of her thoughts lounging in the doorway as though he had been standing there for a while. Her traitorous pulse leapt at the sight of him.

“Yes, it’s incredible! I don’t think I could ever tire of such a view.”

“Nor I.” His jaw was darkened by a couple of days’ growth and he’d obviously just run his hand through his hair. She felt a sting of remorse at the look of deep tiredness in his eyes and wondered how much sleep he’d actually lost. Obviously he’d not only slept in the command seat, but in the same clothes he’d been wearing.

That brought on another disturbing thought. Returning her eyes to the viewport, Tressa tried blocking out the memory of something about snug-fitting . . . Dear God, had she actually said that to him?

Feeling his eyes on her, Tressa knew she didn’t dare turn to face what she knew would be a lazy smile—or was it a knowing smile? It didn’t matter though, for he crossed the room and sat down next to her on the lounge.

Seeing the gleam of interest in his eyes, it was obvious he had noticed her flushed cheeks.

“So, how’s the noggin?”

“Much better. Thank you.” Tressa hid behind a warm smile of forced composure, but it was the way he gazed at her that made her breath catch.

“Good. You gave me a scare for awhile, you know that?” Adjusting his posture, Nick suddenly sobered and froze. There was little doubt but that he was nursing badly bruised, if not fractured ribs.

“And how about you?” she asked, “I saw what those men did to you.”

Nick shrugged. “I’ve crawled away from worse.”

She just bet he had, too. Though there was a barely leashed wildness about Nick Banner, what confused her was the compassion she sensed just beneath that rough exterior.

A long moment of silence passed before Nick finally spoke again. “Do you have a problem following directions, Tressa, or did I not make myself clear?”

She swallowed. “You did, but I—”

“But nothing! You could have been killed by that device you engaged. In fact, that’s exactly how I expected to find you.”

Her head jerked up at the impact of his words.

“Seriously,” he went on. “Some people don’t live through the effects of the RIPPER.”

“Ripper? “ What in stars was a ripper, she wondered. “But… I thought I was turning on an alarm. I wanted to scare those men away and stop them from beating you.”

“But it turned out to be much more than an alarm, didn’t it? You zapped literally everyone, yourself included, within a designated radius of the ship. Thank God no one else was caught up in that little fiasco.”

Tressa’s eyes widened. “ . . . I may have killed someone?”

Nick gave a snort. “Everyone was still breathing when I last saw them—not that I give a damn.”

Tressa frowned. “I wonder what they wanted?”

“Hard telling. You sort of took care of them before I had a chance to ask.”

“I know you said not to touch anything, but I had—”

“You’re damn right I did. More than once. But we can discuss walking the plank later. In the meantime, do you think you can eat something?”

She shook her head. “Thanks, but no.”

Nick nodded knowingly. “I’ve got just the thing for that. You wait right here.” Gingerly rising to his feet, he headed for the tiny kitchenette along the aft wall.

Tressa wasn’t fooled for an instant. It was obvious he was covering pain. She had seen the blows he’d taken, and she’d silently been observing him ever since the first time his voice caught in the middle of a sentence. He was trying hard to cover it, but she’d noticed each time he fought a grimace, and heard each time his breath hissed softly.

Tressa was also perceptive enough to know that her concern would neither be welcome nor appreciated.

“Nick?”

“Yeah?”

“I have a question.”

“Fire away,” he said, taking a small container from the shelf.

Tressa hesitated. What she really wanted to ask is “What’s walking the plank?”

She had been curious about it ever since he had made the comment about discussing it later. However, half afraid to ask, she proceeded onto her next question. “Well—since you were knocked unconscious by that—ripper thing, I was just wondering how you were able to turn it off?”

He smiled. “I never said I was knocked unconscious.” He began stirring two spoonfuls of crystals from the container into a mug of hot water.

“You weren’t?” She twisted around to stare at him. “How come? I mean—”

“Simple. I’m protected against its effects.” He filled a second cup with coffee.

“Oh…” She wanted to ask why and how, and a few other questions that were buzzing around in her mind right now. But before she could launch her next question Nick returned to her side and handed her one of the mugs. It was filled with something orange.

“What’s this?” she asked, wrinkling her nose as she sniffed at the rising steam.

“Don’t ask. Just drink it—all of it.” He set his own steaming mug of coffee down. “I tried not to make it too hot, so you should be able to drink it in a couple of gulps.”

Tressa eyed him warily. “This isn’t going to make me drunk again, is it? Cause if it is, I’m not drinking it.”

Nick stared at her, then burst out laughing. “No Tressa, I promise it won’t make you spaced. Just drink it.”

She wasn’t at all sure she liked his laugh. Truth was, she didn’t even want to explore the possibilities of what he had suddenly found so entertaining.

Making a grimace, she hesitantly took a tiny sip, “Ugh! This is supposed to make me feel better?”

“Quit stallin’, Irish. Just drink it. Plug your nose if you have to.”

“But this is going to—”

Taking the cup from her hands, he raised it to her lips. “Now drink.” The directive brooked no argument. “All of it,” he added, “not just a couple of sips.”

She took a healthy swallow.

“More. Trust me, it will help with the nausea.”

With a sigh of resignation, she tossed the vile brew down her throat. “Now I am going to be sick.”

Nick grinned. “In that case,” he said with a nod toward the doorway, “the head’s just across the way.”

Tressa cast him a baleful eye. “You’re finding this all quite amusing, aren’t you?”

The grin disappeared. “To the contrary, I find no amusement in this at all. It was a dangerous lesson on the importance of following instructions.”

He brushed her cheek with the back of his knuckles; then, with an exhausted sigh, he stood and walked to the viewport. At last, he bent his head and lit up a thin cigar, releasing a stream of smoke into the air.

Tressa sat rigidly quiet, staring at his wide back. “So…what’s the plank?

“The what?” He turned to face her.

She cleared her throat. “The plank. You said we’d discuss walking the plank later.” She had absolutely no idea what a plank was, but she already knew that whatever it was, she wasn’t walking it.

“Ah, yes—the plank,” he said, grinning down at her. Shaking his head, he added, “Never a dull moment with you around, is there, Irish?”

“What do you mean?”

“Simply that you sure have a way of taking the doldrums out of a routine cargo run.”

”Tressa folded her arms and, after a few moments of silence, attacked the question again. “Well . . . ?” she asked, too preoccupied to notice that her queasiness was all but gone.

“Well, what?”

“The plank!” she repeated sharply. “Whatever it is, if you think I’m walking it, you’re wrong.”

Nailing her with his gaze, Nick took a slow drag from his cigarette, inhaling deeply. “Well Irish, that depends entirely upon you,” he answered with staid calmness, smoke escaping with his words.

His bold steady stare was unnerving, yet Tressa thought she saw his mouth quirk. “In other words, you’re not going to try to make—”

“Not unless you think I should.”

She was sure, this time, that she saw his mouth twitch, and her back stiffened. His eyes were glittering with suppressed laughter. Though she wanted to be mad at him, just recalling a few of her conjured-up scenarios of punishment brought forth a smile she couldn’t hold back. Within moments, resentment had given away to infectious laughter.

Nick regarded her with amusement at first; then his low, throaty laughter joined hers. “I take it you’re feeling better?”

“I am.” She had needed a few brief moments of diversion to keep her from tossing up the vile mixture he had made her drink. It was a moment of interference he had been most willing to provide.

“Swamp rat,” she whispered beneath her breath.

He shot her a sharp glare. “What was that?”

“Nothing.” She laughed, noting the amusement still lurking in his fire-blue eyes.

That amusement, however, soon faded. “Do you know what I do with insubordinate crew members, Tressa?” There was a soft huskiness in his tone now, and this exciting new twist sent a shiver down her spine. She was playing with something dangerous and a small part of her found it exciting.

“Of course I do. You make them walk the plank.” She stifled her laughter and waited for his rejoinder, finding the playful sparring intriguing.

“Ah, but that’s only the beginning, Irish,” he advised softly, watching her through narrowed eyes as he drew once again on his thin cigar.

CHAPTER EIGHT

Tressa found his arrogance enticing—the silken thread of warning in his voice, captivating. Like a moth to the flame, she was drawn. “Oh, come now,” she teased, urging him on, “surely it can’t get much worse than walking the plank?”

“Somehow I don’t think you really want to know.”

“Yes, I do. Tell me,” she begged, pretending not to understand.

“Very well,” he said, returning to her side and sitting down. Tressa fought the urge to draw back when his leg pressed intimately along the length of hers.

Nick lowered his voice, being purposefully mysterious. “For minor violations,” he began softly, “I make them walk the plank first, then I truss ’em and toss ’em in the hold for three or four days,” he said with an air of cool detachment.

“Oh, that sounds perfectly awful. I suppose it’s very dark and scary in the hold?” She was barely able to keep from laughing.

“Very,” he said with quiet emphasis.

“And cold too?”

“Extremely.”

“And let me guess—you only give them water to drink and crumbs to eat. Right?”

“Not even that.” His tone remained cold and exact, but Tressa didn’t miss the amusement in his eyes.

“And that’s just for minor violations?”

“Yes, and if that isn’t enough, I have my own version of keel hauling.”

“Keel hauling?” She couldn’t imagine what that could be and wasn’t sure she wanted to ask.

Shaking her head in mock disbelief, Tressa released a heavy sigh. “And just when I was beginning to think that maybe you were a nice guy beneath that rough exterior.”

Nick hesitated, measuring her for a moment. “I never, ever once said anything about being a nice guy, Tressa, and you’d be smart to keep that in mind.”

A warning cloud settled on his features, the amusement gone from his eyes, as was the gentle camaraderie. And for an instant Tressa wasn’t sure if she had just been warned or threatened.

Either way, the playful game was over.

Nick reached for his mug of coffee and skillfully changed the subject. “So tell me a little more about yourself, Tressa.”

Having found his playful high-handedness exhilarating, she wondered what had brought the game to such an abrupt end.

“Actually,” she said with a shrug, “there’s really not much to tell,”

“Is that right?” His lips twitched. “I find that hard to believe. I’ll bet there’s lots to tell. What are you good at? Word has it Jonathan’s grooming you to take over LorTech.”

Tressa laughed. “Yes, but,” she released a heavy sigh, “actually that is his dream, more than mine.”

“So what’s your dream?”

“I’ve taken a few medical courses, and for the past two years have worked part time at Port Ireland’s medical facility.” With a sigh, Tressa looked away. “I know my father is counting on me getting into management, but I am hoping to combine both of our dreams.”

Nick stopped his mug halfway to his lips. “In what capacity? I can’t exactly picture mining and medicine in the same sentence.”

“I would like very much to work as assistant MedTech for the Corporation.”

“Ahhh.”

“Dad seems to accept the idea, but I know he’d rather have me working at his side. Don’t get me wrong. I’d love to work with him. It’s just that I feel so inadequate. Take this trip, for instance; it doesn’t take any brains or special aptitude to pass clearance on a high-security parcel. All it takes is the right security code. Any robo could to that.”

“Maybe,” he agreed. “But in order to hold a high security position there is a certain amount of responsibility—in particular free thinking, and that’s where the robo falls short. You have a lot ahead of you yet to learn, Tressa, don’t judge your worth too soon.

“Dad said the same thing.”

“Okay, so you’re interested in medicine. Anything else?”

“Well, I’m good with animals.” Tressa smiled in memory. “My father used to say that I had a natural gift for taming wild things.” She looked away for a moment, then turned soft eyes on him. “You see we used to live right at the edge of a forest. I remember always finding something that, in my opinion, either needed taming or doctoring.” Laughing softly she added, “I also remember always getting into trouble for wandering too far from the house.”

“Hmmm . . .” His eyes glittered with amusement. “You had a hard time following rules even back then, huh?”

Before she could produce an appropriate response Nick changed the subject again. “Feel like eating anything yet?”

Tressa shrugged. “Maybe a little later.”

He nodded. “Well, if you don’t mind, I’m starved.” And with that he turned for the froster and selected two commercially prepared meals for himself.

“By the way, in case you’re wondering, I keep standard hours onboard. Unless I’m going to lay-over for a while, it gets too confusing trying to keep track of the time at each port.”

A long moment of silence passed before Tressa finally spoke up. “Nick?”

“Yeah?”

“What’s Echo like?”

“Echo? What put you onto that subject?” he asked, placing his selections into the warmer.

Tressa shrugged. “Oh, I don’t know; just wondered.”

He refilled his mug and returned to her side. “Echo’s hard to describe. Let’s see; the ports of entry aren’t much different from any other port. But once you leave civilization, it’s another story. For one, the flora and fauna are like nothing you’ve ever seen before. Some beautiful and some not, but almost everything deadly in one form or another.”

Tressa shuddered. “Isn’t there anything cute and cuddly, or is it all sharp teeth, claws and poison?”

He laughed. “In the jungles you might find a few cute and cuddlies, but unfortunately, they also have sharp teeth and claws. Plants grow so fast,” he added, “trails have to be treated with Ranite or the undergrowth will end up reclaiming the pathway in just a couple of days. Never seen anything like it. Then, of course, there’s Echo’s version of a butterfly.”

“Oh, yes!” Tressa’s eyes widened. “They have a six-foot wing span. Even on the holotape their colors appear iridescent.”

“Beautiful to look at, but I’m afraid their sting will kill a grown man in three minutes.”

Tressa sighed. “Yes, everything seems to be deadly on Echo. Is there nothing good to say?”

“Sure, there’s the new fuel source they’re drilling for right now. And . . . ” he grinned, showing perfect white teeth, “Echo’s noted for the best ale in the Sector. I won’t bother telling you what it’s made from.”

Tressa looked at him curiously. “Surely it can’t be very good for you when it’s made from something that’s probably poisonous.”

His roguish grin became even wider. “Who said it’s good for you?”

Tressa shot him a sidelong glance and shook her head in mock reproof. Before long, a soft tone from the warmer signaled that his meal was ready.

Nick removed the platters from the warmer. “So, do you have pets at home, Tressa?”

“Not anymore. I used to when I was little, but with being away at school and all, it became too difficult.”

“I see.” He nodded in understanding as he headed for the table with a food tray in each hand.

A long moment of silence passed between them as he claimed a seat and began sawing away at his Koji steak. Stuffing a bite into his mouth, he poked at the mound of parsos; the white rootlike vegetable that was commonly used in commercially prepared meals.

Tressa suddenly added, “Oh I do have a small aquarium with a few fish.”

Still chewing, Nick glanced up, halting his fork midway to his mouth. “Oh yeah? What kind of fish?”

“Nothing really fancy; just a few roans.”

“Roans, huh? I hear they’re kinda hard to keep.” He shoveled another forkful into his mouth.

“I don’t seem to have any problem with them.”

Nick reached for a crust of bread. “I’d say fish hardly fills the bill when you seem to prefer cute and cuddlies.”

Tressa laughed. “True, but I’ve had my share of cuddlies in the past.”

“Anything interesting?” he asked still chewing as he reached for his mug of coffee.

“Probably not by your standards, although I did have a couple of Terran dogs.”

That brought his head up. “Yeah?” he said pushing one empty tray to the side and sliding his second entrée into place. “What kind of dogs?”

“Shepherds.”

“Shepherds are good dogs. Protective,” he added as he shoved his fork into a mound of gravy-drenched parsos.

“That they are.”

In what seemed like moments, he had finished both meals and was rising from his seat. Tossing the empty trays into the recycler, he stepped out of the galley. When he reentered, his holstered gun was slung over his shoulder; and he had a small metal box in his hand. Stopping first to refill his mug, he turned and made his way to the table, where he set the box aside, removed the gun from the holster, and began working the action, making sure the weapon was empty before taking it apart.

The rasp of metal brought Tressa’s head around, and she watched as Nick released the trigger mechanism. His very actions, and the grace in which he handled the weapon spoke of his ease with violence.

“Nick?”

He was wiping the weapon down with an oily rag. “Yeah?” His eyes remained on the gun.

“Are you anticipating more trouble?”

“Not necessarily,” he mumbled.

Tressa was silent for a thought-filled moment. “I don’t think I could ever kill anything.”

Nick stopped his work long enough to hold an instant of eye contact with her, then returned to his task. “Guns have their place, Tressa,” he offered with quiet emphasis. “They protect life, too, you know.”

“I understand that. I’m just saying I don’t think I could actually pull the trigger and take someone’s life.”

Holding the bore of the weapon up to the light, a half smile crossed his face. “Tressa, aiming weapon at someone isn’t something you get used to. But I can assure you, if your life depended upon it, you’d do it. And if you were smart, you’d aim to kill.”

An oily metallic odor permeated the air as Tressa continued watching him work. Pondering his words, several moments of silence passed before she spoke again.

“Nick?”

“Yes Tressa.” His tone held the faintest hint of mockery.

“Just what is a ripper? I mean, I don’t think I’ve ever heard of such a device.”

His mouth twitched as he placed a drop of lubricant onto a moving part. “There’s only one place I know of that you can get your hands on one.”

Why didn’t that surprise her? “Well, just exactly what is it?” she probed, finding herself becoming annoyed at his obsession with the gun and his vague answers.

With a sigh, Nick stopped working and lifted his head. “RIPPR”, he said, “R – I – P – P – R, is an acronym for Radial Impulse Primary Protector Relay.

“Impulse Primary Protector Relay,” she repeated slowly. “Ripper. That’s a good name for it.”

“It’s an extra fancy stunner. An electronic watch dog,” he said flatly, returning his attention to the gun as he slid something home with a solid click.

“And one that bites,” Tressa added ruefully.

Nick tested the trigger mechanism, and then picked up the cloth again. “You’re just damn lucky you came out of it as easily as you did, Irish. Some people don’t.” Without looking up, he continued methodically wiping down the weapon. Finally he laid the gun and rag aside and reached for his mug of coffee.

“And I suppose it’s illegal?”

“Yeah.” He grinned without shame. “You might say that.”

Tressa was silent for a long thought-filled moment. “I’m just curious about one thing, Nick. How come you weren’t affected by it?”

He chuckled softly. “You’re sure full of questions, aren’t you?”

Tressa shrugged. “I was just wondering.”

Grinning, Nick slid her a sidelong glance.. Returning his attention to the gun, he again tested the action. “The answer is: I’ve got a micro implant at the base of my spine that protects me from the effects of the main system.”

“Then,” she said thoughtfully, “when I turned on the Ripper you weren’t affected by it at all?”

“Not in the least.” With the ease of competence, he tested the action once again.

“Are you also protected from someone else’s Ripper?”

Mouth quirking, he finished reloading the weapon. “No, just the unit that’s been installed aboard this ship,” he said, slipping the gun back into the holster and tossing it over his shoulder. “If all you had to do was get a micro, everyone would be running around with one and it wouldn’t be much of a defense system then, would it?” Flashing her an irresistible grin, he picked up the cleaning kit, turned and headed for the main cabin.

Within moments he was back at her side. “Come ’ere, I have something to show you.”

Reaching for her hand, he helped her to her feet.

Tressa followed Nick out of the galley. She waited while he opened the inner hatch to the ship’s hold. With a hiss, the door slid open, and interior lighting sparked to life the instant he stepped over the threshold. “Over here,” he said, grimacing as he gingerly lowered himself onto one knee.

“Ohhh,” she breathed, peering over his shoulder into an open crate.

Nick reached in and gently lifted a golden ball of fur that had been tightly curled up in a bed of shredded rags. Tenderly cradling the animal in his arms, he rose to his feet and turned to Tressa. “You did say you liked pets—especially the soft and cuddly kind?”

“Ohhh. What is it?”

He’s a Lyrin Desert Cat. Name’s TiMar.”

“Oh Nick… He’s precious.”

Nick chuckled. “Don’t let him hear you say that. He thinks he’s ferocious.”

Tressa looked at Nick expectantly, hesitating for a moment before asking, “Would he mind if I pet him?”

“You want to hold him?” There was genuine warmth in Nick’s smile as he transferred the squinting, sleepy ball of fur into Tressa’s waiting arms. She laughed with delight at the soft mewing sounds.

TiMar’s sleepy eyes popped open the instant he realized Nick was no longer holding him.

“Just look at his long eyelashes,” Tressa exclaimed, stroking his silky coat. “Oh Nick—he’s so soft.”

“Why don’t we go back in and sit down?” With his hand resting firmly at the small of Tressa’s back, Nick gently guided her back into the galley.

No sooner had she sat down when TiMar proceeded to arrange himself on her lap. Curling into a ball, he wrapped his long, fluffy tail neatly about his head, shielding his eyes. Only once did he peek out from behind the furry plume to inspect Tressa; then, yawning, he settled back down.

Tressa’s eyes widened in astonishment. “Oh! His teeth!”

“Yeah, I’ve a nice scar where he sank those teeth into my arm.”

“He bit you?”

“It happened the night I rescued him.”

“Rescued? From what?”

“A bunch of lunatic drunks. At the time, he had no reason to trust me anymore than he did them.”

“They were mean to him?”

“Yeah, you could say that.”

“Poor little thing.”

“Who? Him or me?” he said with a wink.

Tressa laughed. “Him, of course.” Glancing back down at TiMar, she took a moment to observe him more closely. His size was only slightly larger than a Terran house cat, but that was where the similarity ended. The color of honey, his coat was thick and velvety, and Tressa absently buried her fingers up to the knuckles in its satiny depth. His elongated face ended in a flat black leathery snout, and his enormous round eyes appeared to be almost too big for his face.

TiMar’s tail was long and feathery and golden in color, gradually darkening to black at the very tip. Four long furry black legs ended in lethal-looking feet. They reminded Tressa almost of bird feet. Three toes pointed forward and one pointed back, each toe flaunting a dangerous claw.

Though soft and furry, judging from his feet and teeth, TiMar was definitely equipped to take care of himself. ** * “Well, you two seem to be hitting if off quite well,” Nick said, later that afternoon, upon

entering the lounge.

“Yes, I think he likes me. Oh Nick, he’s so sweet.”

“Yeah, the little guy keeps me company. I’m beginning to see, however, that you just might have some special talent with animals, after all. TiMar’s not one to take to strangers. In fact, I hesitated bringing him out for that very reason.”

“But I’m glad you did. As you can see, we’re doing just fine.”

He shrugged dismissively. “Well, I thought he might help break some of the boredom around here and…” he grinned, “keep you out of trouble.”

Tressa laughed. “Boredom? Trouble?”

“Don’t forget, we still have two and a half weeks yet ahead of us. If you’re interested, you can have full charge of taking care of him.

Tressa gave TiMar a gentle squeeze. “I’m interested. Actually, I was hoping there was something I could do around here.”

He grinned, pleasure lighting his eyes. “You don’t happen to cook, do you?” He turned to cross the room with that easy gait.

“Some. Why?” The man was magnificent without even trying. In doing nothing more than simply walking across the cabin, he had her full wide-eyed attention.

Nick stopped before the froster and removed a bottle of Echo Extra Dark. “Because anytime you feel like jumping in with some home cooking, you won’t hear any complaints out of me. If you make out a list of what you need, I’ll get it at the next port.”

Discarding the cap from his bottle of ale, he hesitated, “I don’t suppose you drink, do you?” His masculine gaze left her suddenly uncomfortable.

“No, thank you.”

Nodding, he released an audible breath. “I didn’t think so.” He turned and headed for the door. “Smart girl,” she heard him mumble softly as he rounded the corner.

Before long the cabin lights dimmed, with the exception of those in the galley. Yawning, Tressa glanced at the chronometer, mounted above the observation window. The time read twenty two-forty.

Nick had been totally up-front with his comments about the lack of privacy in order to better prepare her for shipboard life. Yet somehow Tressa had an odd feeling she wasn’t fully prepared for the reality of it. Technically, she had already spent her first night onboard the ship. But remembering nothing of it, tonight seemed like her first, and a sudden wave of anxiety swept over her.

At last rising to her feet, she gently placed TiMar back down on the cushions then quietly made her way to the doorway. Upon entering the main cabin, she glanced in the direction of the helm and saw Nick sprawled out in the command seat. His hands were clasped behind his head, and his long legs were stretched out, crossed at the ankles and propped against the bulkhead. A rainbow of tiny lights winked on and off from the command console, and watching him stare out into the endless night, Tressa had the distinct feeling that this was a routine post for him. Retrieving one of her travel packs from beneath Nick’s bunk, she disappeared into the lav.

She timidly emerged, wearing a liquid-soft sleeping gown—one she now wished she hadn’t brought. What had she been thinking?

Well, for one, she hadn’t realized she’d be stuck on a small cargo ship, alone and no privacy with the likes of Nick Banner.

Dashing to the berths, Tressa climbed the small ladder to the upper bunk and quickly slid under the covers. Within minutes TiMar joined her in one agile leap from the deck.

“Well, hello, little guy,” she whispered, “who invited you?”

“I forgot to tell you, TiMar has a bad habit of sleeping on the bunks.” Within seconds, Nick was at her side and reaching up to take TiMar off.

“He’s okay. Really.”

“You sure? He can really be a pest if you let him.”

“He’s fine,” Tressa assured him, giggling as the cat nestled down by her feet. “See? Already he’s made himself comfortable. I honestly don’t mind if he sleeps up here.”

Nick couldn’t help but think of just how comfortable he’d be up there, too, and had a most improper suggestion on the tip of his tongue. He settled instead, for simply telling her to sleep well and that he’d see her in the morning.

Striding back to the cockpit, he punched a red-lit indicator, then again assumed his sprawled position. He was exhausted from the events of the past twenty-four hours and, with hands interlocked behind his head, he welcomed the tranquility of the moment.

He had worked hard, very hard, over the last few years, building up the dependable reputation of Banner Enterprises. One of the sweet benefits had been landing a service contract with LorTech Equipment that made him their first choice for transport.

It had been only recently that he had begun to see more of Tressa, catching glimpses of her drifting in and out of the shipping department. She always seemed totally unaware of his existence; a new experience for him.

He guessed her to be maybe ten years younger than himself. Tressa was pretty, but he’d known prettier women without being drawn to them like this. There was something about her expressive brown eyes that seemed to draw him into their depths.

Actually, everything about her interested him. She was different than the rest, and he was beginning to find her too intriguing for his own peace of mind.

Remembering the doubts he had experienced when Jonathan had first approached him about this mission, Nick now firmly believed that there had been good reason to question John’s wisdom. The minute he had walked out of Loring’s office, he knew he’d made a mistake. Something had told him then that this entire trip was going to be nothing but one long stress-filled experience. The ship was just too small to be sharing with anyone, let alone a woman he couldn’t touch.

Bending his head, he lit up a cigarette and inhaled deeply. And yet—there weren’t many women he knew, if any, that would have tried rescuing him as Tressa had. Hell—truth was, he couldn’t name even one who would have laid her life on the line for him. No, there was little doubt but that Tressa had indeed saved his life the other night.

And nearly lost her own in the process.

Nick’s thoughts easily recalled how soft she looked a moment ago, having glimpsed her dashing from the lav to the bunk in that gown. The silky material clung to her body flawlessly, outlining her feminine charms in exquisite detail. Though he had only seen her reflection in the viewport, he was sure he hadn’t missed one luscious item of interest. He found himself wondering if Loring was aware of exactly what his little angel had packed for the trip. Somehow he doubted it, and secretly wondered what other interesting little surprises she had in store. Aware of his body’s rising response, Nick banked his wayward thoughts. Seeing her dashing across to the bunk had been his undoing. God help him, he wanted her.

An hour passed before Nick finally rose from the command seat and quietly made his way to his bunk. From her even breathing, he was sure Tressa was asleep. As though in mockery, TiMar lazily lifted his head and peered at him through contented sleep-drugged eyes. The little cat was curled up in Tressa’s embrace, and Nick eyed him with pure envy as he stripped off his shirt and tossed it in a heap near the foot of the bunk. Next his boots and socks were added to the pile.

Reaching for his trousers, his hands stilled on the fastenings when he noticed TiMar still watching him. “What are you lookin’ at?” he whispered harshly with a hostile glare. Then, with a muttered oath, he flipped open the fastening studs of his trousers and they, too, joined the collection.

Nick rolled into his bunk, turning his face to the outer hull, reminding himself that Tressa was just another job, a mission for Jonathan and nothing more. Just another woman passing through his life.

Twenty minutes elapsed before he restlessly turned onto his back. Wide awake with a hard knot in his groin, Nick Banner lay in the darkness staring up at the bunk above him. He groaned silently at yet another two and a half weeks of this.

CHAPTER NINE

On the morning of the third day, Nick awoke to the whiff of freshly-brewed coffee. A nice bonus, he thought, closing his eyes again and inhaling the heady aroma. Yeah. He could get used to this.

What time was it, anyway? A glance at the digital chronometer mounted into the fascia of the command console told him it was 09:14. How the devil had he slept so late, and how’d she manage to get up without waking him? But then, it was really no mystery; he couldn’t quit thinking long enough last night to get much sleep.

Finally sitting up, he yawned and reached for his trousers. Pulling them on, he fastened all but the top stud, then crossed the cabin barefoot to poke his head in the door of the galley. “Mornin’.”

Tressa looked up. “Well, good morning.” She was smiling and radiant, and how anyone could be so damned cheerful in the morning was beyond him, Hell, even her coffee smelled better than his own.

“I sorta slept in,” he said, raking a hand through his hair. Tressa’s eyes lit up with amusement. “Well, isn’t that part of the privilege of being captain?”

He let out a snort. “Not hardly. So, how was your first official night onboard the Victorious.” His voice was still husky with sleep.

“Never woke once.” Lifting her mug for emphasis, she asked, “I made a pot of fog lifter; you want some?”

Nick rubbed the back of his neck. “Sounds good.” He started to turn away. “Go ahead and pour me a mug. Uh, if you would, please.

“Glad somebody slept well last night,” he muttered, as he entered the lav and out of habit, left the privacy panel open. A moment passed before it registered that he was no longer the only one onboard. Swearing softly he reached over and slid the panel shut.

Up until now he hadn’t thought much about discretion—with her sleeping off the effects of the Ripper and all. One thing for sure, having to remember modesty every time he turned around was going to make one hell of a long run out of the next few weeks.

Making his way from the lav, Nick passed the galley, sporting no more than black trousers and a towel thrown around his neck. Within moments, he was back, fully dressed. The edges of his hair were still damp from the water he’d tossed in his face.

Judging from Tressa’s concerned look there was little doubt but that she had seen the fresh bandage he’d applied. Good thing she hadn’t seen the one he’d just taken off. The fierce blows he had taken the other night hadn’t helped matters. His belly now bore two purple bruises. Thanks to the handiwork of Lee Bryant and his thugs. The only thing he couldn’t figure, was why Bryant would be after Loring’s daughter? What was the connection? And who was behind it, hiring Bryant to do the dirty work?

He knew it. Tressa was just dying to ask him something. He could see it written all over her face. Whatever she was about to say, it better not have anything to do with his injuries. He was in no mood to be explaining anything. It was just one more reason to fuel his contempt for Quint Kendyl. And just one more reason for regretting his decision to take Loring’s little piece of baggage off planet.

And then she smiled. Damn, she looked beautiful this morning. Too bad she was Loring’s. The thought trailed off as quickly as it entered his mind.

“Here,” she said, handing him a mug of freshly brewed coffee.”

“Thanks.”

Picking up her mug, Tressa took a tentative sip, and then chattered on. “I found TiMar’s cat food while I was rummaging around for the coffee. He was begging to eat, so I went ahead and fed him.”

Nick grinned. “Let me warn you. TiMar loves to eat and you’re going to find that every time you enter this galley, he’ll be right on your heels begging.”

Tressa laughed. “I think I sort of suspected that. He appeared to be acting out of habit.”

Nick nodded. “When he’s not eating, he’s sleeping—good for nothing when it comes right down to it.”

At that they both laughed and once again Nick found himself drawn to the sound of Tressa’s gentle laughter and radiant smile.

“Speaking of eating,” she said, “I found enough supplies in your froster to fix a quick breakfast. It’s ready whenever you are.”

Though the meal was simple, to his pleasant surprise, he discovered that Tressa could, indeed, cook. No doubt about it, she intrigued him. No, she baffled him, to put it mildly. One minute she was practically baiting him with what appeared to be childlike innocence. The next minute, he would catch her studying him with a look that was anything but childlike. A look he easily read.

He still found her provocative assessment of him interesting. Yeah, she’d been tranquilized that night, but the way he saw it, the drug had only brought to the surface and assessment that had already been there. He couldn’t help but wonder just how much passion there actually was hidden behind that cloak of innocence. One way or another, he vowed he would find out without completely breaking his word to Loring.

After breakfast, time passed quickly with small talk and laughter. Nick found himself surprisingly relaxed around her. Actually, they had been getting along quite well, including the few times his sarcasm had resurfaced.

Over coffee, he shared a few hair-raising stories of his adventures in piloting and thoroughly enjoyed her reactions to some of his favorite versions.

Tressa too, shared a little about herself, explaining that she had lived for a while on Sequoi. Nick knew the place; had been there on delivery once or twice. She smiled wistfully and gently blew steam from her mug. “I loved it there. That’s where the lake is, that I was telling you about.”

Nick lit one of his slender cigars and leaned back. “So, LorTech had its beginnings on Sequoi.” “Yes, and it was a wonderful place to live. I had the forest, the pond, my animals. What more could I have wanted?” Nick leaned forward to flick a lump of ash off his cigar. “So you were nine when you came to live on Terra Four?” ** *

The next two days went by without incident. Tressa settled into shipboard life, tending, without complaint, to TiMar and “kitchen patrol” as she referred to it. Nick even taught her how to play a couple of games. One of them, Justice, was a miniature version of a holograph game found in most port bars. To his surprise, Tressa caught on easily. She even beat him once or twice.

“Better take a seat, Tress; we’ll be making the jump out of hyperspace shortly.” His mouth quirked. “You were unconscious when we slipped into it, so you missed out on the stimulating sensation of nausea that comes with transition.”

Tressa stared at him. “Are you saying I’m going to be sick? If you think that I’m going to drink any more of your concoctions, you can just forget it.”

He flashed her that famous Banner grin. “As we enter Shaiel’s atmosphere,” he continued, “I’ll be disengaging the artificial grav, and you can expect another wave. Don’t panic, neither incident will last more than thirty seconds, if that.”

Stepping forward, Tressa took her seat and began fastening the safety harness. “Wonderful! I can hardly wait!”

Her sarcasm elicited a chuckle from him as he fluidly ran through the practiced procedures.

“We’re making the jump . . . Now,” he said, depressing the button on the console. Instantly a wave of dizziness swept over them, leaving them both momentarily weak. But as promised, it passed as quickly as it came.

“You all right?” he asked without taking his eyes off the command center.

“I think I’ll live, if that’s what you mean.”

“That’s what I mean,” he said with a gentle laugh. “Now, in about forty minutes I’ll be switching off the grav, and you’ll experience a similar effect before we hit dirt.”

“That’s terrific, Nick.” Ignoring the resulting chuckle, Tressa chose to remain seated for the remaining leg of their approach to Shaiel. Fixing her gaze, she watched as the planet slowly became larger and larger until at last it completely filled the view screen. For Nick, it was just an everyday event, but for Tressa the sight was awesome.

Shaiel appeared as a blotchy gray and tan marble suspended in blackness. The closer they got the better Tressa could see that the darker spots on the planet’s surface were actually large craters.

She listened intently to the verbal communications between Nick and the spaceport. When clearance to land was given, Nick began entering the designated coordinates. The ship shuddered in response, and with eyes trained on the screen he cautioned Tressa for the next wave of dizziness as he switched off the artificial gravity. It, too, passed quickly, just as he had promised.

Soon they were skimming over barren, moonlit dunes that spread out beneath them for as far as the eye could see. Then, suddenly, without warning, the landscape changed, and they were crossing an ominously dark canyon that appeared to be several miles wide and bottomless as it slashed across the landscape to disappear over the horizon. Shaiel wasn’t a very pretty place, Tressa decided. It was awesome and rugged, however, with its formidable dunes and black craters with craggy edges.

Suddenly banking to the right, Nick dropped the ship down into the blackness of just such a crater. Within minutes the Victorious was being eased onto her landing jacks at the crude spaceport of a small mining settlement called Mirror. Tressa watched as he powered down and secured the ship. Rising to his feet, he headed for the bunk, reached for his holstered gun, and began to strap it on. Throwing his utility belt over his shoulder, he turned, narrowing his eyes on Tressa.

“I want you to stay right with me, you understand? I’m going to have enough to do as it is without having to worry about you. I just want to collect the equipment, load up, and put into space as soon as possible.”

“I understand,”

Nick’s tone and mood had definitely changed, and with that end-of-discussion look in his eyes only a fool would have crossed him. He had the appearance of a man who intended to see his wishes carried out.

Nick palmed the main lock and stepped out first. As usual, the air reeked of ozone, fuel and lubricants. Turning, he offered his hand to Tressa, who was covering her ears at the descending whine of the powerful thrusters.

She took a sweeping glance at her surroundings. It was nighttime, and bright floodlights illuminated the landing zone. The tiny settlement of Mirror was nestled in the base of an enormous crater with high walls surrounding them on all sides. A rising moon on the horizon detailed each shadowy crevice in a dozen shades of gray.

Tressa’s eyes rose to the velvet backdrop of space where the very spiral of the galaxy itself, the Milky Way, lay stretched across the night sky from one horizon to the other.

“Let’s go!”

She had barely heard Nick’s impatient command before she found herself being abruptly ushered down the ramp and toward the nest of buildings across the L.Z.

It was a hasty walk to the terminal. Tressa practically ran to keep up, forced to take two steps to his one. A set of double doors slid open as they approached the entrance. Turning left, they progressed down a long, echoing corridor that eventually opened out into a large shipping area.

Tressa stood to the side as Nick approached the counter and presented Loring’s high security documents for processing. He seemed curiously impatient. She watched him with interest while moments of silence slowly passed. Occasionally a muscle would twitch in his left cheek. Periodically he would scan the room in a casual glance before returning his attention to the counter.

“See if you can hurry it up, Jackson.”

“Cool your thrusters, Banner.” The young man, whom Nick appeared to know by name, was quickly processing the information into the computer. He lifted his gaze to meet Tressa’s, then returned his attention to the screen.

“I’m on a time schedule, you know.”

“Yeah, well, you and everyone else,” the man drawled. He cast Tressa another approving glanced and grinned. “Tell you what, Nick. Why don’t you just leave her here and go have a cup of coffee or something. That way the two of us can take care of things and I’ll let you know when the shipment’s all cleared and ready to load.” He winked at Tressa. “What do you say?”

Nick ignored his suggestion with a muttered oath. “Just get me the damned clearance, Jackson, or you’re going to find me on the other side of this counter authorizing it myself. I haven’t got time to be standing around here.”

“Hey, you want to give it a try, Nick? Be my guest.” Jackson laughed. “I’ll tell you what, me and Miss Loring, here, will go have that cup of coffee and you can let me know when the clearance is complete.”

“Like hell.”

The young clerk smiled and looked up from the terminal. “We’ve been through this before, Nick. And like I’ve said before, it’s all the red tape you have to go through just to get a high sec clearance.” Returning his attention to the computer, he entered another series of numbers and waited. “You got that security code?”

“Right here,” Nick replied with a nod to Tressa.

Hoping to cool Nick’s rising irritation, Tressa quickly stepped forward and placed her palm on the security pad. Within moments a soft tone signaled confirmation.

Nick smiled blandly when the computer responded with the long-anticipated paperwork.

Reaching completely over the counter, he ripped the final papers right out of the printer as they

emerged.

“Tressa, all we need now is your final endorsement and we’ll be on our way.”

Once again Tressa stepped forward and fulfilled her part in the transaction.

“Jackson,” he said with a clipped nod. “You keep up the good work, now.”

Jackson grinned and slid another glance Tressa’s way. “You too, Nick. Hey, I’ve been meaning to ask you: What’s going on with Slater these days? I haven’t seen him around in almost a year.”

“Zeke? He’s around.” Stuffing the release papers into his pocket, Nick caught Tressa by the arm. “I just ran into him last month on Echo,” he added over his shoulder as he escorted Tressa toward the exit.

“Tell him hi for me next time you see him.”

“Will do.”

In a matter of moments they were once again stepping out onto the landing field and heading toward the ship. Five more days, just five more days and she would be back home and—a surge of panic cut off her thoughts. She didn’t recall anyone saying what was to happen after they picked up the shipment. Would she be brought back home? Or would she be expected to go on to Echo?

As they approached the ship, Tressa tamped down her anxiety. For the moment she would keep her thoughts to herself; just wait and see what he intended to do.

Releasing the lock, Nick strode up the ramp. With a broad sweep of his hand, he waved Tressa onboard. Once inside, he slipped the utility belt over the hook just inside his berth. From there, he headed for the cockpit, still wearing his gun as he sprawled into the pilot’s seat.

Nick quickly entered a series of numbers into the computer, and a bank of lights snapped to life on the console. While waiting for Loring’s bogus shipment to be delivered, he began entering coordinates into the NAVCOMP. It was a half hour before a robo-loader finally came wheeling across the L.Z.

“About time,” he grumbled. Reaching overhead he depressed a switch that opened the exterior loading doors. Lights snapped to life at the same time, bathing the surrounding tarmac in bright light.

Nick had returned his concentration to the NAVCOMP when another man appeared at the main lock, poked his head in, and said something about needing a signature before he could release the equipment.

Groaning, Nick gave Tressa that you-know-what-to-do look. “Won’t be long now,” he drawled, his words dripping with sarcasm as he returned his attention to the controls.

CHAPTER TEN

Nick never noticed the pock-faced man in the terminal who had quietly slipped into a combooth, withdrew a crumpled piece of paper from his pocket, and keyed in a number.

“Yeah, it’s me. They’re getting ready to lift now.”

“And the transmitter?” the voice on the other end asked.

“All taken care of. It went onboard with the equipment. He’ll leave a trail so bright you can follow him with your eyes closed.”

“Good.”

“Consider yourself lucky. From what I hear he’s got the latest in automatic sensors mounted

just inside the bay doors. I can’t believe they weren’t tripped off.” The voice merely laughed in response. “That’s the beauty of this little baby; very few sensors are triggered with this one. Including the newer high tech sensors.” * ** It wasn’t long before Nick was sealing the ship. “Tressa, see that everything’s secure in the

galley, will you?” he said without looking up from the controls.

A frown crossed her brow. “You mean—”

“I mean,” he interrupted with a roughness that wasn’t necessary, “secure the latches, dump the coffee, and put away anything you happen to see lying loose.”

His dictatorial tone sparked Tressa’s anger, and for a moment she simply stood there staring a hole in his back. “Aye, aye, Captain!” she clipped out. With a mocking salute he never saw, she pivoted and stalked toward the galley to stuff loose items into compartments and secure every latch. Checking the lav in much the same manner, she returned to her seat and strapped herself in.

Again, Nick’s fingers tapped in the necessary directives, resulting in the vibration and muted whine of power-up.

Only then did he turn to face her. “This lift is going to be rougher than what you’ve experienced so far. We’re heading directly off-planet, and we’ll be pulling a few more G’s with this one,” he explained. “You may experience some light-headedness, you may even black out, but don’t panic, it’s a normal reaction and passes quickly.”

“Wonderful,” she muttered, her head swimming with questions she instinctively knew not to ask.

Within moments the Victorious was responding to Nick’s commands, and Tressa felt herself being pushed down into her seat as the ship roared skyward. Even as the pressure grew stronger and light-headedness began washing over her, to her relief she never lost consciousness.

She remained strapped in until they had not only cleared Shaiel’s atmosphere but Nick had activated both the artificial grav and Stellardrive.

As soon as the last wave of dizziness passed, Tressa rose and headed for the galley. Hopefully his mood would improve, especially now that the equipment was safely on board and they were back into space.

For the remainder of the day and into the evening, Nick stayed at his post. There was a brooding quietness about him and from the rigid set of his shoulders, Tressa decided it would be wise to leave him alone. Even TiMar seemed to be keeping a safe distance.

Though she continued to wonder at his mood swing, what was really bothering her was their destination. So far Nick had made no mention of his plans, and the hard knot in the pit of her stomach said they were not headed back to Terra Four.

Taking a seat in the galley, Tressa reached over and scooped TiMar into her arms. “You’re leery of him, too, aren’t you, little man? He’s just a little edgy, that’s all.” TiMar circled twice, then dropped down in her lap.

Leaning back against the cushioned bench seat, she wished she could believe her own reassuring words. Everything had been going so well earlier that morning. They were actually becoming friends, laughing and sharing stories from their pasts. Tressa sensed, however, that the things he shared with her were guarded.

Gazing out the viewport, she wondered about the complex man who, for the time being, commanded her world. ** *

Nick remained in the pilot’s seat long into the afternoon, occasionally leaning forward to check coordinates. What Tressa didn’t know was that it wasn’t the cargo or his own safety that had him concerned. Unfortunately, the high-security cargo that had him worried didn’t happen to be safely tucked away in the ship’s hold. With a heavy sigh, he brushed back a lank of hair that had fallen over his brow. No doubt about it, Tressa Loring would make a nice prize for any renegade lucky enough to make it past him.

Suddenly a mug of hot steaming coffee materialized next to his hand and he looked up to find Tressa searching his face with concern.

At last she smiled. “I’m starved. How about you? Would you eat something if I fixed it?”

Before answering, Nick straightened and rubbed the back of his neck. “That depends. Are you here to take my order, or do I get cook’s choice?” he asked with a glimmer of humor.

Relieved to see the change in his dark mood, Tressa quickly played the role. “Why, Captain, sir, I’m here to take your order, of course.”

“Then in that case I’ll have the same thing you’re having,” he responded, unconsciously rewarding her with that infectious grin.

“You got it.” She turned for the galley.

Nick’s smile slowly faded as he watched her leave. Halting his mug halfway to his mouth, he found himself paying particular attention to the sway of her backside—the realization bringing about another silent groan. This trip was trouble in more ways than he cared to even think about.

Regret was a new experience for him. At first it was subtle. He knew he had been impossible to be around today. But, dammit all, he had a gut feeling whoever was after them wasn’t about to give up easily. In fact, half expecting a “greeting party” to be waiting for them on Shaiel, his nerves had been on edge from the moment they’d hit dirt.

With a heavy sigh, Nick rose from his seat. A decision had been reached. Determined to set his dark mood aside and to enjoy this woman who had suddenly invaded his life and his thoughts, he turned and headed for the galley.

Tressa had grilled steak dinners in the warmer and was presently setting the table. The coffee smelled wonderful and the table—the table!!

Nick blinked in disbelief as he recognized two of his antique navigational star charts currently adorning the table as placemats/ The knives and forks were sitting prettily in their places.

“Well? What do you think?” she asked, beaming up at him with total satisfaction.

Still speechless over his star charts, Nick never noticed the centerpiece until she began to light what resembled an old-fashioned candlestick jammed into an empty ale bottle.

“Tressa!” Instant perception of what she was about to do sent him lunging toward her, knocking the tiny laser from her hand and sending it skidding across the floor.

“What are you doing?” she sputtered, choking on her words as she fought to regain her balance.

“Do you have any idea what you were about to light?” His tone was raw with desperation.

Tressa eyed Nick sharply. “I was merely lighting an illumination wand, Nick. You didn’t have to attack me like that. Talk about overreacting! Geesh! I wasn’t planning to set the galley afire, you know! I simply thought it would be nice to—”

“Setting the galley on fire is a gross understatement.” Nick took a deep breath, releasing it in a labored sigh. “What you were about to light, Irish, would have done a hell of a lot more than just set the galley on fire. It would have blown the entire ship out of existence! If I hadn’t come in when I did . . .” He left the sentence hanging.

Tressa planted her fists defiantly on her hips. “Now why doesn’t that surprise me? Everything else you do is on such a grand scale. Every weapon you own is twice as deadly as the next guy’s; even your alarm system is lethal.” She smiled blandly. “It only stands to reason that lighting an illumination wand wouldn’t just cast a light on the dinner. Hell no! It would blow the entire damn ship up in one glorious explosion!”

Nick rubbed his nose, hiding his amusement as Tressa continued.

“This . . . this thing I almost lit, I suppose it’s illegal, too?”

“No. It’s not illegal.” His eyes grew openly amused as he plucked the object of discussion out of the empty bottle. “It’s a TRJ-17 Emergency Beacon.”

“Well, just how the hell was I supposed to know that? It was shoved in with the placemats, Nick. Of all places to put it.”

Nick was half grinning now. “Your language, Irish!” he admonished, shaking his head in feigned astonishment. “It’s rapidly deteriorating.”

“I don’t care. You scared me to pieces. And quit calling me Irish!”

His smile turned into a chuckle. “You’re from Port Ireland, aren’t you?”

“That doesn’t make—”

“And by the way,” he continued, “those uh . . . placemats as you call them, happen to be navigational star charts. And it just so happens I had them exactly where I wanted them, along with the emergency beacon, the first aid kit and a few other emergency items.”

“Star charts? Those are real star charts?” she asked incredulously. “Aren’t they a little unnecessary when everything’s stored in computers? What would you need those antiques for?”

Nick brushed past her, replacing the beacon into the storage bin. “In case of an emergency. In case the main NAV fails and dumps its memory, I have a backup.”

“But doesn’t your computer—”

“I have them,” he bit out, “simply because I happen to want them. How’s that dinner comin’?” he asked, claiming a seat at the table. “I don’t know about you, but I’m starved.”

Tressa started removing the charts from the table when Nick reached out and caught her hand. “Leave ’em be.” He grinned. “We’ll use our dainty manners tonight.”

After their meal they cleared the table and played another game of Justice, then Nick listened with interest as Tressa again opened up about her plans for the future. She had attended one of the finest boarding schools, and it was apparent that Jonathan was offering her every opportunity to pursue her own avenue in life—be it LorTech, the medical field, or marriage to a man Nick wasn’t convinced she was in love with. The way he saw it, any woman in love—truly in love—didn’t wonder about her career when there were marriage plans in the making. Nor would she look at him the way he’d seen her looking. But far be it from him to get involved.

“I left home when I was twenty-two,” he said, skipping over the part about Linnae being the reason, and the anguish that had him flirting with death for nearly two years on Echo. He mentioned that he was twenty-four when he had earned enough credits for a down payment on the Victorious. Though he touched upon the failure of his business venture with Kendyl, he chose not to elaborate on the reasons.

Tressa finally asked about the half-healed scar she had noticed the other morning, to which he shrugged, passing it off as nothing.

“Nick?”

“Yeah?”

“Would you at least allow me to tend the injury? I can tell it’s still painful, and, well you see, I have this special salve that has remarkable healing powers. I know it would help you.”

At the promise of speeding the healing, Nick reluctantly agreed, and with a sigh of resignation began undoing the buttons of his shirt.

Tressa headed for the bunks to retrieve her miracle salve from one of her travel pacs. The highly medicinal balm was made from oil extracted from the leaves of the Acuel tree, a rare shrub-like plant that could only be found in the relatively unexplored highlands of Terra Four’s Southern Hemisphere.

Nick Banner’s muscular chest was the first thing Tressa saw as she reentered the galley. He was just removing his shirt, presently rolling the left side off his shoulder. With both arms still in their sleeves, the procedure was pulling the shirt taut across his back in a lopsided fashion. The result: one gloriously exhibited torso. Tressa’s breath caught at the sight.

Clean, but timeworn, Tressa hadn’t missed how the dark long-sleeved shirt had clung to Nick’s body, flawlessly molding itself to his frame. Now, draping partway down his left arm, it hung on a bulge of muscle as he wrestled with the sleeve.

She swallowed hard, acutely aware of his corded contours, every muscle and sinew defined in exquisite detail. But at the sight of the makeshift bandage that didn’t quite cover the angry wound on his left side, Tressa hid her alarm.

“Nick, hold still for a moment, ” she said, approaching him with a no-nonsense finesse born of her medical training. “Let me help you with that.” Easing his arm out of the sleeve, Tressa gently, carefully began peeling away the improvised bandage. His skin was hot to the touch, indicating infection. As the last of the cloth came free, Tressa clamped down on a gasp at the sight of the ragged half-healed wound that was much too angry looking for her peace of mind. It appeared even worse than she had expected, and explained why she had sensed him in pain.

When she first suggested this little errand of mercy she had anticipated a routine dressing of a wound, a task she’d performed hundreds of times when working at Port Ireland Medical Center. All too soon, however, came the realization that the errand she had taken on was to be anything but routine. Her stomach clenched as he jerked the remainder of his shirt out of his pants, tossing it down beside him.

A small golden medallion hung from his neck on a narrow chain, bearing an insignia unlike anything she had ever seen.

“Sit down,” she instructed, turning for the sink. “I’m going to need some hot water.” Closing her eyes, Tressa drew in a steadying breath and began scrubbing her hands. Stars, even her hands were shaking! What was wrong with her, she wondered? He was wounded and feverish and had done nothing—surprising as it was—to bring about this trembling awareness of him.

PreMed had educated Tressa long ago in basic anatomy. Even her work at Port Ireland’s Med Center had exposed her to men in various stages of undress, but this was different. In any other circumstances there would have been no trouble keeping her mind on her task, but as always this man unsettled her, making her acutely aware of his very maleness.

Blowing a stray lock of hair away from her face, Tressa filled a container with hot water. Within moments she returned to his side, placing the water at his feet.

“Now, where did you say you kept the med kit? She asked distractedly.

“In the storage bin with the emergency things.”

“Right.” She turned toward the bins while Nick released an audible sigh. “Let’s just get this over with okay?”

Grabbing the salve from the table, Tressa returned to his side and dropped to one knee before him. She ignored the fact that the very position was not only slavish, it put her at eye level with his hard, flat belly that still bore testimony to the punches he had taken the other night.

Nick sat forward on the edge, palms resting on spread knees as she busied herself with the supplies. Moving to his side, she breathed a silent prayer of thanks that she didn’t have to kneel between the man’s legs to do this. Already she could feel the heat emanating from her cheeks. Or was it from him?

Upon closer inspection, Tressa saw that the beating he had suffered had visibly aggravated the wound. “Oh, Nick . . .” she whispered brokenly, “why didn’t you say something?”

Suddenly caught up in the chore ahead, Tressa reached for a cloth and dropped it into the pan of hot water. “One section has nearly reopened,” she murmured.

He breathed an exasperated sigh. “I’ve survived worse.”

Silence hung heavy between them, broken only by the sounds of water trickling back into the pan as she lifted the cloth and wrung it out.

“How long ago did this happen?” she asked, busily removing the container of liquid cleanser from the med kit and applying a small amount to the cloth.

“Hell, I don’t remember. A month ago, I guess.” The unmistakable edge to his voice clearly said the subject was closed.

Ignoring the curious sensation of warmth presently coiling in the pit of her stomach, Tressa fixed her gaze and set to the task before her. The hard muscles of his abdomen tightened when she gently laid the hot cloth to his side and the angry red wound started bleeding.

“I’m sorry. I know this is painful,” she murmured, never pausing in her task, yet keeping her touch as gentle as possible.

“Just get it done.”

Struggling desperately to remain detached, she forbade her eyes to wander, deliberately concentrating on the wound. But it was hard, especially when several tiny rivulets of soapy water coursed down his torso, following muscular valleys that ran down his side and into the waistband of his pants.

Holding the cloth in place with one hand, she quickly reached for a soft towel, gently mopping the excess water from his side and stomach. Even as she steeled herself, her traitorous eyes shyly stole glances at the taut muscles of his powerful biceps, his wide shoulders and hard, flat belly. He was magnificent.

There was a deep, jagged scar on his left forearm, Tressa noticed, and several less obvious ones across his abdomen. He was clearly no stranger to violence.

Again his muscles tightened, and this time he hissed in a breath as she laid the cloth to his side and held it in place. Though she tried not to—oh, how she tried—her gaze wandered. After all, what choice did she have? Kneeling at his feet put her at chest level.

Poor excuse, a small voice echoed.

Tressa quickly averted her attention to his lower side, where the wound initially began. Her cheeks were already scalding, and just when she thought it couldn’t get any worse, her eyes widened in dismay as she saw the puckered, angry-looking scar dipping beneath the waistband of his trousers.

Nick wasn’t exactly grinning, yet Tressa had the distinct impression he was beginning to find the scenario entertaining, despite the obvious pain and discomfort. There was no mistaking that faint gleam of deviltry in those deep blue eyes of his. For the moment Tressa wasn’t sure which was worse, dealing with his foul mood or his arrogance.

She willed herself to ignore him, focusing her attention on completing the project as quickly as possible. Catching the corner of her lower lip between her teeth, she dipped the cloth once again into the steaming water. Soft mounds of suds floated on the surface like miniature clouds as she wrung out the cloth.

Tressa was acutely aware that under his intense study, every movement, every touch was beginning to take on the intimacy of a caress. Never had she been so aware of a man’s body. Stars, he smelled of leather and cold steel and, and a scent that was blatantly masculine— unquestionably Nick. Just being close to him, observing him, touching him, catching his scent as it mingled with the soap, ignited a flame that radiated throughout her body. Even as she tried not to feel it, a surge of heat shot through her when she touched his skin.

Having cleansed and rinsed his inflamed side, there was only one place left, and Tressa had no choice now but to finally ask the question she had been dreading most—the very question the arrogant beast had no doubt been waiting for.

She opened her mouth to speak, but quickly gulped back the words. Again—this time clearing her throat softly—she began with a note of nonchalance that she clearly wasn’t feeling. “Would you loosen your waistband a bit so I can reach the rest of this?”

At first Nick hesitated, then stood, towering above her. Still kneeling at his feet, her mouth dropped open as her eyes followed his hands to his belt. Mesmerized, Tressa watched as he casually unfastened the buckle, allowing both ends to dangle loosely from their loops. She lost her breath when, with suggestive leisure, he slowly began flipping open the top two studs of his black trousers. The resulting gap put a serious strain on the remaining three.

Tressa tried to swallow and failed. Her heart was pounding so loudly, she was certain he could hear it. It was good she was already kneeling, for surely her legs were jelly by now.

With agonizing slowness, Nick proceeded to nudge down his trousers, baring the sleek skin of his left hip and exposing the remaining portion of the jagged wound.

But Tressa’s gaze was not locked on his injury. The entire act had been performed with such blatant suggestiveness; she had become lost in the sensuous mechanics of it all.

“Is this far enough?”

It was a deep satin drawl that suddenly broke the spell. Tressa caught herself following a dusting of crisp black hair down hard abs. It tapered off upon reaching his navel, to form a narrow trail that disappeared into the gap of his straining, partially opened fly.

Tressa blinked and drew in a quick, fevered breath. Nick was ginning at her when she glanced up at him. It was a slow grin that was so brazen it had her heart and stomach colliding with a jolt.

“Are you quite finished?” she demanded.

Nick chuckled, his knowing eyes dancing with mischief. “I was just about to ask you that same question, Irish.” Still grinning, he reached for the third stud on his trousers, “Would you

prefer me to—”

“Sit down!” she snapped, cutting him off mid-sentence.

Nick chuckled again and dutifully obeyed as Tressa began cleansing what she discovered to be the deepest and angriest portion of the wound.

It was a pleasant scent that filled the air when she at last opened the container of Acuel salve. The ointment was smooth, the color of black pearls, and it smelled of misty woods.

Just as she figured, Nick’s suggestive teasing came to an abrupt halt once she began applying the salve. Tressa watched his expression change from seductive to that of a set jaw.

Pain was the one drawback about the salve. On an infected injury it burned. She felt his stomach muscles tense beneath her fingers. He was being so very gallant too, trying not to show his reaction. But no matter how hard he tried to stifle it, there was no mistaking the sound of air hissing through clenched teeth.

Several tense moments passed with Tressa in total control. Oh, it wouldn’t last long—the power she now wielded—but for the moment it was victory. “What I don’t understand,” she muttered, “is why a robomed didn’t see to this for you.”

Silence. Then, “Because Port Ireland is one of the few places that—“ he stiffened, “have such luxuries as robomeds, Tressa. I wasn’t in Port Ire—” His voice broke again with another hiss of air as she worked.

“I see.” Tressa was all business now. “Lift your arm a little.”

Holding his breath, Nick complied, his body rigid.

“This should never have been left this way,” she mumbled, frowning as she worked. She gently smoothed more of the salve into the angriest section.

Nick sucked in his breath again. This time there was just no hiding it. “Tressa!” he finally ground out in a half moan. “You’re mad at me about something. Right?”

“Why would you suggest such a thing?” she asked, peering up at him with wide-eyed innocence?”

As if understanding her game, his mouth quirked. “Because you’re—a bit rough with your touch, darlin’.”

Tressa feigned a look of anguish. “Oh, I’m so sorry. I know this is painful.”

“I’ll live,” he groaned. “Just lighten up a little, okay? This stuff burns enough without the heavy hand.”

“Yes, of course.” Tressa nodded and lowered her gaze. Finishing quickly, she carefully bound his entire midsection, including his bruised ribs.

With his suggestive theatrics officially withered, Nick was completely submissive. A fine sheen covered his body as he sat stock-still, jaw set, silently waiting for her to complete the task.

“There,” she announced with a note of satisfaction and a final tug that brought a gasp from his lips. “You should notice a great improvement by tomorrow,” she said cheerfully.

“I certainly hope so.” Turning a baleful eye on her, he rose to his feet, grabbed his shirt, and gingerly made his way from the galley.

By the time Tressa entered the cabin, the lights had been dimmed and Nick was in his bunk, facing the wall and seemingly asleep.. Quickly grabbing her nightshift, she headed for the lav.

Nick Banner was just about the most complicated man she had ever met, tender and understanding one moment, rude and demanding the next. Furthermore, he obviously wasn’t in the habit of apologizing for anything, so why should she?

Quietly climbing up into her bunk, she remembered the day Nick first strode through the doors of LorTech. There was a natural grace and masculine charm about him that women found irresistible, and she and her best friend, Sara, were no exception.

She smothered a giggle, remembering that day with vivid clarity. The two of them were teenagers at the time. Tressa recalled how Sara had rushed up to her, breathless, ”Tressa! I’ve been looking all over for you!” Then, in a dreamy voice, “There’s the most gorgeous man I’ve ever laid eyes on, waiting to see your father! Hurry, or we’ll miss him.” She grabbed hold of Tressa’s hand. “Well come on! I promise you won’t be disappointed.”

Sara turned and rolled her eyes. “Oh Tress,” she breathed, “he looks just like a—a sun god. Tall, dark, sun-bronzed, the most magnificent deep blue eyes you’ve ever seen. And that voice...Tressa you should hear his voice.” Releasing a breathy sigh, Sara continued in her own normal voice. “I just happened to be coming down the hall when he stopped me to ask directions to your father’s office. I swear, Tress, I thought I was going to lay down and die right there on the spot!”

With a sigh, Tressa rolled onto her side, wondering what Sara would say if she knew her best friend was sharing the tight quarters of the Victorious with the “sun god” himself—not to mention doctoring his gorgeous body.

Nick turned restlessly in his sleep, and with a twinge of regret, Tressa wondered if his side might still be hurting. She should have looked through the ship’s med kit a little harder. Undoubtedly she would have found a container of Nervatrite. Pre-treating the wound with the anesthetic would have eliminated the pain.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

Jonathan Loring finished signing his name on the last of a stack of purchase orders. “Anything come in from Banner through the night?” he asked, gathering the papers in an orderly pile and handing them back to his secretary.

“Nothing on a personal nature, Mr. Loring, but a memo-torp from Shaiel did come through just this morning confirming the release of the Security-3 consignment. I placed it right on top for you.”

“Good,” he said, snatching the memo from the stack of mail. “That means they made it there all right.“

“Well, of course they did.”

“Now for the remainder of the trip,” he added, his face growing somber as he handed the signed purchase orders back to Liz.

The prim middle-aged secretary was one of very few to know that Nick Banner had taken Tressa away. “She’s in good hands, Jon,” she offered encouragingly. “Nick’s never let you down yet, you know.”

“I know, Lizzy. It’s just not knowing anything.” He exhaled sharply. “Drives a man crazy.”

She smiled reassuringly. “You’ll hear. Just as soon as they arrive at their destination, you’ll hear from him .” Clutching the stack of papers to her chest, she turned for the door.

From the very first day Nick had set foot in his office, Loring had been amusingly aware of Liz’s affection for the incorrigible rogue. Though it was always expressed in a motherly fashion, there was little doubt that she was just as enamored with the man as the rest of the women around the place.

Stopping in the doorway, Liz turned to face him once again. “Nick Banner is a very capable young man, Jon,” she said with a note of undying confidence, “I’m certain he has everything under control.”

Jonathan smiled. “Thank you, Lizzy. I’m sure you’re right.” Oh yes, he thought, Nick Banner was more than capable of protecting Tressa. The question was, who would protect her from him? Loyal or not, three weeks was a damned long time and the more he thought about it the more nervous he got.

** *

By the end of the eighth day Nick’s mood had darkened, the tension hanging heavier than ever. Things had taken a definite turn, and as near as Tressa could tell it had begun two nights earlier, right after she had changed the dressing on his wound. The socializing they had once enjoyed had come to an abrupt halt. No more talks. No more games. No more shared laughter. For the most part, Nick now remained isolated. His evenings were silently spent stargazing from the pilot’s seat with his chosen companion: a mug of ale, the bottle at his elbow for easy refills.

Tressa had tried to approach him several times, but nothing seemed to work. Tonight he was almost too quiet, his mood darker than usual and he’d started drinking much earlier than the nights before. The cabin lights had been dimmed for some time to low indirect lighting. Banner’s now hardened features were softly illuminated by the glow of the command console. Tressa and TiMar had retired early. The best thing to do was leave him alone.

** * The two-day shadow that darkened his jaw, mirrored his thoughts perfectly as Nick remained sprawled in the pilot’s seat. A second bottle of ale had since been opened and at some

point along the way, drinking from a mug had deteriorated to drinking straight from the bottle.

It had been a long time since he had last allowed himself to drink in this manner. After the heartbreak of losing Linnae, drinking had become a way of life—his escape from reality. Trouble was, Nick didn’t hold liquor well. A few drinks with friends was one thing, but wasted was quite another. It had a tendency to make him testy, besides stripping him of his pride and most of all his reason.

But tonight he needed this. Tossing back another burning gulp of strong ale, he laughed inwardly. No, what he needed was a woman. Tressa was driving him insane. Oh he hadn’t missed the way she looked at him. He’d seen that look often enough through his adult years to know exactly what was going through her head.

So, you thought you’d simply harden your heart against her, didn’t you? But instead, all of that resolve disintegrated the instant you allowed yourself to look into her eyes. Come now, Banner, quit fooling yourself. That wide-eyed innocence is merely a smoke screen. Maybe she hasn’t come right out and said it, but there are other ways of communicating without using words. And you learned that language years ago.

Shoulders set, staring dead ahead, Nick took a slow drag from his cigar.

You know she wants you, so what are you waiting for—an invitation? Hell, a girl like that doesn’t offer invitations; she waits for you to make the move.

Once again Nick vividly recalled Tressa’s drugged confession. Yes, he numbly reminded himself, she had been under the influence, but those thoughts didn’t just materialize out of thin air. He was convinced they’d been there before he had ever given her the injection. Then there was the other night, when she had tended to his wound, how he’d aroused her interest with his seductive theatrics. He had seen that look of desire then too. But he had also sensed naïve curiosity. And judging from past experience, a woman like Tressa meant nothing but trouble.

Nick tossed back another swallow of ale, grimacing as it burned a trail to his gut. Loring! Damn him! How the blazes was he supposed to remain in this self-imposed celibacy while that little piece of baggage wormed her way into his life, unlocking doors to emotions he thought had died years ago.

Forget Loring. You know what she wants, so what’s stopping you? Admit it; you’re afraid to let yourself feel again, aren’t you, old man?

“Shut up!” he hissed into the darkness. Raking a hand through his shaggy dark hair, Nick rose from the pilot’s seat and stood before the viewport, staring out at the diamond-studded blackness surrounding the ship. Just what the devil was he supposed to do now? Hell, even staying away from her wasn’t working.

He reached for the bottle again and drained the last of it. There was nothing he wanted more right now than to have her naked beneath him, to breathe in her soft fragrance, to kiss her, taste her, to see her face flushed with passion. He wanted to—Oh hell!

With a final drag from his cigar, he crushed the stub in the ashtray. One thing he knew for damn sure—he was doing one helluva fine job at getting disgustingly drunk. He smiled crookedly at the echoing words of Linc Sheldon, a seasoned cargo pilot who had taken a liking to Nick during the time when he had lost all direction in life. Sheldon had taken him under his wing and eventually put Nick in touch with Loring. “Banner,” he’d said with a sly grin, “there’s just not much that’ll take the place of a woman warmin’ your bunk at night, but I can tell ya this—” he lifted a bottle of Extra Dark for emphasis. “When it gets rough on those long-hauls, I find a bottle or two of this stuff sure beats playin’ five-fingered-stud between ports.”

Nick’s smile slowly faded as he turned and headed for the galley. “Unless the woman’s warmin’ the bunk above yours,” he muttered.

Go on, look at her, the voice whispered as he passed the berths. Go on. It won’t hurt to just look. So what if she wakes. You’re drunk. That excuse hasn’t failed you yet.

His eyes came to rest upon Tressa’s sleeping form.

Thaaat’s right...go on. Look at her.

TiMar lifted his head and curiously watched Nick for a moment before yawning and settling back down. Tressa was sleeping on her side, her hair fanned out in a mass across the pillow. One arm was tucked beneath her head, the other curved protectively about TiMar. Nick’s gaze moved unbidden to the gentle rise and fall of her breasts beneath the satiny nightshift that she wore.

This one’s different, the voice whispered. Not like the others—not like Linnae.

She seemed so childlike, and yet Tressa was far from a child. In truth, she was more woman than he cared to dwell on at the moment.

Waitin’ for that invitation? Go on...touch her. Breathe in her scent. She’ll never know the difference.

Nick reached out, touching her hair with just the tips of his fingers. It was soft, just as he figured. He gently rubbed a glossy lock between his thumb and fingers, then closed his eyes as he breathed in the scent of her. Soft and clean, reminding him of flowers and fresh air—the heady bouquet was like incense to his already overloaded senses.

Remember her touch? What it felt like when her hands tended your wound? Just imagine what magic the rest of her is capable of.

You want her. Go on. Take her. She won’t fight you...not if you’re gentle. Not if you take it slow and easy. She wants you, remember? You’ve seen it yourself; she wants you as bad as you want her. Then the whispered voice seemed to laugh. And you want her so bad right now it hurts, doesn’t it?

With lust churning in his gut, Nick jerked back his hand. Turning on his heel, he headed for the galley where he glided to halt before the froster and withdrew another bottle. At last making his way to the booth, he dropped into one of the seats braced his elbows on the table and buried his face in his hands.

You’re afraid, aren’t you? Afraid of this little slip of a girl. Admit it; she’s already breaking through your defenses—already worming her way into your protected world. She’s fanned to life a tiny spark of emotion in that frozen heart of yours, hasn’t she? And it’s scaring the hell out of you.

He swiped out at the table game that sat poised before him. Game pieces flew across the room and scattered about the deck. A mug crashed into the bulkhead, sending rivulets of cold coffee streaming down the wall.

“Nick?” Wide-eyed, her hair in disarray, her voice soft and drowsy, Tressa stood in the doorway.

Nick’s shoulders were set, his back rigid. “Return to your bunk, Tressa.”

Rubbing her eyes, she hesitated, and took a step forward. “What’s wrong?”

But she stopped again when all six-foot-four of him slowly rose from the chair. He turned to face her on legs slightly spread, a lock of dark hair spilling over his forehead as his narrowed gaze leveled on her. “Your bunk!”

She should have been frightened by the raw savageness he presented. But Tressa bravely stood her ground. “And you should be in bed too, Nick.”

At that, Nick’s eyebrow arched and a crooked grin slowly emerged. “Is that right.” His bold stare frankly assessed her. “And is that an invitation, Irish?”

She shot him a retiring look that he barely caught as his gaze slowly slid downward, taking in her skimpy nightshift. Lingering in particular upon her breasts, he noted how they nearly spilled over the top of the low-dipping neckline. He also noted how the lace-trimmed side-slit of her gown exposed the entire length of her right thigh. If he hadn’t been filled with hot lust at the moment, he would have found it almost amusing that she was standing there clutching a gown’s matching robe instead of covering herself with it.

A long moment of silence hung between them before realization dawned and she hurriedly slipped into the robe.

He watched with silent interest as she fumbled with the tiny clasps. “Need help?”

Her back stiffened as she met his gaze. “You’re drunk.”

“Not drunk enough,” he muttered.

** *

Tressa shifted uneasily beneath his perusal. Glancing down, she noticed the scattered game pieces, and bent to pick up a few that lay nearby.

“Leave them be!”

Dropping the pieces, she straightened. “Nick...what’s wrong?”

What the hell are you stallin’ for now? You’ve given her fair warning; now take her. You’re burnin’ for her. Go on, take her.

As a moth to flame, Tressa stepped closer. “Nick, I’m a good listener if you’d care to talk,” her voice was soft and compelling. “Whatever’s bothering you,” she went on, “sometimes it helps to—”

“Helps?” He watched her face flood with color. “Helps what, Tressa?”

“I...only meant that I would be willing to listen if you needed someone to talk to.” She took a cautious step backward. “But I can see that now’s not a good time.”

“No kidding,” He reached for the unopened bottle he’d set on the table and began working at removing the seal.

Tressa took another step backward. “Maybe we’d just better forget it. We can talk tomorrow, when you’re feeling better.”

“Don’t count on it.” He raised the now-opened bottle in a mocking salute. Placing it to his lips, he swallowed a generous portion of the brew in two burning gulps. “What I have to talk about, sweetheart, I doubt you’d want to hear.” His eyes narrowed. Beyond the skimpy attire, Tressa’s somber dignity drew him, and he found himself aching to find out just how much woman there was beneath that cloak of naiveté. He’d even be willing to bet there was a wildcat hidden behind that façade of respectability.

Tressa started to turn, then hesitated. “Nick, sometimes all a person needs is—”

He slammed down the bottle with such force, it sent a geyser of spray into the air and a cascade of foam running down its side to the table. He moved so swiftly that Tressa gasped when he shackled her wrist in an iron grip.

“You haven’t the vaguest notion of what I need right now or you wouldn’t still be standing here.”

Tressa looked up at him in wide-eyed alarm. “Let go of me!” She struggled to wrench free, but was no match against his superior strength.

Gripped by a primal need to possess her, Nick’s heavy-lidded gaze focused on her mouth.

Slow down, old man. You’re scaring her. You know how to play this game. You’ve done it a million times. Don’t hold her so tight. Say something nice.

Fighting for control, he loosened his hold without completely releasing her. His gaze flickered lazily. “Tressa,” he said softly. “Honey, do you have any idea just how pretty you are?”

Thaaat’s right. . .

He felt a shudder course through her and shifted his focus from her mouth to her large, unblinking brown eyes. Eyes filled with apprehension. . . or. . . or was it intrigue. Hell he was so spaced, he couldn’t tell which. And furthermore it didn’t matter. Nor did it matter that there were a thousand and ten reasons why he shouldn’t be touching her. He was just drunk enough to ignore what he shouldn’t be doing, and concentrate instead on what he was aching to do.

He pulled her against him—intimately, reeling with the feel of her body in direct contact with his and the heady scent of her filling his senses. His hooded gaze dropped into the gaping neckline of her nightshift and another intense wave of raw lust swept through him.

“Tressa,” he said nearly howling at the hunger raging through him. “I need you.” A heartbeat passed before he felt the jolt of comprehension chase through her. He watched her throat work as she choked back a convulsive swallow.

“Please...” she whispered, unconsciously teasing him with her dimpled cheek.

This woman-child had walked into his life and blown his entire existence to hell with her smile, her flashing brown eyes, and her damned dimple. He had never been so driven to possess a woman as he was now. Even Linnae had never had him aching like this.

Slowly his gaze slid back to her mouth. “A kiss. That’s all I ask. Just a kiss.”

“A kiss?” she repeated as though not quite understanding.

“That’s all, honey. One kiss.”

After a long moment of thought, she went up on tiptoes and kissed him on the cheek.

Nick was so primed, he froze at the touch of her mouth brushing his hot skin. And before she could protest, he had her several inches off the floor and nailed against the wall. “Not like that, baby,” he growled. “Like this...” He captured her mouth in a kiss that was both tender and shockingly seductive. He felt Tressa’s body jerk in response when he touched the tip of his tongue to the corner of her lips, seeking entrance.

“Nick...” Her parted mouth allowed him access, and with a groan he took advantage of the moment. Tressa struggled to break free, but it was far too late for any hope of freedom. With hot desire overriding the dictates of his mind, Nick lowered his shaggy dark head and kissed the pulsing hollow at the base of Tressa’s throat. “You should have gone back when I told you to,” he murmured quietly and so seriously there was no mistaking his intent.

Again, with no success, she pushed against his shoulders. “Nick, please...”

He wasn’t listening. Cupping her bottom, he hoisted her a bit higher and adjusted his position.

“Nick...”

“Shhhh, baby just let me hold you,” he whispered, leaning into her heavily, intimately securing her against the wall. He caught her head in his hands and once again lowered his mouth to hers, seeking—demanding entrance.

Slow down. You’re frightening her again.

Leashing his rampaging emotions was not on his agenda. He wanted to ravish her, to make

passionate love to her. He growled her name, and Tressa stifled an answering sob. And then she relaxed. Suddenly. As if some unseen force had taken over, she melted into his embrace. ** * Sensing the change, Nick let out a strangled breath and reacted immediately. “C’mere,” he said, his voice raspy as he lowered her to the floor. Guiding her to the lounge, he eased down and

gently pulled her onto his lap. Once again he claimed her mouth.

Easy…the inner voice cautioned. Be gentle.

“I wanna know what you’re hiding behind that wall of innocence,” he confessed. Drawing her closer, he blazed a trail of soft slow kisses down the arch of her cheekbone to the sensitive curve of her throat. At the delicate skin beneath her ear, he drew a small patch against his teeth, marking her. “Tressa,” he whispered roughly, and felt her tremble when his hand moved to gently outline the fullness of her breast. The cool slickness of her gown and matching wrapper offered a slippery barrier that only added to the sensation. And when he cupped her completely, weighing her in his palm, Tressa moaned, offering no resistance as she buried her face in the hollow of his shoulder.

Thaat’s right, old man. It’s called seduction and you’ve done it hundreds of times without even thinking about it. Take it nice and slow and you’ll have her.

“Ah God, Tressa...” Driven now, Nick struggled to rein in his savage need—one of the hardest things he had done in a long time. Hell, he hadn’t shaken with lust since he was sixteen and what’s-her-name had turned him inside out down by the lake. “Don’t hide from me, honey,” he said, brushing her shiny long hair to the side. He loved her hair, but right now he wanted nothing hiding her from his view. Everything in his experience told him that Tressa was new to the game he was about to teach her. Normally that thought alone would have sent him running the other direction. Truth of the matter was, just the idea had him near to howling with primal hunger. “Look at me,” he said gently, and wondering numbly how the hell he could be hit with gentleness in the maelstrom of what was fast becoming savage need.

“Tressa...” he whispered, placing a knuckle beneath her chin and lifting her face. “Look at me, babe.” And before she could nuzzle against his chest again, he reclaimed her mouth, deepening the passion while subtly easing the wrapper off her shoulder. Skill, born of experience had the tiny strap of her nightshift slipping right off her shoulder along with it.

At last breaking the kiss, Nick’s hungry eyes slowly slid downward to capture the instant he bared her breast. “Damn...” he reverently whispered, nearly choking on unrecognizable emotions. She was perfect—even more so than he had ever imagined.

Tressa gasped when his finger lightly passed over the peak and he watched it harden beneath his touch. And again she nestled her face against him as a shiny curtain of dark russet hid her features from view.

“Tressa...” he groaned, shoving her heavy hair aside and nudging her face back up. “Don’t hide from me, sweetheart I’m not going to hurt you.” He drew her closer, entrapping her as she sat across his lap. “That’s a promise,” he whispered.

With agonizing slowness he tasted a path down her neck, then lower, brushing her sensitive flesh with a light caress of his stubble-roughened cheek. When his hand slid down across her silken belly, coming to rest upon her thigh, he felt her tremble. “I won’t do anything you don’t want me to,” he rasped, hoping he could honor his promise.

Lust and ale, it was a dangerous combination cruising though his veins, and it had his defenses crumbling fast. But he waited patiently until he had banked the worst of it, calming Tressa with soft murmurs until she had once again relaxed in his arms.

With deliberate pressure Nick slowly drew his hand back along the length of her thigh. She didn’t seem to notice that the hem of her soft gown was cleverly rising right along with this hand. In fact, it wasn’t until he lazily slipped his hand between her legs that he felt her tense.

Sensing her flash of uncertainty, he stopped, and with a low murmur once again he began subduing her, only faintly conscious of just how naïve and inexperienced Tressa was to the heated desire that he was deliberately stirring to life.

Slow down pal. Remember, she won’t fight you if you take it slow.

“I need you, Tressa,” he murmured softly against her hair. He adjusted her weight on his lap. “Just for tonight, baby.” It was another moment before his hand began to move again.

Tressa tensed, this time, reaching down to grasp his encroaching fingers.

“Please...”

“Don’t,” he groaned. Drawing a ragged breath, Nick again willed himself to slow down, stilling the hand that was trapped in the cocoon of her tightly clamped thighs.

She tried to rise, but gentle pressure was all it took to keep her pinned.

“Don’t pull away now.” He tilted her chin up with his free hand. “Let me,” he begged hoarsely, grazing her mouth with a tender kiss. She smelled of flowers and tasted like heaven and it went straight to his head. He was dizzy with lust.

Tressa moaned softly; then with a submissive sigh, she turned her face against his neck in sweet surrender.

Nick gently nipped at her, wanting to taste her, feel her, to touch every inch of her. “I won’t hurt you,” he assured her again.

Pliant and unresisting, Tressa moaned his name as he introduced her to his alternative to “talking things out”. Wrapping her arms about his neck, she entangled her fingers in his silky dark mane and gave in to the skilled magic of his touch.

Her weight, her delicate structure, her soft curves—she felt so good, so damn right in his arms. She was designed, he knew, to fit him to absolute perfection.

The fullness of her breasts pressing against his chest, the bite of her nails flexing into his shoulders had the effect of a lick along his spine and nearly drove him over the edge.

“You like that, don’t you?” His voice was deep and resonant.

Tressa clung tighter. Nick knowingly pressed a tender kiss to her forehead. Then, without breaking the rhythm he’d begun, he dipped his head lower, capturing her parted lips.

“Please...” she moaned.

Go on, she’s ready for you. What are you stallin’ for?

The vivid mental image of taking her right then and there swamped Nick’s heated thoughts. It would be so easy. So damn good. With her gown already rucked-up to her hips, it’d be a simple matter of freeing himself and repositioning her on his lap.

But she deserves better than this, Pal..

The cold voice of reason just barely cut through his drugged senses. Ignoring it, he went for his pants. With one arm still wrapped about Tressa, he fumbled single-handedly first with his belt, and then his fly. He had managed the first two studs and was flipping open the third when his movements triggered a change in Tressa’s mood.

“Nooo!” Her attempt to scramble off of his lap was instantly halted by the muscled band of steel wrapped about her waist. “Please, ” she begged.

Nick tightened his hold. “Tressa...don’t, baby.” The flame that had been ignited in his loins was now pushing for release. He needed Tressa beneath him, bad. And yet...it was more than just sexual need. Never had he wanted a woman—any woman—with the driving urgency that was now raging through him. Truth was, everything about her had him floundering. He was used to restraining himself, being in control—thinking through decisions in everything he did. Particularly when it came to women. “No regrets later” was the motto he lived by.

But with Tressa, nothing else mattered except possessing her. He blinked heavily. “Honey just let me—”

“Pleeeze! I didn’t come in here for this!”

One jet brow rose in query. “What the hell did you come in here for?”

“You woke me up with your noise.” She shoved against his chest, determined to be free. “Let me go! I won’t be one of your on-board whores!”

Nick froze. Nothing could have killed the mood more quickly. “One of my what?” he asked. Little did she know his convictions about bringing women on board the Victorious. He could count the number of times on one hand—each one a mistake for one reason or another.

And there was Tressa…pinned on his lap, struggling now with her shift that was bunched up around her waist. Nick’s eyes flickered as perception slowly emerged through the ale-induced haze. He’d all but taken the damn thing off. Her gown was still hanging off one shoulder, still exposing one delectable breast as she struggled to cover herself. Her hair had fallen about her face and shoulders, and her dark eyes were wide with confusion as she stared at him.

The curses were soundless as he uttered them through clenched teeth. Neither his need nor his desire had lessened, but his sense of reason, at least, was beginning to surface through the mindless barrier of intoxicated lust. With another muttered oath, he loosened his hold on her. Hell, at the rate he’d been going, one more minute and Loring’s little angel would have lost her innocence crudely straddling the lap of the Victorious’s crocked captain. Geez, what the hell had been thinking? Fondling Loring’s daughter, of all people!

Regarding her quizzically, his expression grew serious. At the base of her throat her pulse thumped erratically. A rush of pink stained her cheeks, and there was no denying the wonderment in those liquid browns. He knew the signs. She had responded, dammit. She had. He dimly recalled her moaning his name, her soft gasps of pleasure, her nails biting into his shoulder.

And for one savage moment he hadn’t cared about anything but burying himself in her silken depths—with or without her consent. And that was the part that bothered him more than anything. He had never forced a woman in his entire life, but he’d come awfully close to it just now. But then again…would it have been force?

Shock and confusion were evident in her expression, but so was something else. Drunk or not, he hadn’t missed the undisguised passion in her eyes. “Tressa...” Cupping her face with both of his hands, he sighed heavily. “I’m sorry.” God help him, if he didn’t let her go now, he would never be able to pull away from her a second time. And for him, that in itself was a novel admission.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered again.

Nick’s sudden capitulation seemed to subdue Tressa. Now that he had loosened his hold on her, she no longer struggled for freedom. No doubt coping with her own private war with passion, she slipped into what could only be termed a false sense of security.

Tressa may have thought him remorseful, but in truth Nick Banner was no more accountable for himself now than when he had first pulled her onto his lap. Self-disgust hadn’t even entered the picture as yet. Still on the edge, Nick was struggling with only two things: overwhelming lust and the startling realization of whose daughter he was lusting after.

Oh, he’d eventually get around to feeling wracked with guilt. But for now, in his present benumbed state, the fact that she was an innocent and that he had frightened her hadn’t quite sunk in.

With another sigh, he readjusted her position to something a little less intimate. Her wrapper had fallen to the floor. Cursing softly, he retrieved it, shoved it into her hands, and set her back on her feet.

“Go on,” he said harshly, never taking his eyes from her face. “Now! Before I change my mind.”

CHAPTER TWELVE

Tressa remained standing where Nick had released her. His desire had been a heady lure. His kiss, tender and tentative at first, but then had suddenly turned possessive.

He had warned her more than once to get out. And now he was giving her still another chance. Common sense told her it was foolish—crazy—not to take his advice and run as fast as she could. To stay out of his sight until he had sobered up.

Propriety told her that she should be angry and chastise him for the liberties he had just taken. Ah, but passion told her differently. It was passion that told her she wanted more. And with her body still humming from his attentions, Tressa found herself dazed, unable to move.

At first she hadn’t questioned the strange yet overwhelming emotions that had flooded her mind only moments ago. She never thought to wonder at what point her thoughts had turned from honest concern to blatant lust for a man she hardly knew—yet strangely understood. The easy submission he had elicited was so unlike her—as if something—no, someone—was overriding her own sensible judgment. And it all happened so mysteriously. Not until he had stopped to open his pants had reality hit her.

As her breathing began returning to normal, a wave of overwhelming need suddenly swept through her. Not the lustful need she had experienced in Nick’s arms, but a strange emptiness. A longing. A sensation so strong and foreign, it was almost as if the feelings were someone else’s.

But Tressa didn’t have time to think about it now. Nick was watching her with curious interest. Maybe she should try talking to him again, try reasoning with him.

Maybe this time he would listen.

“Nick...” She paused for a meaningful moment, hardly recognizing her own voice. “Why won’t you tell me what’s wrong?”

“Because I guarantee you wouldn’t want to hear it, Irish.”

The intensity of his gaze was intimidating. “Yes, I would,” she persisted.

Swearing softly, Nick looked away. “What did I do to deserve this?” Slowly his gaze returned, revealing twin sparks of glittering flame. “Tressa my little innocent… trust me, you don’t want to know.”

Her back stiffened but, before she could speak he went on. “And believe me, talkin’ won’t cure the problem.” As if calling upon every ounce of willpower he possessed, he rose from the lounge and swept her up into his arms.

Tressa gasped, clutching his shoulders for support as he staggered, striving to maintain his balance. “Nick! Put me down!”

Ignoring her struggles, he headed for the doorway.

“Nick! This is not funny. Put me down at once!”

“Don’t tempt me, Irish. I’m having a hard enough time with this decision as it is.

She tried to squirm free, but it was useless. “Nick? Please—” Her voice broke as they approached the bunks. Keeping one arm wrapped about his neck, she pounded with the other against his shoulder. Ignoring her futile efforts, he seemed to be concentrating more on keeping his balance than anything.

“Consider this your lucky night,” he said, coming to a halt before the tiered berths, “’cause I can’t believe I’m doin’ this.” Cradling her in his arms, Nick swayed on his feet, gathering his strength for God only knew what.

“No! Please!” Stars, he was going to fall with her.

Wavering slightly, he transferred her weight to his hands, and with a surge of power, stiff-armed her above his head.

“Ohhh!” she cried out, but before she could launch any further protests, she had cleared the small guardrail and was toppling unceremoniously out of his hands and into the upper berth.

Tress pulled in a stunned breath as a growling, hissing TiMar rushed to the edge of the bunk, flashing four rows of lethally sharp teeth in warning.

“Ah shut up,” Nick growled back. And for an instant Tressa wasn’t sure just who he was glaring at—her or TiMar.

Leaning an arm against the upper bunk for support, a long thought-filled moment passed before a slow suggestive smirk stole across his face. “Hell,” he added hoarsely, “you returned my kisses, Irish, whether you care to admit it or not.”

“You’re drunk, Nick. Good night!”

“Damn right,” he mumbled. “But not that drunk.”

Tressa slowly burrowed beneath the covers, pulling them protectively under her chin. Her cheeks burned at the truth of his words. She opened her mouth to speak, then clamped it shut.

“I can’t help but wonder”—his lazy drawl was beginning to take on a definite leer—”what ol’ Burke baby—”

“Goodnight, Nick.”

“What’s the matter, Tress, don’t ya wanna talk now?”

“All right,” she snapped, her temper flaring, “we can talk. And after we’ve thoroughly discussed Burke’s reaction, we can move onto discussing my father’s take on it. Now that should prove to be interesting, wouldn’t you say?”

Nick frowned, his hand falling away from the bunk as he mumbled something she didn’t quite catch.

Tressa felt the jolt as Nick’s weight hit the lower berth. A long moment of silence followed in which she hoped he had passed out. But, as if in reply, his gravelly voice once again broke the silence. “By the way, Irish, offhand I’d say you weigh just a trifle more than a feathery one-hundred and ten—as listed on your security plate.”

That just about did it! Who in stars had given him access to her security records? Indeed, who?

“You returned my kisses, Irish...” and then there was silence.

Miraculously she kept her mouth shut and was thankful when that was the last she heard from him. What had started out as concern and kindness on her part had obviously been misconstrued somewhere along the way. As a result, the feelings Nick had set into motion were more than Tressa wanted to face. Her flesh still hummed where he had touched her, where his unshaven jaw had grazed. Stars...sitting upon his lap had left an indelible awareness of the blatant differences in their anatomies.

Never in her life had she felt the way he made her feel. Never had she been kissed the way he kissed her. Even Burke had never been so bold.

And when he touched her! Tressa didn’t even want to think about that, nor the feelings that had coursed through her. Her face heated at the very memory.

How many times over the years had she secretly dreamed of being in Nick Banner’s embrace—of being kissed senseless by the notorious rakehell.

Her breath caught at the memory of the smoldering flame she had seen in his eyes and recalled once again that her friend, Nori, had referred to him as a mythological sun god.

Having now seen and experienced this seductive side of him, Tressa was convinced that drunk or sober, Nick Banner, if given the opportunity, was quite capable of seducing Venus herself.

But what concerned her more than anything was the fact that there was no rational explanation for the lust that had raced through her while in his arms. In truth, it was almost as if an experienced lover had somehow taken up residence in her mind—someone practiced and well versed in the art of love. She, who knew so very little, suddenly knew a confidence in her abilities to please.

Nick was right. She had returned his kisses. In fact, he could have had her at any time, and she would have let him without so much as a whimper of protest. And if she hadn’t snapped out of it when she did, that’s exactly what would have happened. Tressa’s face clouded as his words echoed through her mind: Talkin’ won’t cure the problem. She would have been nothing more than an easy fix.

With a tiny separate part of her brain, she numbly wondered why she would even interest him—naïve and unskilled as she was?

It was then, as she lay there in the dark, staring up at the ceiling, that the full force of reality hit her. He had released her not out of honor. He had dumped her back in her bed because he’d lost interest.

What a laugh it must have given him. He as much as said so himself when he teased her about Burke. Closing her eyes, Tressa vowed that no matter how unpleasant it would be to face him in the morning, he would not have the satisfaction of humiliating her further. And in the meantime she silently wished Nick Banner the very worst hangover of his

* * *

Sprawled across the top of his bunk, still fully dressed, boots and all, Nick awoke with a low moan. Slowly opening his eyes, he squeezed them shut again in unbearable agony. His eyes not only felt gritty, his tongue felt like a flap of dried leather when he tried to swallow. He managed to gingerly open his eyes again—this time to mere slits. Wincing against stabs of pain, he stared motionlessly at the bottom of the upper bunk.

Momentarily disoriented, reality came back by slow degrees, bringing with it distorted images of Tressa and unfulfilled desire. With a low groan, he rolled onto his side. He should have known the momentary lapse of memory was too good to last. No one to blame but himself for this morning’s high price. Damn...it had been years since he had tied one on like this.

He braved the task of sitting up and was burying his head in his hands when Tressa breezed in from the galley.

“Well, good morning. You’re finally awake, I see! Stay right there, and I’ll get you some coffee.”

Suppressing another moan, he ignored her. Her too-cheerful, let’s-pretend-nothing-happened role was enough to set his teeth on edge. Damn, his head hurt!

Tressa had just disappeared into the galley when he managed to whisper, “And some pain tabs...”

The next thing he knew, a mug of coffee was being shoved into his hand. Again Nick made an attempt to gain her attention. “Tress...” he croaked, turning a pain-filled gaze upon her.

“Yes, Nick? Is there something else I can get you?”

As if she didn’t know. “Some pain tabs...please.”

“Yes, of course.” He was certain he overheard a muffled giggle.

“Three. Bring me...three,” he added, but she had just rounded the corner into the lav and it was doubtful she had heard him.

Releasing a compressed breath, he set the coffee down on the shelf inside the berth. Another heavy sigh and he leaned forward, braced his elbows on his knees, buried his face in his hands and waited.

“I don’t know how you managed to get your hands on a supply of these,” he heard her mutter from the lav. Within moments she was at his side. “But two is all you’re getting.”

Belatedly, and with agonizing slowness, Nick uncovered his face and held out a hand while Tressa dropped two tiny green pills into his upturned palm.

“As it is, this is borderline toxic.”

He gratefully accepted the pills and ignored her on-going flow of objections.

“You know, all it would take is some enthusiastic Customs Officer to find...“

Nick clenched his teeth and groaned. Even his hair hurt.

“Did you hear what I said?”

“Tressa, can we discuss this later?”

The chattering stopped.

Lying back down on the bunk, he stifled another moan at the pain stampeding through his head. He closed his eyes. Maybe if he stayed perfectly still and didn’t move, didn’t even breathe, maybe it would go away. He knew better. It may have been a while, but he had been down this road enough times to know there was no shortcut.

“Do you want me to help you with your boots?”

“What?” She was flitting about him again.

“Your boots,” Tressa repeated. “Do you want me to help—”

“No,” he moaned. “Just...let me be.”

As an anchor in the middle of a spinning cabin, he braced a booted foot against the aft wall of the berth and held on.

** *

Four hours later he stirred. The pain had eased to an almost tolerable level and he lay perfectly still, afraid to move for fear it would return. Slowly coming awake, his gaze slid from studying the bottom of Tressa’s bunk to the cockpit, where he read the time off the command console. Thirteen hundred hours.

With body parts responding in slow motion to his brain’s commands, he swung his legs over the edge of the bunk. From there he climbed to his feet, clutching the edge of the upper bunk for stability.

Finally with a sigh and grim determination he reached for his mug of now cold coffee and made his way to the galley. Best to get an unpleasant task over and done with. Leaning against the doorjamb, he stood there a moment, quietly observing Tressa as she sat on the lounge. TiMar was curled in her lap and she was talking softly to him.

As if sensing his presence, she turned, flashing him a smile. “Feeling better?”

Just as he figured, it would either be the ever-popular silent role or the too-cheerful treatment. Neither of which was particularly enjoyable.

Gritting his teeth against a sudden stab of pain, he ran a frustrated hand through his hair, brushing back several lanks off of his forehead. It seemed he had been doing that a lot lately— raking a hand through his hair. A definite sign of stress, he decided.

“I uh...owe you an apology for...umm...” He swallowed. “For what happened—last night. I was outta line and you have my word it won’t happen again.” He braced himself for her fury.

A moment of heavy silence followed his noble apology before Tressa rose to close the distance between them, her expression inscrutable. “You’re apology isn’t necessary, Nick.” She

took the mug from his hand.

“Well... like I said, it won’t happen again.”

Nodding in acknowledgement, Tressa turned for the sink.

Nick’s eyes narrowed, assessing her mood. She was too calm. He knew women well enough to know that after last night’s fiasco, she was too damned calm.

He stared long and hard at her back as she busied herself near the cook center. At last shoving away from the doorframe, he approached her. “Would it help to kick my ass?” he asked softly. “I think I probably deserve it.”

“Yes,” she said, turning abruptly to face him. “You do deserve it.”

“All right,” he said, compliantly. “So…do I sit down first or afterwards?” He offered a lame grin and added, “I’ve never done it quite like this before. I mean are we talking about a hard slap in the face, or do you have something more diabolical in mind?”

Without comment, she turned her back to him again.

“Look, Tressa, I am sorry, and you have my word it won’t happen again.”

Silence. Finally she turned to face him. “You’re apology has been accepted, Nick, and it’s obvious you’re sorry.”

He stared at her suspiciously. “What’s that suppose to mean?”

“Just what I said.”

A muscle jerked in his jaw. “Damned if I know what you’re talking about.”

“Oh I’m sure we understand one another perfectly. But please...don’t worry, because as far as I’m concerned...last night never even happened.” Tressa turned away and began wiping down the small counter.

“Is that right. Never happened, huh?”

“Yes. That’s right. Never happened.”

Frowning, he continued staring at her rigid back while she furiously scrubbed away at the cook top. Never happened hell!

Trying to make sense of it all, he watched her for a long moment. Then, swearing softly, he turned and headed for the shower.

Standing beneath the spray, he came to one very sure conclusion: No matter what, he was going to have to put a tight lid on his consumption of ale right along with everything else he was being forced to censor in his life.

Hell, there was no excuse for last night. Now more than ever, he was going to have to come up with something to occupy her time. It was either that or lose his sanity entirely.

As a woman, she was affecting him more than he ever dreamed possible. He didn’t dare allow his mind to conjure up the image of her responding to him last night. As it was, her very presence was pushing him beyond his limits.

As drunk as he’d been, he should have been spared the memory, but somehow he had a sinking feeling that the image of Tressa’s sweet surrender would be with him for a long time.

Nick was just buttoning his shirt when he stepped out of the lav, clean and freshly shaven. His dark hair, still damp, was swept back and curling down over the top of his collar.

Tressa was still fussing around in the galley. “There’s a fresh pot of coffee,” she called out, her tone a little cooler than normal.

With a sigh, Nick entered the galley and poured himself some. Taking a seat at the table, he blew steam from his mug and watched her over the rim.

“If and when you feel like eating, there’s some—”

Down came his mug. In a blink he was up and crossing the distance between them. Catching her by the elbow, he turned her to face him. “We need to have a little talk. You and me. Now!”

Strained silence filled the cabin. Every curve in Tressa’s body spoke defiance as she jerked her arm out of his grip. “You’re the one who needs the talk. Not me.”

Nick’s smile was not nice. “I was drunk last night. You weren’t!”

“Oh, I see.” Her chin lifted. “And being drunk gives you an excuse, does it?”

“No, dammit, it doesn’t. But I’m not just talking about last night. Whether you realize it or not, sweetheart, we have a serious problem going on here.”

“You mean you have a serious problem, Banner—not me.”

“This relationship.” He went on, “is turning into far more than it should. First of all, you’re not my mother!” he all but shouted.

“Oh really? Well, thank you for clearing up that little misunderstanding.”

“Nor my wife!” he added. “Or even my mistress for that matter.” He rolled his eyes heavenward, exhaling in frustration. “Oh God, what did I ever do to deserve this?”

Tressa tried to look away, but he turned her face back, and spoke softly. “I’m only going to say this once and you’d better listen. This...association—if that’s even the word for it—is strictly employer-employee based. Do you understand what I’m saying? You mean nothing more, nothing less. I’m on contract to pick up a high-sec shipment. The reason and the only damn reason you’re along, is because I didn’t happen to have the authority to accept the shipment, while you did.

He released her and with another heavy sigh, glanced away. “How did I ever manage all these years,” he mumbled to himself, “without you around to fix my meals, bring me coffee, and mother me like you’ve been doing—”

“Are you implying that I—”

His deep voice was no more than a whisper of warning. “The next time you decide to encourage a man, you’d better be damn sure you’re prepared for the consequences.”

“Encourage? Just because you can’t keep your pants fastened, it’s not my—”

“The next guy might not let you off so easy. Are you with me, Tressa? Is it sinking in?”

She swallowed hard and felt her face drain of color. “For your information, I was not trying to encourage you.”

“Oh yeah? And just what have you been trying to do over the past week? I’m curious. Did you have a particular goal in mind, or were you just playing house for a while?”

He heard her quick intake of breath and felt a twinge of regret. Damn it all, something had to be said or next time he wouldn’t be able to stop himself. “It’s a dangerous game you’re playing, Irish.” His voice had turned low and husky again. “I’m willing to play if you are. But I suggest we go over the rules of the game first.” He frowned mockingly. “Somehow I got the impression you weren’t quite ready last night.”

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

Nick released her chin and took hold of her hands. His voice softened. “Tressa...please stop mothering me. I’m begging you. Stop looking after me as if there’s more between us than there is. Quit worrying whether I’ve eaten or not, or if I’m staying up too late. Don’t even put salve on my damned wounds. I’m not going to survive at this rate.”

Tressa set her jaw. “If you’ll remember, you’re the one who suggested I cook.”

“Well, I’m suggesting now that you stop. Just don’t—do—anything. Am I making myself clear?”

“Loud and clear. And that’s fine with me.”

“Excellent.” He turned and made his way to the helm.

Outraged, Tressa darted for the lav. How dare he accuse her of being the one at fault? Her eyes narrowed as she leaned against the closed panel. How dare he blame her for his weakness? Of all the arrogant... The echo of Nick’s maddening words marched through her mind. “Just don’t—do—anything.”

Tressa had never considered herself petty, but right now she wanted nothing more than to nurse her anger. If that’s the way he wants it, that’s exactly what she’ll do, absolutely nothing, least of all speak to him.

** *

With his lecture resounding in her ears, she made a gallant effort to keep out of Nick’s way over the next few days. Though there was nowhere to go, she managed to isolate herself in the galley, ignoring him whenever he came in for coffee or something to eat.

Standing before the viewport, she watched as the Victorious gained steadily on a comet that was following its own parallel course. Though separated by millions of miles, they were presently abreast of it, the sight was breathtaking, its bright fiery head completely engulfing the viewport.

Not all that long ago she had dreamed of being such a comet at LorTech, working with her father—learning the business in order to take over someday.

Jonathan had always left the door open for her to change her mind, had always encouraged her to sample and investigate other careers. In fact, it was he who had encouraged her to volunteer at Port Ireland’s Med Facility and to eventually take pre-med. She had taken the course just to please him, not really thinking she would ever be interested. But to her surprise she had begun showing a genuine interest in the medical field, and eventually she found herself torn between the two careers. Meanwhile, her father continued acquainting her with the various levels of the corporation, including the position of company MedTech. At last—a chance to combine both fields. Even her sparking interest in Burke Sinclair wasn’t enough to dim the lights of her bright future at LorTech.

She couldn’t help but wonder how the job description would read for being trapped aboard a small cargo ship with a belligerent swamp rat who blamed her for his lack of self-control.

Typical rat, she muttered. Not wanting to admit that there was absolutely nothing typical about Nick Banner, neither his looks nor his conduct. In truth, he had totally addled her brain the moment she first stepped on board.

In her mind’s eye, Tressa relived the first few moments when she had faced him in the galley last night—that gloriously handsome face framed in dark hair had set her heart pounding. She tried not to think of his touch, that slow magic that had awakened frightening new sensations that she only half understood.

How could she feel this way about him when he made her so furious? There was little doubt but that she was a major inconvenience in his life. She supposed she should be thankful that he had dumped her in her bunk—unscathed. Once again her cheeks burned as she recalled how effortlessly he had torn down her defenses. How easily he’d changed his mind too, depositing her into the upper bunk like so much baggage. The experience had been humiliating. She refused to admit that the undertaking of lifting her above his head as he had, was an impressive feat at best. However, considering his blood alcohol level at the time, it was incredible. Physically, it had to have been much harder than it appeared.

Tressa wondered what it would take for him to think of her as something else besides “Loring’s cargo.” A small part of her wished that she was blonde and prettier, and experienced in the ways of love. But then, why should she care? Nick Banner would never commit to anyone but himself.

“Taylor’s Comet...in case you’re wondering.”

Committed to her plan to ignore the rat, Tressa refused to even acknowledge his presence, let alone the offered information. And she didn’t need to turn around to see him. In her mind’s eye she knew just what he was doing. He was standing in the doorway, probably leaning against the frame in his usual slouched stance. He seemed always to be leaning or slouching or sprawling on something. Tressa knew that wasn’t entirely true, but she was in no mood at the moment to admit that there was an easy masculine grace in the way the rat carried himself.

“When you get a moment, Tressa,” he continued, “would you come up front? Please.” Not waiting for a response, Nick turned and headed back to the helm.

What was it about him that could make her forget what was most important in her life? And why did her pulse race every time he entered the same room?

Just as the comet, now dropping rapidly astern, seemed to be running a losing race against the Victorious, Tressa’s plan of defense was running a losing race against her heart. With a sigh she turned and headed for the cockpit.

“I’ve decided to give you something to keep you busy,” he said as she quietly came forward.

“Oh? Did you forget that I was specifically told I wasn’t to do anything?”

He looked at her so hard, Tressa felt a jolt course through her. “Have a seat,” he said with tight control as he motioned for her to take the pilot’s seat. “I’ve decided to teach you a few cockpit basics.”

Instantly forgetting her anger and her plan to be obstinate, Tressa’s face lit up. “You’re going to teach me how to run the Victorious?”

His mouth quirked. “Not exactly, Irish, just a few basics. I’m assuming you know how to pilot a landcraft?”

“Yes, of course.”

“Good; then you have a working knowledge of what I’m about to show you.”

Beginning with power-up, much of the afternoon was spent with Nick leaning over Tressa’s shoulder, patiently explaining the difference between that switch and this button, what it means when this light turns red and what to do when that one turns green.

“See that lineup of toggle switches overhead?”

Tressa glanced up. “You mean these?” she asked, pointing.

“Yes. Flip the first four straight down.”

She did, then watched in amazement as another section on the command console suddenly sparked to life with a low whine. A diagnostic schematic materialized on the screen, depicting the entire ship from stem to stern. Below was the notation, “Pilot Information.”

“Now, before you go any further,” Nick continued, “You’re going to ask the computer to do a basic systems check. Tap in the words, SYSTEM OVERVIEW.”

Tressa did, then looked up in anticipation.

“Okay. Now flip that fifth switch.”

“This one?”

“Yes. Bring it straight down.”

She did, and instantly, the schematic of the ship snapped to life. To the left, beside the illustration, was a progressive read-out of every detail about the ship, from the life support system to the security.

“See this list?” he asked, pointing to the screen. “As each feature is monitored, this list will highlight exactly what the computer is checking. Over here, the corresponding area on the schematic will light up in red. If it checks, the color will change to green and the list will move on to the next detail. If it doesn’t, that section will remain in red on the schematic. The objective is to wind up with a completely green diagram of the ship at the end. Anything still in red needs fixing.”

Tressa caught on quickly, but not without a certain amount of awkwardness. Nick was thorough and surprisingly patient with her, continuing to go over the same thing until he was satisfied that she understood it completely.

A couple of times she became confused, like when she was learning to enter coordinates into the NAVCOMP. Still, Nick continued to show extreme tolerance, while at the same time carefully keeping things on a no-nonsense basis.

He was doing it again, causing that peculiar swooping in the pit of her stomach. And he wasn’t even trying. She refused to admit that it took nothing at all to stoke a smoldering fire inside her, bringing back memories of his kisses...his touch. Just the scent of him as he leaned over her, the way he said her name, or even looked at her was all it took. Wasn’t it odd, she thought, his male arrogance—the very thing that infuriated her the most, was what drew her like a magnet.

“This gauge here, relates to temperature,” he said pointing to a panel headed by the title, CLIMATE CONTROL. “It displays both interior and exterior temperatures.” He leaned forward and touched a pad marked INT. TEMP. “Right now the temperature is at sixty-eight.”

Tressa nodded. “And this one, here,” she pointed, “tells the exterior temperature?”

“That’s right.”

“Would it give the outside temperature reading right now?”

He grinned. “To be truthful, I’ve never tried it in space before. If it registers at all, it will be reading the temperature off the hull. Go ahead. Press it and let’s see what happens.”

Tressa touched the pad labeled, EXT. TEMP, and was instantly rewarded with an answer.

“Minus two hundred-four? Now that ought to chill your Extra Dark.”

“Yeah, that ought to chill something all right,” he muttered.

By the end of the afternoon he seemed genuinely impressed that she had passed two tests he’d set for her. “Tomorrow,” he told her, “I’ll teach you about Stellardrive.” He referred to the very mode of travel that was making it possible for them to get to where they were going in just a few short weeks rather than years.

Over the next couple of days Tressa breezed through each step of instruction. But when she wasn’t occupied with her new lessons she kept her vow about staying out of his way. She continued to make coffee, but no longer brought him his. And conversation, unless it pertained to the workings of the ship, had been brought to a grinding halt. True to her vow, she neither spoke nor acknowledged him unless he initiated the conversation. And even then her responses were short and to the point.

** *

Lee Bryant activated the ship’s tactical screen. With another entry, a simulated star system appeared, complete with major planets. A solid green dot represented their own ship; a flashing red delta symbolized their target.

Bryant’s lips twisted into a sinister smile. “Gentlemen, it looks like we’ve just caught up with the Victorious.” He entered instructions into the on-board computer, and then smugly puffed a fat cigar stub to life. All three men watched in fascination as a pulsing amber line measured the distance between the green dot and the red delta, then computed the distance into time. “We should have the Loring girl within eighteen hours and be on our way back to collect payment.”

“And Banner will be wishing he was never born,” DeVries sneered.

* **

By midmorning of the next ship day, Nick was growing weary of the game that Tressa was playing. Oh, he was well aware of what she was doing. After all, he reasoned, it was far safer than to have her continually underfoot, driving him to drink with her nearness.

He took a sip of his coffee and reflected on the other night. Drunk out of his mind or not, the memory of her responding in his arms was vivid. But in his intoxicated drive to have her, slow and easy wasn’t part of the plan. A mistake that had frightened her into pulling away.

Hell, he could see her now, breathless with the desire he had stirred to life, yet too inexperienced to fully understand what was happening. But he knew. Yeah, he knew exactly what was happening to her, and in his rush to have her he had blown it.

And thank God! Geez Loring’s daughter!

With a sigh, he patted his pocket for one of his slender cigars, found one and lit up. If given another chance, he’d never be able to pull away—in spite of who she was.

Sad thing was, his plan to keep her busy and out of his way had failed miserably. He wanted to laugh. No, he wanted to cry. He had spent the last two days hovering over her, breathing in her sweet scent, and touching her while having to mix physical with verbal instruction. His entire plan had backfired, leaving him in almost worse condition than when he’d started the noble endeavor. Further defeating his purpose, the thoughts he was presently entertaining would shock more than her socks off.

Silently cursing, he reprimanded himself for his weakness. It was madness, and there was only one solution to his self-inflicted torture. He would simply have to put her out of his mind for the remainder of the voyage. The responsibility was his, and it wouldn’t be easy. He leaned back in the command seat, pondering the unbelievable fact that his desire for her was stronger than ever. He missed their talks and the sound of her warm laughter. But he had given his word to Jonathan, and by God, he meant to keep it.

Hardening his heart, Nick closed his eyes in an effort to get her off of his mind. Dammit Tressa wasn’t even within sight and his entire body was in a state of torment. Steeling his mind against his desire for her, he clamped his thin cigar between his teeth, clasped his hands behind his head, stretched his long legs out before him and willed himself to relax.

** * It was early on the fourteenth day, Nick had just stepped out of the galley with a mug of coffee in his hand when suddenly a host of klaxons and proximity alarms began sounding.

What he saw when he activated the ship’s vidscreen brought him up short.

“Sonofabitch!” There was no mistaking the fast-approaching ship, and no escaping either.

Tressa came tearing from the galley. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing. Yet.” He strode across the cabin for his gun and began strapping it on.

“Nick! What’s happening?”

“Tressa, c’mere.” Grabbing her by the arm, he propelled her toward the bunks where he dropped to one knee and began pulling out the stored articles jammed beneath his berth. “I don’t want any arguments, and we haven’t got time for questions. Just crawl under the bunk.”

“What?”

“It’s not a suggestion, Tressa. Do it!”

Warily she lowered herself to the floor. “What’s happening?” she asked, her eyes wide with alarm.

Nick hunkered down beside her, catching her chin affectionately and then searching her face, as if committing every detail to memory. “I don’t know what’s going to happen, but I have a gut feeling you’re not going to like what you see or hear.” He brushed his thumb tenderly over her lower lip, then caressed her mouth with a gentle kiss.

A moment of silence passed before he spoke again. “It’s imperative that you stay hidden until I say otherwise, you understand?” She stared at him, owl-eyed. “Do not draw attention to yourself in any way, Tressa. It will be all I can do to defend this ship without having to worry about you too.”

She nodded woodenly and began crawling beneath the bunk, sliding clear to the back wall at his coaxing. Reaching above the bunk, Nick withdrew a small weapon from his utility belt. “Here,” he said, pressing it into her palm. “If for any reason I don’t make it through this...” he paused meaningfully. “Use it!”

Tressa stared at the weapon in her hand. It was heavy and cold. “…Nick?”

“You use it. You hear me? Just aim and pull the trigger.” With that, he commenced replacing as many of the boxes and travel packs as possible. As soon as Tressa was completely hidden from view, he quickly stashed the consignment of ale into the ship’s hold, along with a few remaining crates that wouldn’t fit under the bunk. From there he stood and shoved the upper bunk back into place against the bulkhead.

“Nick—”

“Just remember what I told you about keeping quiet—no matter what happens. And another thing should anything happen to me, you have enough knowledge to get this ship out of here. Remember that. The coordinates are already preset,” he said, scanning the cabin for any other telltale signs of a companion on board.

“Nick, you’re scaring me.”

Another alarm sounded, this one with more urgency as the Victorious shuddered under a heavy jolt.

Recognizing the sensation, a heavy rock landed in the pit of his gut. “Damn,” he muttered softly, turning for the helm. There was no mistaking the grab of a tow beam.

With a crackle of static, the comset snapped to life, and Nick was face to face with the sneering face of a familiar enemy, Quint Kendyl.

“Kill your drives, Banner, and prepare to be boarded.”

With a heavy sigh, Nick leaned forward and reluctantly tapped in a series of keys. Within seconds the drive system began shutting down. The ensuing silence was penetrating, leaving only the soft hiss of the ventilation.

It was then, for the first time since Tressa had come aboard that the ship’s main computer broke the silence, and did so with a seductively feminine voice.

In one of their earlier conversations, Nick had shared with her about the time he had the computer overhauled and, as a practical joke, it came back with a voice change—from dull monotone to sensuous female. Though he had intended to return it for an adjustment, he just never got around to it, and in the meantime had programmed the computer to use voice only in the event of emergencies.

In breathy undertones, the voice began analyzing the ship’s situation and logically deducing the best maneuver. “Nick, darling, I think you should know that we are being held by a tow beam.”

“No kidding,” he responded dryly. “Thanks, I hadn’t figured that out yet.” Reaching overhead, he activated yet another series of red-lit switches.

The sensuous voice continued. “As a result of the ship’s current tactical status, as well as the lack of sufficient weaponry, the probability of a successful engagement and/or escape, is zero, love.”

“Right...” he replied, preoccupied at the controls.

“Therefore, any decisions to engage will be considered improper and abnormal use, invalidating the hull warranty. In no event shall the manufacturer be liable for loss of profits, loss of business, interruption of service, or any indirect, special, or consequential damages arising out of any breach of this warranty.”

Nick ignored the provocative voice and it’s on-going flow of legalese. A soft chime sounded, and he depressed a pulsing red-lit button.

“Nick, darling, under these conditions if you should elect suicide over surrender, I will dump the ship’s atmosphere at your command.”

“Gee thanks, but I think I’ll give surrender a try first. Now, will you shut the hell up so I can decide what I’m doing after that?”

A second jolt traversed the ship. Nick rose from his seat and stalked toward the docking port. “Tressa, remember what I said. Not a word. Not a single sound.” There was an edge of desperation to his voice.

Life-sustaining air could be heard hissing into the small chamber between the outer lock and the inner hatch. Removing the safety thong from his gun, Nick waited until a bell sounded and a red indicator turned green. Palming the lock, he stepped back, the heel of his hand resting on the butt of his gun as the doors cycled open and three men boarded the Victorious.

“Well, well, Banner. Fancy meeting you clear out here in the middle of nowhere.”

From her hiding place Tressa could see someone aiming a hand weapon directly at Nick’s chest, his words deceivingly friendly, but his tone clearly lethal.

The man appeared to be about Nick’s age. His medium brown shoulder length hair was swept back and secured. Though he wasn’t as tall as Nick, his muscular build spoke of a strength all its own.

“Yeah, what a small galaxy, Kendyl.” Nick’s gaze slid to the two thugs standing behind Kendyl. “You sure three of you are enough? Maybe you ought to send for backup.”

The man’s eyes narrowed. “If my guess is correct, the backup is well on its way.” Without explaining further, Kendyl turned, giving a curt nod to one of the men standing behind him. His weapon drawn, the man immediately stepped around Kendyl and advanced upon Nick.

Slowly raising his hand from the butt of his gun, Nick had no choice but to allow the man to lift the weapon from its holster.

“You know, now that I think about it, it’s a coincidence meeting you at all.” Kendyl continued in his meaningless friendly banter. “Why, the last I heard, you were dead.” He frowned, shaking his head in mock disgust. “Just can’t seem to find good help nowadays.”

“Got that backwards, Kendyl. It goes: ‘You can’t keep a good man down.”

Nick stood there in his usual laid-back manner, emanating an air of total boredom. The deceptive laziness was belied only by the contempt in his eyes.

Kendyl’s smile was smug. “That reminds me; my compliments on the way you handled those men back at Port America.”

“Yeah? They were your men?”

“’Fraid not, but you left one of ’em dead.”

Tressa stifled a gasp.

Kendyl laughed. “It seems you’re even more popular now than you were before.” “Is that right.” Nick continued watching Kendyl with idle interest. “Shame someone didn’t warn them about messing around with the Vicki.” A moment of intense silence passed before Kendyl changed the subject. “Word’s out you have a high-security consignment onboard.” Nick frowned, looking confused. “What cargo is that? I wasn’t aware I had anything with a high-sec tag on it.”

Kendyl threw back his head and laughed. “Unless you’ve changed over the past few years, I’d say you’re very much aware of exactly what’s sitting in your cargo bay.” His face grew serious. “I’m giving you a choice. Either open the ship’s hold willingly or, under a little ah…shall we say motivation? The choice is yours.”

The corners of Nick’s mouth rose. “Just curious, how’d you find me?”

“Easy. You’re glowing brighter than the double stars of Triton right now. Looks like some thoughtful person put a tracer on your hull. You must be growing careless in your old age.”

Kendyl wouldn’t have known it, but he just answered the two questions that Nick had been wondering about. Number one, he knew that Kendyl was after the Shaiel consignment and not Tressa. And number two, he knew exactly how Kendyl had tracked him down. If there was in fact a tracer on board the ship, it sure as hell wasn’t on the hull as Kendyl suspected. With the RIPPER for security, there was only one way a tracer could have been placed. Despite his sophisticated sensing equipment, it had to have been smuggled onboard with the bogus cargo he’d picked up on Shaiel. Nick grinned inwardly...the very cargo Kendyl was now so anxious to take off his hands. Skillfully masking his speculation behind a casual façade, Nick smiled. “Well, in that case, I suppose I’d better check the hull as soon as I hit dirt.”

Kendyl chuckled. “That’s if you even make it to the next port. Now, are you going to open the hold, or do you need a little incentive?” He gave a faint nod to the man who had taken Nick’s weapon. The next instant, Nick felt the bore of his own gun resting against his ribs.

Skilled at masking his emotions, no one would have guessed the concern racing through Nick’s mind as they passed the sleeping berths. One noise. That’s all it would take.

“So, what do you plan to do with the shipment?” Nick asked casually.

“Depends on what it is first,” Kendyl replied. “One thing’s for sure. I can sell it on the market for a hell of a lot more than you’re delivering it for.”

“So, you’ve gone pirate all the way now, is that it?”

The grin faded and Kendyl ignored the comment.

“Why doesn’t that surprise me?” Nick muttered softly.

“Just open the damn hold.”

The equipment was not only bulky, but also heavy. It took Nick and two of Kendyl’s men a good twenty minutes to move it from one ship to the other. Once the mission was accomplished Nick was escorted back at gunpoint, where he turned and faced Kendyl, his expression unreadable as his gaze slid from Kendyl’s face to the small black weapon in his hand.

“I’m sure you can understand that we can’t afford to have you following us. I should just kill you here and now, but I think I’ll leave that amusement for your fan club. They shouldn’t be too far behind.” With that he laughed as his thumb depressed a small button on the weapon.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

Choking back a cry as Nick collapsed to the deck, Tressa felt the fury of the nerve–jamming currents as if they were ripping through her. It was as if there was some sort of a link between her and Nick and now she too was experiencing...Nick’s agony!

Suddenly the sensation died to dull spasms, and with it Tressa sensed Nick had lost consciousness. Unable to see more than his extended arm, resting palm up, anguish nearly overpowered her. Sheer will kept her silent.

“Been a pleasure seein’ you again, Nick ol’ buddy.” With a smirk of satisfaction, Kendyl began backing into the air lock. The inner hatch cycled closed, and then there was silence.

Too stunned, too scared and much too smart to move, Tressa remained hidden for what seemed an eternity. The only sound was the pounding of her heart and her own ragged gasps for breath. Only when she heard the sound of Kendyl’s ship disengaging from the Victorious did she scramble out from her hiding place.

“Nick,” she sobbed, rushing to his side.

But there was no response. Sprawled on the deck of the ship, Nick lay motionless, his body limp and deathly still. Dropping to her knees. Tressa placed a trembling hand to the pulse point at his neck and was relieved to find a strong, steady thud beneath her touch. She brushed a dark lock of hair off his face. “Nick...please...can you hear me?”

Her eyes brimmed with tears as she assessed his unconscious form. Noticing the stiff angle of his leg, she straightened it. Then, unable to think of anything else to do, she grabbed a pillow and blanket from his bunk and tenderly covered him, cushioning his head against the cold hard deck of the ship.

Sensing it would be many long hours before he would come around, Tressa rose to her feet and drew in several calming breaths. But a fresh lance of panic shot through her when her gaze rested on the silent, empty cockpit.

The Victorious was drifting aimlessly in the dark void of space, awaiting God only knows what to catch up with them.

Establishing her priorities was easy. Finding the strength to carry them out was another matter. If Kendyl was right, trouble was on its way, and Tressa knew Nick would not be sitting around waiting for it to arrive.

There was only one course of action to take, and that was to power back up and get out of there.

Promising she would return to tend to him, she rushed to the cockpit, taking her place in the pilot’s seat. In her life, she could never remember feeling quite so small as she did at this moment...or quite so lost. Another wave of panic swept over her as she studied the complex command console.

”Dear God,” she whispered, feeling as though Nick had taught her only a miniscule of what she should know. With a deep breath, her shaky fingers began entering information she had only recently begun to learn. In response, a host of indicators snapped to life on the instrument panel, and her eyes were drawn to a brightly lit section, a diagnostic data center linked to the on-board computer. It featured a full display of digital readouts which she remembered Nick briefly going over with her.

Headings such as FUEL CONSUMPTION and WATER CONSUMPTION were self-explanatory. She moved on to others, finding RANGE CODE, BOOSTER RELAY, THRUST VECTOR and ORBITAL TRAJEC not only meaningless, but she also had no idea how important they were. Nick never explained anything about these.

Blinking away tears, she leaned back, trying to remember what came next. Just then, a soft chime sounded, heralding the illumination of a single panel of orange indicators. A pulsing notation on the monitor read: SOURCE OF POWER?

Tressa’s mind spun.

There are two drive systems, Tressa. Nick’s voice echoed through her mind. Standard jets and Stellardrive.

The soft chime sounded again, and the tiny notation winked off and then back on again. SOURCE OF POWER?

Tressa hesitantly reached out and depressed her selection, watching as the notation instantly cleared.

She waited expectantly. Nothing.

Fear slashed through her, kindling even worse fears.

What if she couldn’t get the ship up and running?

What if those men caught up with them?

What if Nick should die? That one was the worst of them all. Catching her lower lip between her teeth, she stole a quick look at him. “Don’t you dare die on me,” she breathed, feeling overwhelmed by the mixture of compassion, terror...and a sudden emptiness that she couldn’t explain.

With a deep breath she studied the controls. Relax and think, Tressa. Think about what he taught you.

She emitted a nervous giggle at suddenly remembering the next step. Reaching out, she depressed the final key in the sequence of ignition. She flinched as the Victorious responded to her command with a shudder and a low growl.

By now Tressa was holding her breath as she reached above her head to press yet another key. In return the low-pitched whine began building and Tressa emitted a soft gasp when all sorts of digital readouts began rapidly climbing and indicators on the console winked from red to amber.

With a new sense of urgency, she called upon her memory. Facing the console, her back rigid, she watched the display of lights change one by one from amber to green. When the cycle was complete, she proceeded to turn to the NAVCOMP, thanking God that the coordinates for their destination were already loaded.

She entered yet another series of numbers that Nick had taught her, and within a matter of minutes the readings indicated that they were indeed underway.

As soon as Stellardrive had engaged and the wave of dizziness had passed, Tressa swung around with a heavy sigh of accomplishment, her gaze lighting upon Nick as he lay sprawled on his stomach.

She rose and went to him, kneeling at his side. “First we need to get you to the bunk,” she murmured, considering the task of getting him off the cold decking.

Once again her training at Port Ireland’s med facility came into play. Removing the blanket she had placed on him earlier, Tressa began rolling up one edge until she had rolled up approximately one-fourth of it. From there she commenced tucking the rolled section up against the length of his back, and spread out the unrolled portion.

With that done, she knelt behind him, hooked her fingers through his belt loops, and pulled. Two strong tugs rolled Nick’s inert body onto his back, but it also entrapped her folded legs beneath him in the process. Tressa squirmed free of his weight and Nick slid off her knees and

onto the blanket, moaning softly when his head hit the deck with a thud.

“Nick...” Her heart pounded with anticipation. “Can you hear me?”

No response.

A cold knot formed in the pit of her stomach as she studied him, looking for any indication that he would soon regain consciousness.

She touched his face, her hand cupping his stubble-roughened jaw. “Nick... Please. Wake up.”

Refusing to give in to tears, she clambered over him to the other side. The rolled section of the blanket was now pinned beneath Nick’s back. Several hard yanks and she had it free. The end result, as she unrolled it, left Nick just where she wanted him—-lying somewhere near the center of the blanket.

“Now to get you to the bunk, she muttered with determination.

Grabbing both ends of the blanket, it took Tressa ten of the most strenuous minutes of her life to drag Nick’s still body over to the bunk. From there she angled him into a sitting position, with his back against the bed and his head lopped forward onto his chest.

She blew at an unruly wisp of dark hair that was tickling her forehead. He was much heavier than she had anticipated. Pausing, she allowed herself a minute of rest before tackling “phase two”.

Next she climbed up on the bunk behind him. Sitting on her knees, she reached down, grasping him beneath his arms. “Here it goes,” she muttered, straining against his weight.

It took all of her strength and several tries before she had managed to even budge the unconscious captain. Leaning back, jaw clenched in determination, Tressa continued her struggle as Nick’s body slowly inched upward.

“I could sure use—a little—team effort about now,” she ground out between labored breaths.

Tressa was so caught up in her efforts; she failed to note that the procedure was actually dragging him up on top of her. The realization didn’t set in until a final lunge knocked her back onto the bunk, where she smacked her head against the back wall and was left helplessly pinned beneath Nick’s formidable body.

Exhausted from her efforts, and trapped beneath Banner’s dead weight, Tressa couldn’t move. It was hard to even breathe. Her chin nestled into the hollow of his shoulder with his sable hair tickling her cheek. The male scent of him filled her nostrils, and for an instant Tressa could almost picture that cocky grin of his and hear his low chuckle. “You’d just love this, wouldn’t you?” she muttered, working her arms in between their bodies until she had the palms of her hands braced against his back. Even unconscious, his back was an immense slab of muscled steel. His buttocks snuggled into the gap of her slightly parted knees and to Tressa’s dismay, every move she made, every wriggle, separated her legs even more.

Cozy, isn’t? She could almost hear his taunting voice, see that lazy smile.

Now the trick was to roll him off of her and not have him slide right back down onto the floor. Tressa was just gathering her strength for the endeavor when a deep purring interrupted her concentration. Turning her head toward the sound, she found herself peering into huge green cat eyes.

TiMar had joined them on the bunk and was presently kneading his front paws in her fanned-out hair, thoroughly contented at the cozy arrangement.

“Not now, TiMar. This is...definitely a temporary situation, and you are…right in...my

way,” she said, gasping between words.

With his tail held high, TiMar lazily sashayed up onto Nick’s belly. In so doing, the tip of his tail was all that Tressa could see from her limited point of view. Peering over Nick’s shoulder, she watched his tail going around and around in a tight circle; then suddenly disappear. Loud purring in the middle of a yawn told her that the little desert cat had made himself quite comfortable in the middle of Nick’s stomach.

“I’ll remember this, TiMar. You little traitor.”

With a giant breath, Tressa heaved herself up, carefully tugging until Nick’s body slowly slid off of her and onto the bunk. TiMar jumped to the floor. It was just a matter of arranging Nick’s legs on the bunk now, removing his boots and positioning the pillow beneath his head. At last she covered him with a blanket and sat down on the edge of the bunk with a heavy sigh.

She was exhausted. Her head throbbed. Her arms ached, and she was sick with worry. Worry over Nick, over the men following them, and over some sort of tracking device that Quint Kendyl said was on the hull.

“So what now, Captain?” she whispered, unable to draw her eyes from his face. Stars, that face. He was so handsome; he could melt a woman with a glance. All in the space of a heartbeat. And it wasn’t just her. Nick Banner seemed to addle the wits of just about every woman he came near.

Quickly assessing her own appearance, Tressa swiped at an unruly lock of hair and tried smoothing the wrinkles from her wilted jumpsuit. She was hardly a “catch” in anyone’s book, but now that the ship was finally underway and she had Nick onto his bunk, a shower beckoned.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

Nick stirred as frightful images rose up to torment him. Brief flashes of memory surfaced only to dissolve again into uncertainty. Entrapped in a deep void of darkness, he was restrained by unseen bonds, poised on the edge of reality while fiendish monsters tore at his flesh, clawing and scratching. The pain...it was all he could do to hold back a cry of agony as another intense thrust of it shot through him. His thoughts blurred and he felt himself drifting, deeper and deeper into a beckoning black hell. He felt intense heat, could hear it crackling, almost smell the stench. Ah, God, death would be a mercy.

Suddenly there was a presence at his side and he felt a cool caress on his face, a soft voice.

Linnae?” he called out. He needed her so desperately now.

Though temporarily repelled by this unseen ally, the monsters weren’t about to give him up with out a struggle, and he cried out again in anguish before they were driven back, their eyes glittering in the dimness.

There it was again, that soft sound. He strained, riveting his attention on the gentle voice that offered refuge and hope. Feeling a cool touch on his hand and gasping in relief, he hung on, desperately forbidding this angel of mercy to leave his side.

Then as suddenly as she came, he was alone again! Inching their way back, his tormentors returned. Nick’s throat worked convulsively. He would never survive, not alone! ** *

Tressa paused as a strange sensation swept through her. An image rose in her mind, struggling through layers of white pain and enshrouding blackness, it surfaced briefly, then dissipated.

“Nick...” she whispered, her face paling with realization of what she was experiencing.

A low moan broke the silence, and Nick tossed his head in agony.

Rushing to his side, panic curled within her as she watched his chest heave with a broken gasp. His fists clenched and unclenched as they twisted into the blanket.

“Nick,” she called, studying him closely. “Can you hear me?” She pressed her palm to his cheek. “Please...wake up.”

“Linnae?” he gasped.

Tressa stiffened.

Nick moaned again. “Need...you...” he mumbled brokenly, his throat working between words.

“Linnae?” Tressa whispered. By his own declaration Nick Banner needed someone named Linnae? It was a knife to her heart. He had never mentioned someone special. She had even recalled asking him once if he had ever been in love and his answer had come on a burst of humorless laughter. “Love?” he mocked, “Love is for fools, Tressa. Here today. Gone tomorrow.” She distinctly recalled his cynicism.

A low guttural growl dragged her from her thoughts. Nick’s breathing had become ragged.

In an effort to offer comfort, Tressa caught his hand, only to have her forearm captured in a vice-like grip that all but cut off her circulation.

“Let go!” she demanded, working to pry his fingers loose. “Nick! Let...go!”

His chest rose and fell with broken gasps as he desperately clung to her. Forgetting her arm and the pain he was causing, Tressa shuddered as an unexplainable fiery current passed between them. Icy black fear shot through her and she inhaled sharply as once again she sensed a strange link between them—bringing with it frightening, and unfamiliar emotions.

His frightening emotions.

“Nooo!” Wrenching her arm from his hold, Tressa stumbled backward, nearly falling in the process. For a brief instant she knew his emotions—knew the excruciating pain he was enduring, the agony and panic of being imprisoned in darkness. Alone.

She had experienced his fear, as if it were her own.

With her heart pounding she stared at him while rubbing the fresh bruises on her arm.

Go to him, Tressa, a small voice urged. He needs you.

“Nooo!” Recoiling at the thought, Tressa looked away, pushing back the fearful images, the blackness and the staggering pain.

Look at him, Tressa. He’s alone. Afraid.

“I can’t,” she whispered, backing further away. “I can’t!”

Yes you can, the small voice assured. You must. He won’t make it through this alone.

Nick emitted a low, husky groan and Tressa’s eyes were drawn back to him. Frightened, she watched as his body jerked hard against unseen bonds—shackled in hell by elusive tormentors.

Go to him, Tressa. Go to him now.

Instinctively Tressa knew Nick would not be able to hold on much longer. Catching her lip between her teeth, she took a small step forward, then another...and another, until she was again at his side, her heart pounding.

“Nick,” she began, her voice shaky, “can you hear me? I’m right here with you.” Sensing his response to her nearness, she hesitantly reached for his hand and continued talking.

Ever so slowly Nick succumbed to Tressa’s touch, her soft voice and meaningless words. Though he remained unconscious, his struggles seemed to ease, his moans and ragged breathing calmed. There was no doubt he knew she was there.

Still holding his hand, Tressa sat beside him on the bunk, struggling to make sense of it all. It was as if some sort of channel had opened up between them and she’d had a first-hand glimpse of hell.

His hell.

Tressa continued murmuring soft words to him, and slowly Nick’s strong fingers clamped about her hand, but this time not unbearably tight. She watched as he relaxed—seemingly pacified as he drifted into a quiet sleep. Now, strangely afraid to leave his side, Tressa alternated between murmuring meaningless words and humming softly.

Smoothing Nick’s dark hair from his sweaty brow, she wondered at her feelings for this man and what it would be like to have him love her. She tried to imagine a life with him, but her imagination failed her; she had already decided that Nicholas Banner would make a terrible husband. He was rude and uncivil, and she seriously doubted that he could ever commit to one woman.

Speculating about the woman whose name he’d called out, she pondered the name, Linnae, trying to envision the face and body of the one woman who had obviously captured the heart of this notorious scoundrel. “So you are not as immune to love as you would like me to believe, are you?” she murmured.

She stayed at his side long after his breathing had returned to normal and his fingers had gone lax in her hand. ** * Ten hours later, Nick awoke slowly in a cold sweat, reality seeping back by degrees. Where was he, and why the devil did his entire body feel as if he’d just collided with a freight sled?

Swallowing hard, he lay still for a long moment, feeling as weak as a baby. What the hell had happened?

Reality was a fog. He vaguely remembered Kendyl intercepting the ship, but whatever happened after that, was a blank—a dark void. He struggled to remember and succeeded in recalling that Kendyl was after something.

Just then another memory surfaced. He had hidden Tressa.

Tressa!

That opened his eyes, and with it came a wave of agony. His sight blurred. Suppressing a groan, he squeezed them shut again as blackness threatened to pull him back under. He swore silently, fighting against the pain and lightheadedness. It was all he could do to hang on to consciousness as flashes of memory continued. He remembered the stunner Kendyl had used on him and the resulting agony before he blacked out. But Tressa? Had Kendyl discovered her? Was she still safely hidden?

Nick ordered himself to open his eyes again and uttered a silent oath when his body wouldn’t cooperate with his brain. He wanted to call out her name, but the effort was beyond him.

Oh, there was no mistaking the problem; he understood all too well why his body failed to respond to his commands. Pain had nothing to do with it. The problem was a little matter of dispersion. Somehow he was scattered about in every direction, and in order to accomplish anything, even the smallest thing, he needed to concentrate on gathering himself back together. Only then could he focus his energies on doing one thing at a time.

Arranging the pieces of memory into some semblance of order, Nick set his mind to the task at hand. Pulling himself together, bit-by-bit, he focused on his senses first and became increasingly aware of his surroundings.

Gingerly peering through slitted eyes, he discovered that he was on his bunk. How the devil did he get on his bunk, he wondered, recalling that he had collapsed somewhere near the main entry port.

Hearing came next as he centered his attention on the constant hissing of the life support and the familiar hum of the ship’s drives.

...Ship’s drives? The memory of shutting the ship down was vivid, and with unrelenting determination Nick again opened his eyes, wincing against stabs of pain. Who the hell was piloting the ship?

Frantically setting his gaze on the cockpit, his breath caught at the sight.

Tressa was sitting in the pilot’s seat, monitoring the controls, just as she had seen him do so often. He watched in silent astonishment as she reached up, depressing an overhead button on the console.

Nick continued staring at the scene before him, mesmerized as Tressa, with agonizing slowness, tapped in a code to the computer. The screen blurred, then cleared to reveal a close-up of the Victorious’ exterior hull. A minute or two passed and then she repeated the process, this time the vids advanced to another spot on the hull.

What the devil was she doing?

Another flash of memory surfaced, bringing with it a half grin. She was scanning the ship’s exterior, he realized, inch by inch. No doubt looking for that damn tracer she must have overheard them talking about..

He was impressed. There was more to this little slip of a girl than he ever dreamed possible. Not only had she managed to get the ship underway, she had somehow figured out how to do an exterior hull check as well. He continued watching in silence, absorbing every detail of the drama playing out before him.

Nick’s gaze was soft as a caress. The cabin lights had been dimmed and Tressa glowed beneath a narrow beam of overhead light. She was wearing another one of those sexy shifts, he noted, and if he hadn’t felt so lousy, he would have been content for hours of simply lying there watching her.

The pain wasn’t so bad now, but the battle was far from over. He moaned faintly as his gut roiled with spasms.

The low moan brought Tressa’s eyes around. “Nick!”

She was at his side in an instant “You’re awake!”

Nick was sitting on the edge of his bunk, looking none too steady. He blinked lazily, licked his lips, and then glanced slowly up at her. “How...” he paused, as if speaking was difficult. “How long have I been out?”

“Almost ten hours now.” Tressa frowned. “You shouldn’t be getting up, Nick. Please, lie back down and I’ll get whatever it is you’re after.”

He ignored her gentle reproach. “I don’t know if I’ll be able to stand up on my own,” he said. There was another pause and then, “I may need your help.”

“But you’re too weak to be—”

“If you won’t help me, I’ll manage by myself.” With that, Nick stood up, swaying on his feet just as Tressa rushed forward and helped ease him back down “You are the most stubborn man I’ve ever met.”

Defeated, Nick sat motionless on the edge of the bunk, eyes closed, jaw set. Finally he turned a baleful eye on her. “As dizzy as I am right now, Tressa, I’m not so sure I’m going to make it to the lav in time, much less sit here arguing about it.”

She simply stared at him as comprehension dawned. “Oh. You’re sick. Why didn’t you say so?”

The corner of his mouth twisted in exasperation and he shot her another penetrating look.

This time Tressa supported him as he rose to his feet. She slung his arm across her shoulders and grasped him about the waist. “Lean on me,” she instructed, somewhat surprised when he did exactly that. Despite his weakened condition, Tressa was acutely aware of the hard body beneath his clothing as he hugged her from hip to shoulder.

The trip of a few feet passed in slow motion. With his free hand Nick clutched at the bunk and storage units along the way. Tressa continued assisting him until he shrugged out of her embrace and stumbled into the lav, closing the privacy panel behind him.

She hovered nearby, wanting to help, yet respecting his privacy. Finally grabbing clean bedding from a storage unit, she made her way back to the berths and proceeded to strip his bunk. At last she took a seat on the edge and waited until the panel slid open and Nick emerged, braced in the doorway. His color was ashen, his mouth a grim line of determination.

Racing to his side, she offered her assistance. But instead of stopping at the bunk, Nick continued on to the helm. There was no use arguing with him; it was perfectly clear he was a man bent on his own will.

Nick was silent as he surveyed the command console, his features unreadable as he remained standing, bracing his weight on the back of the pilot’s seat.

“For a while I wasn’t sure if I was going to be able to get this thing powered up,” Tressa said softly at his side.

Without responding he reached out and made a couple of minor adjustments, then studied the instrument panel for several moments longer.

Tressa saw him sway on his feet and reached out to support him. “And unless you have a valid complaint about the way I’ve been running things around here, Captain, I suggest you get back to your bunk until you’re able to take over.”

Nick silently complied, allowing her to assist him back to his freshly made bunk.

“Nick, can I get you something? What about that stuff you gave me when I was recovering from the Ripper? Tell me where you keep it and I’ll--”

“No.” He released a labored breath. “I can’t afford to be sleeping for hours. I want you to wake me in two, unless something unusual happens. In that case, wake me immediately.”

Tressa blinked at him. “Something unusual?”

Nick eased onto the bunk. “Yeah. Just keep a close watch on things. I’ve set all the sensors on max. They’ll let you know if anything’s goin’ on.” His eyes drifted closed. “Oh and Tress?”

“Yes,” she leaned closer to hear him.

“You did good.” His voice trailed off.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

Lee Bryant sat hunched over the scanner. “According to these readouts, gentlemen, it appears our boy’s no longer headed for Acacia.”

“What are you talkin’ about?” James Catlin came forward to peer over Bryant’s shoulder.

“Just what I said. Take a look for yourself. We’ve been tracking him on this new course for about a half hour now.”

Sam DeVries, the meanest of the three, whirled around. “I just want to know one thing: Is he in range yet?”

Bryant was already entering the series of numbers that would answer the question. With the tap of a final key, a pulsing arrow danced across the ship’s tactical vidscreen, measured the distance between the two ships and calculated the range for a direct hit. Within seconds the information appeared in the lower right corner.

“He’s in range,” Bryant answered levelly.

DeVries’ lips twisted into a cynical smile. “Then I say let’s waste ’im. Now.”

Catlin cleared his throat. “What about the girl?”

“She goes with ’im.” DeVries answered.

Bryant leaned back into his chair. “We get the girl first. Then you can have Banner.”

“And you think he’s just going to just sit back and let us escort her off his ship?”

Bryant leaned forward. “We cripple the ship first.” His hands flew to the controls. “Let’s see if we have him on visual.”

DeVries squinted and leaned closer. “Can’t you boost this thing any further?” He continued studying the screen. “I’m telling you, he won’t go down without a fight.”

“Then we’ll hit him now and ask questions later,” Bryant said, sliding a protective cover back on the console.

“Do it!”

Without further delay Bryant thumbed the red button. In response the ship shuddered, and three sets of eyes gravitated to the screen, tracking the path of a small torpedo.

Somewhere at about the halfway point, the torp suddenly exploded into a ball of fire.

What the...” Bryant’s words were drowned by the sudden blare of klaxons. Glancing down at the console, flashing indicators confirmed his fears. Enemy weapons were being locked onto their ship. They were now the target.

The comset sounded, Bryant flipped the switch, and the vidcom snapped to life filling the monitor with Kendyl’s enraged face. “This is Quint Kendyl of the Renegade, and before I blow you the hell out of existence, I just thought I’d introduce myself.”

“The Renegade,” Bryant quietly groaned. “Who’s that? How the hell did—.”

“I knew it.” DeVries muttered, stepping closer. “We should have wasted him when we had the chance.”

“Wasted him?” Catlin repeated. “Look at her. The Renegade’s twice our size.”

“I don’t get it,” Bryant cut in. “What happened to Banner?” Clearing his throat, he hit the COM button. “This is—”

“I know who you are.”

“Our sensors are picking up one of our tracers onboard your ship,” Bryant continued. “We mistook you for someone else.”

Kendyl’s scowl eased. “Let me guess. The Victorious?”

“Yes. How did—where’s the Victorious?”

“You should have come upon her long ago. I left Banner unconscious with his main drives down.”

Bryant sat back. “There’s been no other ships on our scanners except for—You didn’t by any chance lift something from his hold, did you?”

A warning cloud settled on Kendyl’s features. “The tracer. It was inside the ship, not outside?”

“That’s right, and you wouldn’t believe the trouble we went through.” Bryant frowned at his next thought. If Kendyl took the equipment, chances were he had the girl too. Which meant they could kiss good-bye their whole deal with Sinclair. “What about the girl?” he asked, trying for a note of cool disinterest.

He had Kendyl’s undivided attention now. “What girl?”

Bryant’s brow quirked. “Banner’s got a woman with him.”

“I saw no woman...unless—he had her hidden somewhere.” Kendyl grinned. “You wouldn’t happen to need any help, would you?”

“We could use your help, yes.” The klaxons were still screaming in the background. “If you want to disengage your weapons, I’m sure we can work out something for your services.”

James Catlin simply stood there shaking his head. “While we’ve been traipsing halfway across the galaxy after the wrong ship, Banner’s on his way to Acacia, just like I figured in the first place.”

** *

“Nick?” Tressa gently prodded Nick’s shoulder. She’d let him sleep longer than the two hours he’d requested, and besides, she sensed he was struggling with another dream.

She shook him again. “Nick, wake up.”

Nick struggled from a deep sleep, his heart pounding, his body slickened with sweat. He’d been back in that black void again, with those creatures, and they were inching forward, threatening to resume their torture.

There it was again: The voice of the guardian who had stayed by his side when the pain was at its worst. The one who had held his hand, had protected him, and had driven the creatures away.

“Nick, can you hear me? Wake up.”

He struggled through layers of fog. Sensing the soft voice calling to him and the aroma of coffee in the air, he opened one eye at a time to find Tressa hovering over him. Tressa.

She was smiling at him. “How are you feeling?”

He groaned. “Lousy.”

“Stay right here. I’ll be back.” With that, Tressa disappeared into the galley.

With a heavy sigh Nick shook the dream aside and shoved himself up on his elbows, his gaze sliding to the helm.

“I let you sleep just a little longer than two hours,” she called from the galley. He glanced over at the clock. It didn’t tell him much; since he couldn’t remember what it had said last time he looked at it.

“I hope it was all right.” She was at his side again. “For a while, you were sleeping so soundly, I hated to wake you, but then you started getting restless. Here, I made some coffee.” Holding the steaming mug, Tressa waited patiently as Nick slowly eased his legs over the edge of the bunk and moved into a sitting position.

It was her voice he’d heard in his dream. She was the guardian who had protected him and given him hope when there was none.

“Are you hungry? I made soup,” she laughed gently. “No guarantees, but at least it’s hot.”

Nick blew the steam from his mug before taking a sip. “Maybe a little later. Just how long did you let me sleep anyway?”

“About four hours. I hope it was all right.”

Nick nodded and scratched his stomach. “Homemade soup, huh? What’d you find to make that out of?”

Tressa laughed. “Believe me, it wasn’t easy.”

”Yeah, I’ll bet.” He rose to his feet and gingerly made his way to the command console. Four hours had passed since he’d set the sensors on maximum. Machines had their place, and though they all seemed to be doing their job, Nick was a hands-on-kind of man who preferred doing things manually rather than relying on machines to do it all.

Rubbing the back of his neck, he wondered if Kendyl was still out there somewhere. What about the tracer and the men tracking it? Were they on Kendyl’s trail now? He hoped so.

Finally he turned and made his way to the galley. “I’m going to take a shower, then I’ll try some of that soup of yours,” he said, popping three pain tabs into his mouth and swallowing them with a gulp of water.

A short while later Nick emerged from the lav, showered and shaved. Making his way to the table, he took a seat just as Tressa placed a steaming bowl of soup and a plate of bread in front of him. Pouring herself a mug of coffee, she sat down across from him. “Can I get you anything else?”

“No,” he said, picking up his spoon. “Thank you.”

“Nick,” she began, “I overheard that man talking about a tracer.”

“Yeah.” He took a sip of the savory liquid.

“Well,” Tressa continued, “I tried to run an exterior check on the hull, but I didn’t know what I was looking for. So, of course, I didn’t find anything.”

Nick reached for a crust of bread. “If my hunch is correct, it’s no longer onboard.”

Tressa sat back. “I don’t understand.”

“With a little luck it went with the cargo Kendyl pirated from us.”

“You mean it was in the cargo hold? But what about the men following us?”

“Assuming they’re following the tracer, they’re on Kendyl’s tail now.” He gave a nod to the soup, “By the way, this isn’t bad.”

“Thanks,” she said, her expression serious. “But what happens if they catch up with him and discover they’re following the wrong ship?’

“And without a doubt, they will.” Dipping a chunk of bread in his soup, he stuffed it in his mouth. “One of two things will happen,” he said chewing. “One, if they’re big enough, they’ll annihilate him before they notice the difference. Or two, they’ll discover their mistake, in which case they’ll probably all come after us.”

“Oh, that sounds encouraging.” He studied her over the rim of his coffee mug. “We have a hell of a lead, Tressa.” He smiled. “Thanks to you.” ** *

It was early on the morning of the twentieth day. The ship’s screens blurred briefly as the Victorious slipped out of Stellardrive. Nick felt and ignored the resulting moment of nausea and scanned the readouts. All systems were green. Opening the COMLINK, he tapped in a frequency and spoke into his mic. “This is the Victorious, Delta Beta, six-niner-four, requesting a planetary approach vector.”

Tressa awoke at the sound of Nick’s voice.

“’Mornin’ Tress.” It was said without taking his eyes off the screen. “We should be hitting dirt in about ten hours.”

“Morning.” Climbing down from the bunk, Tressa slipped into her wrapper and came forward to take her seat. “Is that Echo,” she asked, tucking her legs beneath her as she stared at the green planet in the view screen.

“No,” he said, still without looking up. Just that one word. Flat and final.

Tressa stared at him waiting for him to explain. Finally she cleared her throat. “So, where are we?”

“We’re ten hours out from Acacia,” he replied, making another adjustment on the console.

“Acacia?” Her chin lifted. “Nick, why are we going to Acacia, and why didn’t I know about this?”

“Probably because I already had the coordinates locked into the NAVCOMP,” he said, still not looking at her. “Everything engages automatically with power-up, Tressa. The only way you could have known our destination is by specifically calling up the information. And that takes a security code.”

Tressa rose from her seat. “Damn the security code. That’s not what I meant and you know it, Nick. Here I thought all this time we were headed back home. Why wasn’t I consulted about this?”

After finishing an entry he turned to face her. “Because, number one, I’m not in the habit of consulting with passengers about my destinations.”

“Excuse me?”

Nick released a compressed sigh. “It’s a long story, Tressa, I’ll tell you about it later. In the meantime one thing I need you to do is get your travel pacs ready to bring with you when we land.”

Tressa’s eyes widened. “We’re staying?”

Nick returned to his task at the controls. “You are. I’ve got some business to attend to. I know a place where you can stay while I’m gone. You and Delta will like each other.”

“If you think I’m budging from this ship, you’ve got another think coming.”

Nick glanced up at her. “I’m not offering a choice.”

Tressa’s fists were firmly clenched at her sides, yet she asked with controlled politeness, “Does my father know about this?”

“He knows.” It was said with no expression.

A heavy moment of dead silence passed. “Long story, or short. You’ve got exactly two seconds to tell me what’s going on, or—”

That brought his head around and he had the audacity to grin. “Or what, Tressa?”

Nick, I’m sick to death of Rippers and stunners and tracers and pirates and guns...and, and trying to fly this damned ship on my own. I’m not getting off this ship. I want to go home. You hear me? I...want...to...go...home!”

Nick released another heavy sigh, withdrew a slender cigar, lit it and puffed it to life. “Have a seat, Tressa.”

“I’m fine.”

He gave a nod of compliance. “All right, I’ll make this short and to the point.”

“Please do.”

He looked at her hard. “Your father asked me to take you off-planet for a while. He has reason to believe there’s a threat on your life, and until he gets to the bottom of it he wants you safe.”

Tressa released a short burst of laughter. “Safe? Safe from what? Let me see...I’ve watched you get beaten up. I’ve been zapped senseless by something illegal. I was damn near raped because you can’t control your lust or your drinking.”

“Rape?” He jerked the cigar from his mouth. “Now wait just a damn minute!”

She didn’t. “Then, of course, I had the distinct pleasure of squeezing beneath your bunk so that I could watch three men hold you at gunpoint while they stole cargo from your hold. I overheard talk about something called a tracer and that we were being tracked by men with murder on their minds. And finally, I watched you being zapped senseless.”

Nick expelled a stream of smoke toward the ceiling. He couldn’t avoid the smirk, just watching that dimple of hers flash.

Tressa went on. “And as if that’s not enough, in order to escape the men following us, I had the responsibility of piloting this ship, which I might add, I know nothing about. And all the while you’re passed out on the bunk for God only knows how long, and I didn’t know if you were going to live or die or what!”

Tressa paused for a breath and folded her arms across her chest. “Now, if that’s what you call safe, I’ll take my chances at home, thank you!”

“All right. All right. I admit things have been a little harried.”

“Harried?” Tressa glared at him. “Listen Banner, harried doesn’t even begin to describe it. And furthermore, I’m not some empty-headed adolescent, to be protected from the truth. Why wasn’t I told about this in the very beginning?”

Nick leaned back in the pilot’s seat. “I’m afraid you’ll have to talk to your father about that one. I just work for him.” He paused. “But I think he figured you wouldn’t leave if you knew.”

Tressa’s eyes narrowed. “He was right. I wouldn’t have. Especially with you.”

“Well...” Nick turned his attention back to the console, “there ya go.”

Tressa opened her mouth, and then clamped it shut again. Turning on her heel, she barefooted it toward the lav.

Two hours later she was showered, dressed and packed. Coming forward into the cockpit she observed Nick sprawled, as usual, in the pilot’s seat and staring at the monitor. Occasionally he’d lean forward for his mug of coffee or to make an adjustment of some sort.

Without so much as turning to address her, Nick’s satin baritone calmly broke the silence. “It’s a damned good thing we don’t have any more days left on this run. With your lengthy showers everyday you’ve managed to put our more-than-sufficient water supply into the red.”

“I have not been taking lengthy showers. For your information, I’ve been very conservative.”

Nick smiled. “Yeah, well, we’ve got a flashing indicator here that says differently.”

Tressa cast a glance at the console, then made her way to her seat. “I can assure you that’s not my fault.”

“No of course it’s not. It’s TiMar’s.” Reaching overhead, he flipped a series of switches and waited for a cluster of lights to turn green.

“It appears to me,” Tressa said as she settled into her chair, “that once again your immaturity is at fault.”

“Is that right.” He continued monitoring the controls.

“Yes. Did you ever stop to think that the cause of the low water supply might be all those cold showers you keep taking?” The instant the words were out Tressa regretted them.

His head came around with a slow, dangerous grin, and she knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that she was about to be had for lunch.

“You think that’s what I’ve been doing in there?”

With heat scorching her cheeks, Tressa looked away, refusing to respond. Taking a cold shower is probably the least of your busy little activities behind a closed door.

“Tressa? I asked if that’s what you—”

“I really don’t care what you do, Banner.” Glancing down, she feigned sudden interest in her fingernails.

“Ah, but you’ve wondered, haven’t you?”

She ignored him. There’s nothing to wonder about, flyboy. Everyone knows how little boys entertain themselves.

“Haven’t you, Tressa?” he taunted. “You had it all figured out.”

She slid him a retiring look.

He grinned. “Besides, why the devil would I be taking cold showers?”

Refusing to rise to the bait, Tressa began examining one particular fingernail with avid interest. “I couldn’t care less why,” she mumbled beneath her breath.

“What was that? You say something?”

Without looking up she replied, “The low water supply is just another classic example.”

“Of what?”

“Your lack of self-control, of course.”

Silence.

You just can’t leave well enough alone, can you?

Tressa didn’t dare look at him. He was spoiling for a fight and she had just delivered the first punch.

And if you don’t stop, you’re going to find yourself out-gunned on a subject you’ll wish to stars you hadn’t opened.

“Ya wanna know what I was really doin’, Irish?”

Feigning boredom, she turned her sights to the small port window. “No thanks, Banner, you can keep the details to yourself.”

“Allow me to satisfy your curiosity by enlightening you on several ways in which—”

“I’m not interested.”

“But I’d be happy to educate you on some of the—”

“How much longer before we get there, do you think?” she asked, releasing a heavy sigh.

Satisfied and grinning, Nick turned back to the control panel. “Never challenge me, Irish— either directly or by insinuation—and particularly on a subject you know so precious little about.” With a wink he added, “You’ll lose every time. I guarantee it.”

Tressa didn’t respond, at last heeding the silent voice of reason.

Several long moments passed before he finally answered her question, “We’ll arrive in roughly seven hours. Have your stuff ready.”

“It’s ready now.”

“Excellent.”

Although the onboard computer had already transmitted the necessary information to the spaceport, Nick opened the COMLINK for a verbal reentry vector. Tressa listened. It was different this time for her. Now she understood much of what he was doing.

The closer they got to Acacia, the larger the swirly blue and green planet became on the view screen until it filled the screen entirely.

The comset buzzed and a voice announced, “Please initiate your descent.”

“Understood,” Nick replied and assumed control from the ship’s computer as the Victorious began entering Acacia’s uppermost atmosphere.

Plunging down through the multi-layers of a planet’s firmament was a gripping experience at best—particularly for someone like Tressa who wasn’t used to such things. Just as she had when they landed on Shaiel, she watched in fascination as the tip and leading edge of the wing began glowing like a fanned ember. Within seconds the entire wing was engulfed in flames that ended in long tongues of fire dancing off the back edge. More flames lapped across the exterior of the hull and viewport, casting an eerie glow within the cabin. Nick had explained on the previous stop that it was all part of the process of reentry.

Though Nick may have long since become accustomed to the firestorm raging outside, for Tressa, it was both frightening and awesome all at the same time.

Gradually the darkness of space gave way to the illumination of Acacia’s atmosphere. Glancing up at the overhead vid screen she saw the demarcation between nighttime and daytime tracking across the center of the planet.

“Hang on,” Nick said, “It’s going to get a little rough. The computer’s registering high winds up ahead.”

When it came to tricky landings Nick Banner preferred doing it personally. Nothing against computers, but to Nick’s way of thinking, humans have an ingrained ability to sense things and guess how to handle the situation. Many years ago, they called it “flying by the seat of your pants.”

The ship veered off course as a gust of wind came out of nowhere. Nick tapped in the correction, then swore under his breath when, moments later, the wind suddenly fell off requiring yet another correction.

Tressa quietly watched as he fought his way down through the various layers of unsettled air. Eventually he cut the speed; felt the response, booted the nose up and goosed the thrusters to slow their descent.

A vast blue ocean spread out beneath them for as far as Tressa could see. Soon they were skimming over a flat plain. A range of mountains stood beyond. At regular intervals a soft chime would sound, signaling designated drops in elevation.

“That settlement up ahead is Imperial, Acacia’s capital,” Nick said, drawing her attention to the master screen.

It wasn’t long before he was killing the ship’s forward motion and firing the reverse thrusters. Next came the sound of the proximity alarm as the ground rose up to meet them. With a gentle thump, the Victorious settled onto her jacks as the whine of her powerful turbines continued descending.

The comset chimed and Nick reached overhead to flick it on. “Banner, here.”

“Well, ain’t seen your handsome face around here in a long while. What brings you home, darlin’?” The voice and image belonged to a heavy-set woman with brassy blonde hair and laugh lines framing her eyes.

“Shara. Good to see you again. I’m here on business, so I’ll only be staying a day or two at the most.”

“Hun, you know what to do. The robosphere should be pulling up in front of you any moment now. Then, darlin’ if you can spare a moment, stop by the Outbounder. Dinner’s on me and you can tell me all that’s been going on over the past few months.”

“Sounds good.”

“Would you like me to let Glori know you’re in, or are you planning on surprising her yourself?”

Nick cleared his throat. “Shara, I won’t have time to see Glorianna this trip. It’s best if you don’t say anything about me being here, okay?”

Shara raised a curious brow. “Whatever you say, hun, but you’d better plan on keeping a low profile while you’re in port. I’m not the only source of information around here, you know. I’ll see ya later tonight then?”

“You got it.” Disregarding her look of puzzlement, Nick switched back to the exterior vid. As promised, the large robosphere had appeared and was waiting for them with the words “FOLLOW” flashing in bright neon. Nick fired the thrusters, lifted the ship off the scarred surface and slowly advanced toward the sphere. The robotic drone drifted left and the Victorious trailed behind.

Tressa watched in fascination as jets of air from the thrusters sent rooster tails of dust high into the air about them. From the gray out-buildings nestled at one end of the port to the freighter sitting out on the L.Z., Tressa took in every detail.

Suddenly the robosphere came to a stop and Nick followed suit, noting that the surface had given way to an enormous durasteel quarterdeck. Once again, he lowered the Victorious onto the decking.

After a brief moment there was a marked jolt and a distinct vibration as the metal platform slowly began sinking beneath ground level.

Underground hangars were nothing new to Nick. Many ports preferred this type of set up. Putting the ships below ground not only served as protection against inclement weather conditions, it helped to compact the spaceport.

Tressa’s eyes grew round as the rock walls slid upward around them. Suddenly the wall ended, opening up to a massive, lower-level hangar with rows of ships for as far as the eye could see.

Nick fired the thrusters once again and lifted the Victorious inches off the decking to follow the robosphere down a long, wide aisle-way. At last they were led into a sizable berth of their own where Nick killed the drives and once again eased the ship down onto her jacks.

With a click, he released the latch and shrugged out of his harness. Rising to his feet, he turned and made his way toward the bunks.

Tressa watched as he removed the holstered gun from inside the berth and strapped it on. It hung low on his right thigh and he wore it naturally.

Nick seemed completely unaware of the breathtaking sight he made, totally unconscious of his rampant sexuality. He was dressed in black leathers, his collar flipped up and his dark hair— having grown three weeks longer—spilled over the edge. He was just securing the leg tie on the holster when he glanced up, his luminous eyes meeting hers briefly before Tressa looked away.

Nick withdrew the gun and checked the chamber. Satisfied, he holstered it again and snapped the safety in place. “You ready?” he asked, throwing his utility belt over his shoulder.

Tressa pulled her travel pac out from under the bunk. “As ready as I’m going to be. This whole thing is ridiculous.”

Nick gave her a sidelong glance. “Trust me on this one.”

“But—”

Nick cut her off. “I’ve already explained it, Tressa. Now remember, stick close to me.” With one final sweep of the cockpit, he reached for Tressa’s travel pac, shouldered it and palmed the main lock.

“But that’s just the trouble…” she went on indignantly.

** *

Ignoring her protests, Nick extended his hand to her, his sapphire eyes raking her admiringly. Tressa was dressed in a soft gray jumpsuit made of supple suede. It included a matching bolero jacket.

He was glad they’d finally arrived. It had been sweet hell, and the truth was he wasn’t sure he could have lasted another day. He’d promised Loring he wouldn’t touch her, and by God, he hadn’t...almost.

The main hatch cycled open.

“Oh Nick, TiMar!”

“He’ll be fine. He’s used to this. He’s got water, food…he’s happy.”

Dismay was written plainly upon her face.

“Oh hell.” Nick released a heavy sigh. “Go get him.”

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

Once again the fumes and sounds of a spaceport battered Tressa’s senses as Nick assisted her down the ramp and onto the scarred metal surface.

“Watch your step,” he shouted over the descending whine of the ship’s turbines. With a hand at the small of her back he guided her over fuel and service lines strewn across the decking.

Upon reaching the open passageway, he caught her elbow and steered her toward the terminal entrance. Tressa hurried along, trying to keep up with his long strides, ignoring the possessive pressure he was exerting on her arm.

He was definitely edgy, scanning the hangar as they made their way toward the terminal. Lighted arrows, embedded in the decking, pointed the way. Disregarding them, Nick took a short cut through a maintenance area. It made for a quick trip across the hangar where they passed through a set of doors and up a flight of stairs. Once inside the main terminal Nick guided her down a short corridor and through another set of doors that took them outside beneath a covered entry.

Vendors were everywhere, hawking their wares, from handcrafted items to flowers.

“Wait here,” Nick instructed.

Tressa drank in the sight of him as he stepped forward to hail a taxi. He’d shaved and something about the smoothness of his jaw caught and held her eye.

On returning, Nick stopped and purchased an armful of flowers the color of a sunset. Selecting another single, long-stemmed vibrant red flower, he paid the vendor and returned to Tressa. Wordlessly he handed her the flowers, then bent to retrieve her travel pacs off the sidewalk.

Were they hers? She wondered, inhaling their sweet fragrance.

Nick stepped forward, catching the door of the vehicle for her. A soft breeze whipped around the corner, teasing his dark hair, tossing it down across his forehead and ruffling it at the back of his neck. He helped her inside then followed, leaning forward to instruct the driver.

TiMar tensed and anxiously climbed up onto Tressa’s shoulder. Juggling both flowers and cat, she coaxed TiMar back down onto her lap, where he finally relaxed under a murmuring of soft words and her gentle hand stroking his back.

“Oh, here,” she said, realizing Nick was empty-handed and she was still holding the flowers he’d bought.

Nick retrieved the single red bud. “Those are yours,” he said with a nod to the bouquet.

“They are?” Tressa never noticed the desire rising in Nick’s eyes as he watched her nuzzle the bouquet. “Thank you,” she said, glancing up from the flowers.

“You’re welcome.” He grinned and leaned closer, gently brushing a dusting of pollen from her nose. “By the way, Irish,” he added silkily, “I remember more of that night than you think I do. And for the sake of keeping records straight, it wouldn’t have been rape.”

Tressa’s mouth dropped open as she cast a quick glance toward the driver.

Completely unconcerned, Nick continued. “Whether you care to admit it or not—”

“Nick, please!” she hissed. His idea of a whisper could wake the dead. Cringing, she cast another distraught glance at the driver who seemed unconcerned with their conversation. Nevertheless, Tressa’s cheeks were burning as she turned her gaze toward the window and skillfully changed the subject. “Imperial’s quite different from Port Ireland.”

“Yes, it is.” He was still grinning. She could hear it in his voice.

“That seems like a nice place, Nick,” she said looking at a beautiful hotel across the street.

“I could stay there.”

He dipped his head to glance out her window. “You wouldn’t like it there, Irish,” he said, once again failing to mask his amusement. “As I recall, it’s not exactly a hotel.”

“Really?” she asked, looking now out the back window. “Well, it sure looks like one to me. What is it then?”

“It’s a high-dollar—”

“And what is that place?” This time Tressa’s gaze was directed out Nick’s window, to an elegant building surrounded by artistically sculpted flower gardens.

“That? That’s the headquarters for the Port of Imperial.”

“It’s beautiful. Have you ever been inside?”

“A few times.”

Several moments of silence passed before she suddenly saw it!

“Don’t even ask!”

“But Nick, it’s the Imperial Marriott.”

“No.”

“But—”

“The answer is no.”

With a sigh, Tressa settled back down.

Before long the city was left behind as a winding road carried them farther into the foothills. At last they were moving down a long tree-lined drive. Pastures flanked them on both sides and within minutes they were pulling around a circular drive and stopping beneath the portico of a massive home.

A doorman hurried to catch the door for them. “Good to have you back, sir.”

“Thank you Jordan. Delta around?”

“She’s inside, sir.”

Scooping up the travel pacs with one hand, he assisted Tressa from the taxi. With TiMar nestled in the crook of one arm and the flowers resting in her other, they made their way up a short set of stairs. A double-doored entry swung inward and another man greeted them with a smile and a nod to Nick.

“Nick. Welcome back.”

“Thanks, Dawson.” Nick handed over the travel pacs and instructed the man to place them in one of the guest rooms. “Oh, and Dawson…” he turned to Tressa and gently took the bouquet from her, “Make sure these get in water, if you would.”

“Certainly,” Accepting the flowers and with a nod to Tressa the man turned and headed for the wide green-carpeted staircase.

Tressa gazed about in awe. The entry was an atrium with a vaulted ceiling. The walls were paneled in a rich wood similar to Terran oak, and several enormous planters had been placed about, containing unusual-looking trees. One tree in particular nearly reached the ceiling. The effect was rustic and masculine.

“Nicky! I thought I heard your voice.”

Nick caught an attractive middle-aged woman in an embrace that lifted her off the floor. “You look prettier every time I see you,” he murmured sensuously.

Her laughter was infections. “You say that to all the girls.”

Nick’s satin baritone lowered an extra notch as he handed her the single long-stem flower. “For you.”

“Oh, Nicky. A Terran rose. My favorite.” Rising up on her tiptoes she placed a quick kiss on his cheek. “Thank you, honey.”

“You’re welcome.”

Stepping back, she proceeded with what appeared to be a motherly once-over. “You look good,” she said eyeing him critically. “A little thin, maybe. Things been going okay for you?” She included Tressa in her welcoming glance, and her eyes sparkled with approval as she cast him a curious look.

Nick shrugged. “Can’t complain. By the way, I’d like you to meet Tressa. She’ll be staying for a night or two while I take care of some business here in port. Tressa, this is Delta.”

Delta extended both hands in warm welcome. “It’s good to meet you, Tressa. Your company will be refreshing.

“Thank you. I’m sorry for the lack of notice.” Tressa replied, casting a pointed look toward Nick. “I hope this isn’t inconvenient.”

“Not at all. We love having guests. Don’t we TiMar?” Delta caressed him between the ears. “Why, little guy, you haven’t come visiting for a long time.” TiMar closed his eyes in sheer ecstasy, cocking his head to direct her caresses just where he wanted them.

“Just the same,” Tressa added, “I apologize.”

“Nonsense.” Delta’s laugh was warm. “Believe me I welcome your company. It gets tiring being surrounded by arrogant men with too much time on their hands.”

Tressa smiled and nodded in agreement. One was certainly enough for her.

It was hard to judge Delta’s age. She was exceptionally pretty. Her soft blond hair was pulled up off of her face into a cluster of curls at the back of her head, and her green eyes were dancing with both humor and intelligence.

Tressa liked Delta immediately, but at the same time was curious about her. What was she to Nick? A friend possibly? He had never really explained.

“Come on in where we can sit down,” Delta said, leading the way into a drawing room off the main entry.

With TiMar still in her arms, Tressa stood to the side and took it all in. The place was beautiful. Delta motioned for them to sit down, but Nick chose to remain standing.

“I was just about to have a cup of tea,” Delta said, “Would you care to join me?”

“Yes, thank you,” Tressa said, arranging TiMar on her lap.

“How about you Nicky?”

“No thanks. Actually, I’m not staying. I need to get back and try to locate Slater. Oh, and if you see Clint, tell him that extra dark I picked up for him was lost in transit.” At Delta’s puzzled expression, he added, “I’ll explain later.”

** *

Gazing about the room, Tressa glanced up, noting that the ceiling was transparent, and again potted plants were everywhere, ranging in size from very large to exceptionally tiny; the result, a gardenlike effect.

Most of the plants were quite unusual, different from anything she had ever seen on Terra Four. “I’ve never seen such beautiful plants. Are they all native to Acacia?” As she spoke, Tressa’s eyes grew round. The very plant she was looking at changed color before her eyes, turning from milky white to transparent in a matter of seconds.

Delta smiled knowingly. “You were looking at it.”

“What?”

“You were looking at that plant, and it went into camouflage. And yes these particular plants happen to be native to Acacia.”

Nick broke into the conversation, his eyes dancing with amusement. “While you’re here, make sure Delta takes you out to the greenhouse and shows you some of the real stuff.” He was leaning against the wall in his usual negligent stance, hands shoved into the pockets of his open jacket and one booted foot crossed over and toed to the floor. “Delta’s on staff at McRae Botanical Research,” he continued.

“You are?” Tressa’s smile broadened in approval. “I’ve always been interested in the research reports that come out of that organization.”

Nick’s mouth quirked. “Especially when it’s about plants with healing qualities, huh, Tressa?” He turned to Delta, with that Banner grin. “Tressa has a jar of stuff that cures everything—and I mean everything. Real quick.”

Before Tressa could respond, a young woman appeared with tea and a plate of sweet cakes. “Thank you Annie,” Delta said.

The girl dipped her head, cast Nick an appreciative glance and disappeared.

Not missing the wistful look, Tressa’s curious eyes followed the girl from the room.

Delta handed Tressa her tea. “Now,” she said, sliding a glance back to Nick, “what’s this about a jar of stuff that cures everything.”

“Yes, it’s made from oil extracted from the leaves of the Acuel bush,” Tressa replied.

“The Acuel bush.” Delta thought a moment. “I was just reading something on that the other day.”

“I wouldn’t doubt it, the medical world is just now beginning to recognize its healing capabilities. It really is wonderful.”

“Yeah, if it doesn’t kill you first,” Nick interjected with a wink.

Tressa set down her cup of tea, then turned to Delta. “I’m afraid it’s rather unpleasant on an open wound; even more so if there’s infection present.”

Delta nodded. “But can’t you apply something like Nervatrite to the area first?”

“Yes,” Tressa replied, “I suppose I should have.” She didn’t dare look at Nick. The deafening silence coming from his direction was hard to ignore. It was all she could do not to break out in laughter.

“And I take it, Nicky,” Delta asked, “you’ve had firsthand experience with this magic salve?”

‘Oh yeah. I sure have.”

Delta’s bright countenance slowly faded. “Is something wrong?”

“Nothing I can’t take care of later,” he said in a tone that held promise.

Tressa’s head jerked up, and she found herself riveted by two burning sapphires—the barest hint of teasing lurking in their depths,

No explanations were necessary as far as she was concerned. Nick knew exactly what he’d done that night. Refusing to be intimidated—which she knew was a bluff anyway—Tressa raised her chin, locked gazes, blinked and smiled innocently; her dignity intact.

Delta cleared her throat and set down her tea. “Well, Tressa,” she began, in a voice that was almost too cheery, “if I may be so bold as to ask, how did you happen to meet Nicky?”

Nick shoved himself away from the wall. “Well, if you ladies will excuse me, I’ve got important things to do.” He directed his sapphire gaze at Tressa once again. “I’ll return as soon as I can, but it could be a couple of days. If you need anything, just ask.”

Tressa nodded, and he turned to leave, only to stop in mid step. “Oh and I don’t want either of you leaving the grounds. Not even with an escort.”

Delta raised a curious eyebrow. “What’s wrong?”

“I haven’t got time right now to go into detail, but we’ve had a few problems on the trip. I just don’t want to take any chances.”

“What sort of problems?”

That brought a smile to his face. “Nothing of my doing, Delta, but I’m going to see it doesn’t go any further. And I don’t want to be worried about either of you while I’m gone.”

“Well of course we’ll stay right here.” Delta swallowed, concern written all over her face. “But what’s going to stop us from worrying about you?”

“He flashed another one of those half grins—a dimpled groove bracketing one side of his mouth. “I’ll be fine.” He glanced at Tressa, then back again to Delta. “I’ll see you when I get back then.” With a final glance at Tressa he turned and stalked from the room.

A long moment of quiet followed Nick’s exit. “I can’t imagine what sort of trouble he has himself into now,” Delta finally said. Taking a sip of tea, she regarded Tressa quizzically for a moment. “Well…. You are a pleasant surprise. It’s not often Nicky takes passengers onboard.”

“Yes, that’s what I keep hearing.” She glanced around the room. “This is certainly a beautiful place,” she continued, absently stroking TiMar as he snuggled deeper into her lap.

Delta’s smile broadened. “I’ll take you on a tour after we’ve finished our tea, if you’d like.”

“I’d like that very much.” Tressa sat back. “So, you’ve known Nick for some time?”

Delta studied her a moment then chuckled. “Oh yes I can honestly say I’ve known Nicky quite intimately for a very long time.”

Tressa’s mouth parted before she caught the glint of humor in Delta’s eyes.

“I’m Nicky’s step-mom,” Delta explained.

“Ohhh.” A wave of color heated Tressa’s cheeks. “Forgive me, but I never would have guessed.”

Delta laughed softly and waved her hand in dismissal. “Nicky’s mother died when he was five. As a friend of the family, I’d offered to help Max with the boys until he found someone permanent.”

“He has brothers?”

“Two. Nicky’s in the middle.”

Tressa’s eyes widened. “I’ll bet that was an undertaking.”

Delta laughed. “It certainly was. Max and I married two years later. Another two years and we had a child of our own; a daughter, Rachel. Delta cocked her head quizzically. I have this feeling that Nicky didn’t tell you he was bringing you home.”

“No. He simply mentioned your name and said that I’d be staying here.”

Delta shook her head. “When he left home he had some crazy stubborn notion to prove himself—something about forging his own way and making it on his own. Which he seems to have done, but...” Leaving the sentence hanging, Delta sighed. “Anyway, tell me, what brought you two together?”

“Well...” Tressa took a fortifying breath. “Nick has worked for my father for about six years now.” She briefly explained about the alleged threat, and that Nick had been asked to take her off planet. “I don’t know how long it will be before I can return to Terra Four,” she said, “but with all we’ve been through so far, I’m just about ready to take my chances back home.”

Delta set down her cup. “Do they know who’s behind this?”

“I don’t know.” Tressa shrugged. “Nick doesn’t tell me much.”

“And you say you’ve had problems along the way too?”

“That’s an understatement,” Tressa said. “Nick’s life has been seriously threatened at least two times that I know of. Someone smuggled some sort of a tracer onboard his ship. Then Nick’s ex-partner pirated a shipment out of the hold at gunpoint and ended up using some sort of high

tech stunner on him.”

Delta gasped. “On Nicky?”

Tressa nodded.

“Oh my… Where were you while all this was going on?”

“Hidden beneath his bunk.” Tressa frowned. “But somehow I don’t think it’s over. He never leaves the ship now without that gun strapped to his thigh.”

Delta looked stunned. “Yes, I wondered about the gun.” She paused. “So does Nicky think his ex-partner’s in on this?”

“I don’t know. Like I say, he doesn’t talk about it.”

“But you’re sure it was his ex-partner who came aboard the ship? Were you able to see him at all?”

“Yes, I caught a glimpse of him. He’s not as tall as Nick. Long, medium brown hair, pulled back and tied.”

Delta nodded. “Yes. That sounds like Quint.”

“Quint…Kendyl. That’s the name I remember Nick using.” She took another sip of tea. “There certainly seems to be a lot of hostility between them. Nick mentioned one time that Kendyl wanted to transport contraband. I suppose that must be why the partnership dissolved.”

“Well, I’m afraid it goes a little deeper than that.” Delta shook her head bleakly. “Quint blames Nicky not only for the break-up of their partnership, but for the break-up between him and Acia.”

Tressa’s eyebrows rose. “Nick wanted his partner’s girl?”

“No. It was the other way around. Acia wanted Nicky—she was infatuated with him. They met when Nicky and Quint formed their partnership.” Delta leaned back. “I saw it for myself. Nicky brought Quint and Acia with him on one of his trips home. Acia managed to find one excuse after another to corner Nicky alone.”

“And he wasn’t interested in her?” Tressa asked, her curiosity piqued.

Delta shook her head, a faint smile holding a touch of sadness. “ No. At that point in his life, commitment to any woman was the last thing Nicky was interested in. No, he’d made it perfectly clear he wanted nothing to do with her. But Acia apparently broke off her relationship with Quint anyway, and for a long time continued to follow Nicky around like a shadow.”

Sitting forward, Tressa asked, “So what happened?”

“Well,” Delta said, pouring more tea for them both, “it ripped their partnership apart, plus Quint put full blame on Nicky and vowed to destroy him because of it.” She sighed heavily. “Rejection like that sometimes does horrible things to a man’s ego. Nicky was a classic example after his break-up with…” She left the sentence hanging.

Tressa glanced away, aware that a boundary had been reached.

“Has Nicky told you about himself at all? I mean...about his past?”

“A little.” Tressa hesitated. “He told me about Echo.”

Delta slowly nodded, her face slightly flushed. “But nothing about Linnae?”

“No.”

“Forgive me, Tressa, but I’m wondering if maybe I’d better not say anything more.”

Tressa lowered her eyes. “I understand.” And she did, but stars, it was just getting good.

“So,” Delta said, abruptly changing the subject, “three weeks aboard the Victorious with Nicky.” She laughed and shook her head in dismay. “I’ll bet you were ready to scream by the time you landed.”

Tressa glanced down at TiMar, who was curled up in her lap, and began stroking him. “The Victorious is a little cramped. Let’s just say I learned when to stay out of his way.”

“I’m sure you did,” Delta responded with understanding. “I can only imagine you were pushed to your limits.”

It was Tressa’s turn to laugh. “Actually, I think Nick was the one pushed to his limits.” She smiled and cleared her throat. “Besides, there’s someone named Glorianna who I think he wants to spend some time with.”

Delta rolled her eyes heavenward. “Oh yes, Glorianna. She must be still after him.” Those boys...they’re so much alike: Lots of girls, but never anyone serious. They learned much too young that if their good looks didn’t get them what they wanted, that distinctive Banner voice would.” She leaned forward and lowered her tone. “Don’t tell anyone, but it was his voice that first drew me to Max.” Tressa joined her in laughter, before a flash of feigned horror crossed her face. “Are you saying they’re all alike?”

Delta laughed softly. “Yes, in many ways they are—particularly Nicky and his older brother, Clinton.”

Tressa shook her head in mock dismay. “Three weeks with one Banner is enough to send me over the edge. How did you manage three of them and their father, and still keep your sanity?”

Delta laughed openly. “Seriously, they’ve been good boys, and after twenty-five years of mothering I can honestly say I don’t have any regrets.”

Tressa’s expression grew solemn. “Actually, you can be proud of him, Delta. I can’t speak for anyone else, but I will say that during my time aboard the Victorious Nick conducted himself quite... gallantly.” Her eyes sparkled with amusement as she added, “Most of the time.”

Delta’s laughter was responsive. “Why, this is becoming more interesting by the minute,” she said, her raised eyebrows conveying total amazement. “I’m afraid Nicky’s been called many things, but to the best of my knowledge I don’t ever recall ‘gallant’ being one of them.” She laughed again. “If I didn’t know better, I’d say we were talking about two different people.” A double peal of feminine laughter escaped into the main entry.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

Tressa was on Nick’s mind the entire trip back to Imperial. Conflict raged within him, and he found himself at a loss as to what to make of his feelings for her, much less what to do about them.

One thing he knew for certain—leaving her like this was making him painfully aware of the fact that she was becoming more than just another job. What had started out as an assignment, a favor to Loring, had taken on a new twist—one he hadn’t expected or welcomed.

** *

With the exception of the hologames and the luminous glow of the indirect chem-lighting, the Outbounder was reminiscent of an elegant 1800’s Terran saloon, as one might have seen in San Francisco during the height of the Gold Rush Era.

A large mirror hung on the wall behind the bar. The surface of the bar itself was made of polished marble—word was it was an actual 1800’s antique from Earth. Along its base ran a shiny genuine antique brass foot rail. The aroma of food mingled with the scent of tobacco and liquor, and to complete the atmosphere, bar maids clad in nostalgic trappings moved among the patrons, delivering food and drinks. The place was upscale.

Shara’s eyes lit up as Nick pushed through the swinging doors, looking every bit the dark gunslinger. Excusing herself from a group of patrons, she met him halfway. “Nick, darlin, come on over into the light and let me get a good look at you.”

He chuckled. “You sound like Delta.”

“Well, what do you expect?” she asked, leading the way to a table along the back wall. “It’s been months since we’ve seen you.”

Nick held out a chair for Shara, then eased into one across the table from her.

“You’re lookin’ good, hun. So how’s everything goin’ for you?”

He shrugged. “Can’t complain.”

“I take it you’re still freelancing for that mining company?”

“Yeah, still working for LorTech.” He searched his pockets for a cigar, found one and lit up.

“I sure hope your cancer shots are current,” she added, fanning her hands and wrinkling her nose as he lit up.

Nick simply grinned and blew a stream of smoke high into the air.

“So tell me,” she began, “what sounds good? Tonight’s special is fresh Keimbo, grilled to absolute perfection with—”

“Just coffee for now, and some pain tabs.”

“Headache?”

“Yeah. One that’s threatening to take the top of my head off.”

Shara hailed a passing waitress. “Two coffees, Leah, and bring a couple of analgesics.” Shara glanced over at Nick. “You sure you don’t want somethin’ to eat? A sandwich maybe?”

“Just coffee for now. I’ll eat a little later.”

Shara nodded, returning her attention to the young waitress. “That’ll do for now.”

A moment of silence passed in which Shara studied Nick with intense scrutiny.

“What...?”

“Oh nothing.” Her eyes twinkled with amusement. “Just wondering what’s so important that you don’t have time for Glori this trip.”

Nick’s eyebrow rose a fraction. “Shara, I’ve told you before, there’s nothing goin’ on between me and Glori. We’re friends. It’s that simple.”

Shara threw back her head and laughed. “Not to hear her tell it. Besides, nothing’s ever simple with you, Nick.” Her amusement slowly faded. “Ah, darlin’...you know I’m just anxious for you to find someone to tame that roguish heart and settle you down.”

Nick smiled blandly. “But I don’t want my roguish heart tamed. And I sure as hell don’t want to settle down. I happen to like my life just the way it is.”

“Uh-huh, and I’ll say it again. You’re making a big mistake letting Linnae haunt you like this...wallowin’ in your solitude like you do. Why, if I were a few years younger...” Shara let the thought slide.

Nick took a slow drag from his cigar. Studying her with suppressed amusement, he released a lazy stream of smoke into the air. “What does age have to do with anything?” he asked in silky challenge.

“Ahh pooh,” she said with an unladylike snort and the faintest hint of a blush. “You should be taking advantage of these sweet young things batting their eyes at you and—”.

“But I do,” he said emphatically, his grin becoming broader. “Every chance I get.”

Shaking her head in mock disgust, Shara groaned, “I give up, Nick.”

“Oh good! Now can we drop the subject?”

He let almost an hour slip by, enjoying laughs and bringing Shara up to date on the last several months of his life. He purposely left Tressa’s name out of the conversation. Shara would never let it rest. Besides, he wasn’t ready to admit or explain his feelings about Tressa to anyone, particularly himself.

“I’m going to have to get going,” he said, glancing down at his watch. When he’d first been given his grandfather’s watch, Nick had taken it in and had both the bezel and face converted so that it could display two time zones at once. The first time zone was always set for standard hours—ship time. The second time zone, however, would automatically lock onto the nearest satellite and adjust itself to coordinate with the time zone of wherever he was at.

Despite its age, the burnished gold Rolex wasn’t simply a conversation piece; it was as accurate today as it had been for his great-grandfather back in the late 1900s.

“I can’t believe you’re not hungry? Can’t I talk you into eating something before you go?”

He groaned. “Right now, with this headache, I haven’t got much of an appetite.” With a final draw on his cigarette, Nick leaned forward and crushed it out in the ashtray. “I’ve still got a few things to do before I can call it a day,” he said, rising from his chair.

“Nick darlin’, you look drained. Why don’t you come on back. Have dinner here, and sleep in a real bed for a change? Do what you have to do, and when you get back, I’ll have dinner, a room and even Glori waiting for you,” she added with a wink. “Come on, what do you say?”

Nick sighed, resting his hand on the back of the chair. “Sounds tempting, Shara, but I...think I’m going to have to pass this time.”

“Are you sure darlin’?” Shara rose to her feet. “You’d wake up more rested in a real bed rather than staying on-board that ship. And think of the breakfast this place puts out.” Her eyes glimmered with anticipation as Nick pondered her words.

“All right,” he said, laughter in his deep voice. “You’ve talked me into it. In truth, I haven’t had a decent night’s sleep in over three weeks. But just the bed. No Glori, okay?”

That earned him another raised eyebrow that he, again chose to ignore. But Shara continued to study him intently, her eyes sharp and assessing.

“I should be back in about an hour,” he said, grabbing his jacket. “Save me a couple bowls of that house stew and I’ll have it when I get back.”

“You got it.”

“Oh, and I’ve left a message for Slater. If you see or hear from him, tell him to stick around. It’s important I talk to him.”

“Got it: Stew. You’ll be back in an hour, and Zeke’s to stay put,” she repeated.

Nick nodded wordlessly, then turned for the door.

“What’s her name, Nick?” Shara asked with casual assurance.

“Pardon?” He turned to face her smug expression.

“I asked: what’s her name?”

Nick frowned. “You lost me. Who?”

Shara laughed. “The girl who’s got a hold on your heart.” She smiled confidently, closely watching his reaction.

He gave her a sidelong glance of disbelief. “Damned if I know what you’re talking about.”

“And damned if you don’t,” she said with conviction. Humor twinkled in her green eyes as she continued. “At first I wasn’t sure I was readin’ you right.” Her face broke into a wide grin. “But I wasn’t born yesterday. I’ve been around too long not to recognize the symptoms.” She chuckled happily. “And damned if you aren’t just about the most bit man I ever saw.”

He scowled. “Well, this time you’re wrong. Now, will you let it rest?” With a muttered oath, he turned and strode toward the door, leaving Shara thoroughly delighted with herself.

Nick headed for the underground corridor that ran between the Outbounder and the lower-level hangar. The air was tainted with the fumes of fuel and exhaust, despite the ventilation. Chem strips brightened the way, and on the walls, neon advertisements promoted the local hotels, restaurants, points of interest, and Imperial’s various forms of entertainment. Then, of course, there was the ever-present graffiti, none of which was especially enlightening.

Before long Nick was entering the hangar, making his way toward the Victorious.A hundred yards from the ship, he withdrew the remote from his utility belt and released the ship’s security. With the touch of another button, he tapped into the primary on-board computer and scanned for messages. A tiny vid-screen on the remote indicated that there were four. He thumbed yet another button and began a verbal playback as he continued making his way across the hangar.

“Hey Banner, Jackson here. Couldn’t help but notice the Vicki, man. It’s about time you hit port. If you get the chance to join us for a few drinks, me and the guys will be at the Porthole.”

Pause.

“This is Spaceport Ship Maintenance confirming computer payment authorization. Fuel comes to thirty-six. Fresh water: fifteen, and routine servicing: five, for a total tab of fifty-six credits. Imperial wishes you a nice stay and that you’ll return again soon.”

Pause.

“Nick? Slater. Got your message. Called the place, but Delta said you’d left. You can reach me for the rest of the night at four, four, eight, thirty-two.”

Pause.

“Hey Banner ol’ buddy, Tom Rist here. By the way, you wouldn’t happen to be interested in—”

Thumbing a small button, Nick terminated the message and headed for a bank of comphones housed just inside the terminal. Before he could release the safety on his holstered weapon, they were upon him—three men hidden in the shadows.

The first man lunged forward, and Nick effectively dodged his attack. The second man grabbed his left arm, but Nick swung hard with his right, crashing his fist into the attacker’s face and sending him sprawling to the deck.

The first man returned, this time throwing himself at Nick’s back, looping his arms through Nick’s and locking them behind him with such force that for a desperate moment it felt as though his shoulder blades would snap.

Nick kicked out at a third man, landing a hard blow to his thigh. Finally he was restrained long enough for someone to deliver an uppercut to his jaw, and his mind exploded into stars. With brute force, someone else rammed a hammy fist deep into his midsection, expelling the air from his lungs with a whoosh. He swayed on his feet, his gut in spasms.

By now the second man had recovered from Nick’s right fist and began assisting in the restraint. Nick was hit again, this time so hard, his feet left the ground and he vaguely heard ribs crack under the force of the blow. The jolt of pain that shot through him was so intense, his vision blurred. His legs buckled and he sank against his captor with a groan, sliding halfway to his knees before he was forced to stand again.

“Get him up!” someone commanded. “Take him inside and secure him.” Rough hands grabbed the remote and opened the main hatch of the Victorious.

The incident was over almost before it even began. It took two men to hoist Nick to his feet. Dazed, he struggled futilely against his assailants as they removed his gun and dragged him onboard the ship. For the trouble he gave them, he was slugged hard in the side and his body went limp.

Blackness threatened to pull him under. There was a horrendous roaring in his ears. His gut roiled, and his ribs hurt so bad just the simple act of breathing was limited to shallow panting. Each breath was so excruciating, it felt like hot pokers slipping into his lungs.

They took tie-downs used for stabilizing cargo and tied them to Nick’s wrists, then stretched his arms straight out from his sides, lashing him to studs along the bulkhead. He couldn’t prevent the husky cry of pain that tore from the back of his throat as a final yank pulled the ropes so taut, he felt the wrenching of his arms. Weakened by shock and pain, he hung helpless, his muscles and tendons savagely stretched to their very limit.

Within seconds all feeling had left his hands and he struggled to hide the agony of cracked ribs. Ah, God, it hurt just to breathe, but he’d be damned if he’d give them the satisfaction of knowing it.

One man was in the process of wiping the blood from his mouth, compliments of Banner’s hard right hook. Glaring insolently at his captors, he tried not to think about their plans for him. He knew he’d be damned lucky to survive the ordeal, whatever it entailed.

Escape was impossible. As best he could tell there were three, maybe four of them. Nick knew their kind. Lord knows he’d met his share during the two years he’d spent on Echo—brutal men, the kind who were capable of anything for easy money, including murder. He didn’t know all of their names, but he sure as hell knew one: Lee Bryant. They were the same men who’d jumped him at Port America. Odds were they were after Tressa.

“Hullo Banner.”

Nick looked up through a blurry haze, his eyes dulled with pain. His lip was swollen and blood dripped from the corner of his mouth. “Bryant,” he gasped, “See you—haven’t changed. Still the same good-for-nothing—lousy scum.” The words were broken and uttered between gasps.

Bryant’s face drained and became grim as he drew back his fist and planted an impulsive blow into Nick’s already bruised abdomen. “We can do this two ways. Easy or hard, it’s your call.”

Choked by the force of the impact, Nick coughed, his lungs convulsing, his gut coiling and knotting around the blow. The world dimmed for just an instant, then exploded into white-hot agony as a jolt of pain surged through him.

“I’m only going to ask this once,” Bryant said in a menacingly soft voice. “Then it’s going to get nasty.”

“You mean I haven’t—seen nasty yet?”

Bryant ignored Nick’s taunt. “Where’s the girl?”

Nick managed a cynical sneer. “So you’re the one Loring’s worried about. And here I thought we might be up against something dangerous.”

That comment earned him a backhand across the face. “Are you going to answer the question, or do you need a little more persuasion?”

“Go to hell.”

The grin that swept over Bryant’s face was slow and chilling. “Somehow I figured you’d say something like that.” He turned and gave a clipped nod to the large, burly man with the hard eyes and the ugly scar running down his left cheek. Sam DeVries, the one who’d already cracked Nick’s ribs earlier with a single blow.

“Citizen Banner, here,” Bryant sneered, “seems to be having a little trouble with his memory. How would you like to help him out?”

Once again a fist connected with Nick’s jaw, snapping back his head with cruel force. The ropes bit into his wrists and his knees sagged.

“Too bad, Nick, I’m afraid this is one time your size and strength are going to work against you.” Bryant said with a satisfaction. “I can see it now. A man your size...” He shook his head in mock sadness. “It’s going to take some serious abuse to bring you down. Why don’t you put a stop to it now while you still can. Tell us where the girl is. Otherwise...” Bryant leaned forward and spoke in lowered tones. “DeVries, here, gains pleasure in torture. Believe me, you don’t want to give him an excuse.”

“Suck vacuum...!” Nick gritted out.

Banner saw it coming even before DeVries raised his meaty fist. Though he tried to brace himself, pain exploded in his jaw and he saw stars

“Careful of his pretty face,” someone said.

“If I were you, Nick—.”

Nick was barely aware of Bryant’s wheedling voice as he drifted on the edge of consciousness.

“—be to answering the questions real soon. Besides—pretty face won’t be so pretty anymore. If nothing else—save yourself a lot of—and pain.”

Nick was in no position to argue with the man. The suggestion, he thought dimly, did seem to make sense. After all, it didn’t take a genius to figure out that hurting wasn’t good. But...telling wasn’t good either. Nick heard a moan coming from somewhere, hardly recognizing the sound of his own voice. One thing he knew for sure: If they punched him one more time in the gut, throwing up was going to feel awfully damn good. As it was, he’d already swallowed back the rising gorge twice.

“Mulling things over, are you?” Bryant taunted.

Nick didn’t answer, but his defiant gaze plainly reiterated, “Go to hell.” Drawing upon what little strength he had left, he lunged with a booted kick to Bryant’s groin, narrowly missing the vulnerable area. The physical effort cost him dearly, as an explosion of white-hot pain shot across his cracked ribs.

Bryant’s jaw ticked with suppressed rage. “Time for further persuasion, I see.” His voice was dangerously soft, and with a nod to DeVries, he stepped back.

Nick tensed, again bracing himself for the retaliation, but it did little good. DeVries’s double fist connected viciously with his side. Nick’s face became devoid of all expression as the shock of raw pain surged through him. Shattering into layer upon layer of echoing anguish. He sought the refuge of the beckoning darkness, but it wavered just out of reach. One more punch and the pain began fading, the nausea passed and Nick slipped into the sweet oblivion of unconsciousness, his head resting against his chest.

Bryant stepped forward, gripped Nick’s shaggy dark mane in his fist and wrenched his head up. “He’s out.”

“I say let’s bring him back around,’ DeVries growled.

Bryant motioned for two men standing just inside the main hatch. “Untie him and transfer him to Kendyl’s ship.”

Sam DeVries stepped forward. “Did you hear what I said? I said we need to bring him back around.”

“I heard you the first time.”

“We’re not going to get answers this way,” DeVries warned, following Bryant into the cargo hold. “I tell you, you’ve got to keep at him with no breaks in between.”

“We’re going to let him rest while we relocate, ” Bryant said firmly, scanning the inside of the hold for anything of interest. “There’s only so much a man can take at one time,” he continued, “and you’d do well to keep that in mind when working him over.

The boss isn’t going to pay us for a dead man.”

DeVries growled in disgust. “More torture is the only way to get the answers out of him. You allow him to rest and all he’ll do is gather his strength.” Curses fell from DeVries mouth as he turned away, crossing the cabin to where Nick was tied up. He studied him critically. “I wouldn’t be surprised if he was pretending right now.” He slugged Nick hard in the shoulder. Aside from a muffled groan, there was no response.

Bryant rounded on DeVries. “Let’s get one thing straight: As long as I’m in charge, I give the orders. Understood? What I want is the girl. What I don’t want is to have Banner dying on us. Once we get our information, you and Kendyl can fight over who gets him first. Until then we do things my way.”

** * “Tressa? Are you all right?” Delta was winding up the tour of the Banner home. But the past ten minutes she’d been silently observing Tressa’s strange behavior.

In the beginning the young woman had bubbled over with questions and comments. Then suddenly she changed, becoming strangely quiet. No longer was she eagerly listening as Delta touched on the highlights of the Banner heritage, or marveling at the history behind many of the points of interest.

And now...Tressa was distant, preoccupied, her breathing erratic, her color pale and her expression grave.

“Tressa dear, why don’t we go over and sit down.” Delta had no sooner made the suggestion than Tressa placed a trembling hand to her chest, gasped and dropped to her knees.

“Nooo! Noooooo.” Her voice trailed off into low agonizing sobs.

Delta went to her knees beside her. “What is it? What’s wrong?”

Tears ran unchecked down Tressa’s cheeks. “Noooo. Pleeeeze.”

“Dawson! Delta screamed. Someone, help!

Gathering her strength, Tressa drew back, her body still trembling, her words broken between sobs. “Del—ta, it’s...Nick! Something terrible is happening! He’s—hurt! I can feel his

suffering!”

“Dawson!”

Tressa struggled to get up. “I’ve got...to go to him!”

“Tressa please calm down and...Dawson!”

“But he needs help,” Tressa cried, rising to her feet. “Please. We have to go.”

Dawson ran into the room. “What’s going on?”

Delta nearly collapsed with relief at the sight of him. “It’s Tressa.”

“We must go after him,” Tressa continued.

Dawson scanned the room for signs of an intruder. “Will someone tell me what the hell’s happening?” For the first time ever, the prim head-butler spoke to Delta in a less than subservient manner.

“Del—ta,” Tressa suddenly clutched at the woman’s arm and dropped to her knees again.

By now several servants, were clustered in the doorway, peering in for a better look.

“Dawson, help me get her up. Annie!”

“I’m right here!”

“Please, bring a pot of herb tea to Tressa’s room.”

The girl nodded and hurried off.

“And...and call the medics!”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Dawson drew Tressa to her feet.

“Noooo!” she cried, pushing them both away. “Please, I must go to Nick! Pleeeze!”

“What is she talking about? Dawson asked.

“She feels Nicky’s been hurt.”

“He is hurt!” Tressa insisted. “We must...” Her voice trailed off into a moan.

Delta turned to Dawson. “See? Try to get a hold of Zeke; tell him it’s urgent.”

Dawson nodded, turned and disappeared down the hall.

“Tressa,” Delta said softly, trying to rein in her racing heart and appear calm. “I want you to know I believe you and I am sending someone to find Nicky,” she said slipping a comforting arm about Tressa’s shaking body and heading her down the hallway toward the guest room.

“No! Not just one of the servants, Delta. This...time he’s in a lot of trouble.”

“Don’t worry. The person I have in mind can handle himself and will know just what to do when he finds Nicky. But right now I want you to lay down and concentrate on relaxing.” Delta began steering Tressa toward the bed.

“I don’t want to lay down!” Panic was returning to her voice.

“All right. You don’t have to.” Delta said, ushering Tressa instead toward a small sitting area in the corner. “I’ve got some nice hot tea on the way,” she added, easing Tressa into a chair.

Delta struggled to maintain her fragile control. “Tressa,” she began as calmly as she could manage, “I don’t understand how you...how you know all this. Why do you say Nicky’s been hurt?”

Tressa’s face clouded. “Because I...I can almost feel his... suffering,” she whispered.

“Are you in pain?”

“No. Yes...but it’s different. Like it’s not real… It’s his pain. I know it.”

“What are you saying? You think the pain you’re feeling is...is Nicky’s?”

Trembling, Tressa lifted her eyes. “Yes, but I...I can’t explain it.”

“Have you ever felt anything like this before?”

A long moment passed before Tressa slowly shook her head. “No,” she said in a small, frightened voice, her body still trembling. “Maybe once, when Nick was suffering from the effects of the stun gun.”

Delta drew back in silence. “You physically felt—”

“Ineedtogotohim!”Tressacried,hysteriareturning.

Delta looked up as the young housemaid hurried in with the tea. “Oh thank you, Annie.”

Tressa sat in the chair, nervously fingering the neckline of her jumpsuit, as Delta began pouring them each a cup.

“This will help you relax, Tressa.”

“Please, don’t give me something to make me go to sleep, I...I don’t want to go to sleep,” she pleaded softly, frantically wiping the tears from her face. “I promise, I won’t cause any more trouble.”

“Nonsense. You’re not any trouble, but you do have us worried. The tea will only relax, not drug you. What are you feeling now? Anything?” she asked steadying the cup in Tressa’s shaky hand.

“I don’t feel the p-pain so much now, but I’m c-cold. I just...want to hold...him.” she answered between stifled sobs.

CHAPTER NINETEEN

Nick was dimly aware of being carried by rough hands and unceremoniously dumped onto a hard, cold surface. Despite the temptation to remain numb, he fought to regain consciousness, but ultimately lost the battle as tendrils of darkness reached out, enveloping him once again.

He awoke several hours later to the metallic taste of blood in his mouth. Commanding his body to get up, he swore silently when it refused to obey. His hands were still numb from being tied up. It was his own stupidity that had brought him to this pass, and his wits were all he had now to save him.

Lying perfectly still, he slowly gathered himself. Finally, in what he considered to be an awesome feat of heroics, he managed to maneuver himself into a kneeling position. From there he concentrated his efforts on crouching and finally he stood.

Every muscle in his body ached and throbbed from countless bruises; his eyes were all but swollen shut and the nausea, ever present. As best he could, he inventoried his injuries. There was a cut on his face, another on his right side. His left arm had no strength, and the agony in his left shoulder was excruciating. He was sure of a broken rib or two; the pain in that area was deceiving. In truth, his entire rib cage felt crushed. He didn’t think his nose had been broken, and although his jaw ached fiercely, his teeth miraculously remained intact.

Nick was leaning against the wall, surveying his surroundings, when the door suddenly hissed open. He glanced up through blurred vision to see Quint Kendyl once again facing him.

“Well, well, sleeping beauty’s finally awake.” A sardonic grin slowly swept across Kendyl’s face as he took in Nick’s battered form. “You look a little worse for wear, pal.” The smile faded, and with a nod, two men came forward.

“I understand you forgot to introduce me to your companion.” Kendyl continued with mocking casualness. “Tsk, tsk. That wasn’t polite, Nick. Not at all.”

Nick was jerked to his feet, his right arm thrust upward, and the back of his open palm slammed against the wall with more force than was necessary. He choked back a gasp as his wrist was secured in shackles. Pain licked across his rib cage.

“I’ll find her of course. You know that don’t you?” Kendyl said calmly.

Banner’s left arm was grabbed and slammed against bulkhead in much the same manner. Gritting his teeth against the agony of his wrenched shoulder, he wouldn’t give them the satisfaction of knowing how badly it hurt.

Kendyl hooked his thumbs into the waistband of his pants and continued with deceptive calm. “This one’s special, huh Nick?”

Nick was barely comprehending the questions being fired at him. But the water they threw in his face shocked him back to awareness.

“Have I got your attention now?” Kendyl’s grin was cruel.

Choking on the water that had splashed up his nose, Nick glared at him through hooded eyes.

“Let me see...where were we? Oh yes, we were discussing...Tressa.” He grinned. “That is her name, isn’t it?”

No response.

“Now, you can either make it easy on yourself, or...well, you know how it goes. Either way we’re waiting right here until that little piece of baggage of yours is found.”

“You’re welcome to ’er. I guarantee she doesn’t know the—first thing about pleasing a man.” Nick lied between gasps.

Kendyl threw back his head in laughter. “Then it will be my pleasure to teach her. You always did lack patience.” Kendyl’s voice hardened. “Where is she, Nick?”

“Your guess is as good as mine,” Nick rasped. “She stormed off the ship the—minute we hit port.” It sounded believable, for it was common knowledge that Nick’s rough edges always managed to get him into trouble when it came to women.

A cynical smile spread across Kendyl’s face. ‘Well that means we’ll just have to go find her now, won’t we? By the way, we’re taking her to Steel” He grinned. “My idea. I figure she’ll warm my bunk on the way, and by the time we get there...I guarantee, she’ll be worth a hell of a lot more than she is now.”

Without comment, Nick lifted his swollen, hate-filled eyes. All he could envision was Tressa being forced into Kendyl’s bed. Even in his present state, with mush for a brain, it shattered him just thinking of it. He struggled against his bonds, cursing his inability to break free. If only he could, the forces of hell wouldn’t be able to stop him from tearing that sonofabitch apart—limb-by-limb.

“What’s the matter, Nick, don’t like that idea? You want to know what our plans are for you?”

“I’m sure—you’re just dying to tell me.”

“I am. Once DeVries is through with you, we’re dropping you off on Jewel. Only we’re going to skip the formalities of orientation. Sorry, ol’ pal, ’fraid you’ll be without supplemental oxygen. If Jewel’s low-oxygen level doesn’t get you, the heat will.”

Nick didn’t respond. He never even heard Kendyl, for that matter. He was too busy envisioning Tressa at Kendyl’s mercy and…Steel. Dear God, it was one of the most corrupt and degenerate places he’d ever been. He closed his mind to the mental torment.

Kendyl turned and with a nod, dismissed the two men waiting by the entry. Stepping forward, he grabbed Nick’s bloodied jacket and pulled him forward against his bonds.

“This is for Acia, partner,” he said in a raw tone. That was the only warning Nick got before Kendyl’s knee slammed into his groin. Buckling under the crucifying pain, his gut in spasms, Nick fell forward against his bonds, vaguely hearing himself moaning before blacking out.

** *

Port Ireland, Terra Four

The built-in comset on Jonathan Loring’s desk chimed.

“Yes?”

“Mr. Carson is here to see you, Sir.”

“Tom Carson?”

“Yes sir.”

“Send him in.”

Within moments the door opened. “Tom, what can I do for you?” Loring said, putting down his pen as he looked up.

“I need to speak with you, sir.”

“Certainly. Have a seat.” Loring leaned back, steepling his fingers. “What’s on your mind?”

“I’m not sure just where to start,” Carson began, his tone apologetic.

Jonathan grew serious. “Maybe you ought to start at the beginning, then.”

“Yes, I suppose I should.” Awkwardly, he cleared his throat. “To start off, I need to tell you that I’m the one who wrote that note about a possible threat on your daughter’s life.”

A muscle twitched along Loring’s jaw. “You wrote that note?”

“Yes. I’m the one who overheard the conversation.”

Jonathan sat forward. “Please, go on.”

“Since then,” Carson continued, “I’ve been keeping my ears open, and I’ve learned a few more things.”

A cold knot formed in the pit of Loring’s stomach. “Like what?”

“What I originally overhead was, if the marriage didn’t go through, the plan was to force your hand.”

“Force my hand? What do you mean?”

“I’m not sure, but Tressa’s name was brought up twice during the conversation, and that was when I decided to get a note to you. Since then I’ve done some checking around.”

“Yes?”

Carson took a deep breath. “Well, sir, I was just wondering...how much do you know about this Burke Sinclair?”

“Sinclair? What the devil does Sinclair have to do with anything?”

“It is my understanding that he’s asked for Tressa’s hand in marriage. Am I correct?”

“Yes, but so have others. Sinclair isn’t the only one who—”

“Sir, I strongly believe that this Sinclair isn’t who he says he is. I also believe he could be associated with Tyron Wheeler. Maybe even related.”

By now Jonathan’s nerves were at full stretch. “Wheeler? What the devil are you talking about?”

Carson rose from his seat. “The brokerage, Mining and More, Ltd.? I found out it’s a subsidiary of WheelerEx.”

“Who the hell did you hear that from?”

“I didn’t hear it from anyone. It’s taken me nearly three weeks of research to dredge up that information. I’m not saying I’m positive he’s related to Wheeler—that part’s only speculation— but Mining and More is definitely a subsidiary of WheelerEx. And as for Sinclair not being who he says he is, so far everything supports my belief.”

Jonathan leaned back in his chair. “How...?” His voice was a hushed rasp. “Why...?”

Carson moved forward. “Think about it!” he said, splaying his palms on Loring’s desk. “If the marriage doesn’t go...” he said with exaggerated slowness, “that statement alone narrows our subjects down to only those who have asked for marriage. Right?”

“Go on.”

“I’ve taken it upon myself to do an identity search on anyone even remotely eligible.” Carson straightened. “And Sinclair’s the only one without a past.”

“Now wait just a minute—”

“I know, I know.” Carson interrupted. “You checked him out long before Tressa even knew he existed. Right? And his record’s impeccable. He comes from a perfect family, got perfect grades in college, and is running a successful business.” Carson shook his head. “It all sounds great until you have reason to question the perfectness of it all. And I decided to delve a little deeper.”

“And?” Jonathan asked expectantly.

“A routine check disclosed perfect backups for every aspect of his personal identity. The schools he attended, his parents...” Carson shook his head. “Everything checked out. Even the business is doing great. But...” Carson’s voice turned ominous, “go beyond that and there’s nothing.”

Momentarily stunned, Loring sat motionless. “I don’t understand. What exactly are you saying?”

“I’m saying that the computer should be able to back-track the personal records on anyone, as far back as necessary, including great-great grandparents and further if needed. But in the case of Citizen Sinclair,” he continued, “there is no backup beyond his immediate stated identity. In other words, Burke Sinclair doesn’t exist beyond the surface.”

A tense silence enveloped the room.

“For instance,” Carson continued, his voice hard, “I ran a computer search on his supposed parents.”

“Yes?”

“There’s no information on either of them: where they were born, who their parents were, and so on. They don’t exist. Period.” He waved a hand. “I don’t know who this Sinclair is, but he sure as hell isn’t who he says he is.”

Loring rose from his chair. “Then I’ve played right into their hands by approving of Sinclair in the first place.”

“Possibly. This is the way I see it: if the marriage goes through, Wheeler would have his foot planted right in LorTech’s front door. I’d bet credits that Sinclair’s related to Wheeler.” Carson leaned forward, his voice a harsh rasp. “You sent your daughter off to safety, I trust.”

“Yes, a little over three weeks ago.”

“Well, there’s more. Sinclair hasn’t been seen for nearly three weeks now.”

Jonathan ran his hand through his hair, his expression grave. “And you feel he’s gone after her?”

“It’s likely. But I’m sure you chose someone reliable to escort her?”

“I did. Nick Banner.”

“Well, Sinclair’s not stupid. If he did go after her, he should know Banner wouldn’t simply hand her over. Carson’s mouth spread into a thin-lipped smile as he continued. “And somehow I just can’t envision Sinclair confronting Banner at gunpoint and demanding he turn over Tressa. From what I know of Sinclair, he’d have thugs doing this dirty work for him.”

“But why would he have to do that? Wouldn’t Tressa go to him willingly?”

“You really think Banner would let her go? He’ll see this through to the end.”

Jonathan’s face paled as he dropped back into his chair. “I see what your saying. So instead of getting Tressa off planet to safety I may have placed both her and Nick in danger.”

“It’s speculation, but I thought you should know.”

Deep in thought, Loring nodded. “Yes, Thank you, Tom.”

“If there’s anything I can do…” Carson left the sentence hanging as he turned for the door.

“I’ll let you know,” Loring said, grabbing for the comset.

** *

The door to the drawing room opened quietly. “Mr. Slater is here. Would you like me to show him in?”

Delta rose to her feet. “Yes. Please.”

Zeke entered the drawing room with a rigid set to his shoulders and a distinct crease of worry between his eyes. A loyal friend from Nick’s childhood, Zeke Slater was nearly as tall as Nick, and in his own way, just as handsome. His tawny, sun-streaked hair—usually falling recklessly about his shoulders—was now pulled back and secured at the nape.

“Oh Zeke, thank God you’re here.”

Coming forward, he enfolded Delta in an embrace. “I would have been here sooner, but I just got your message.”

Delta felt a wave of relief sweep over her now that Zeke had arrived. He was like a fourth son. Though he’d been closest with Nick, he and the three Banner boys had all grown up together. Delta had lost count of the times Zeke’s feet had been planted beneath their table for meals right along with the rest of the family.

“Start from the beginning,” he said, guiding Delta to the couch. Removing his jacket, he sat down across from her as she began unfolding the story of Tressa and why Nick had brought her to Acacia. She went on to relate Tressa’s unusual behavior, explaining how she had sensed—or had literally felt—something terrible had happened to Nick.

Zeke listened with an intent frown as the story unraveled. “Where’s Tressa now?”

“She’s sleeping. Should I wake her?”

“No. Let her sleep.”

Delta nodded. “She really didn’t get any sleep at all last night.”

He gazed at her speculatively. “And neither did you, I take it.”

She smiled. “No. I’ve spent the night trying to reason with her. She insists on taking off on a rescue mission of some sort. She finally fell asleep about an hour ago.”

Zeke stared at the floor, deep in thought. “I left a number where I could be reached on Nick’s message center. Never heard back, so this morning I went looking for him.” Rising from his chair, he walked to the windows, presenting his back to Delta. His voice flat as he continued, “I stopped at the Outbounder first, figuring Shara might have seen him. Nick had been there all right. Shara talked him into staying off-ship. Apparently he had a few things to do first and said that he’d be back.” With a heavy sigh Zeke paused, his expression grim when he turned to face her. “Only he never returned.”

Delta’s eyes closed.

Zeke continued. “I checked out the Victorious next. Not only found the security turned off on the main hatch...I found traces of blood inside. I don’t know how she knew, but the girl’s right. Something’s happened.”

Breathing Nick’s name, Delta sank back against the couch, her eyes brimming with tears.

Returning to Delta’s side, Zeke sat down. “Can Max be reached?” he asked taking hold of her shaking hands.

Delta looked up expectantly. “You have an idea?”

“Only the beginning of one, and I’m going to need help.”

A spark of hope lit Delta’s eyes. “I talked to Max yesterday, before all of this happened. The boys are with him. I expect them back sometime around midday.”

“Good.” Releasing her hand, he rose. “I’m posting several guards around this place. Neither you nor Tressa are to leave the grounds.” He touched her arm. “Agreed?”

Smiling bleakly, Delta nodded and wiped tears from her eyes. “That’s just what Nicky said before he left.”

Zeke reached for his jacket. “I’ll be back by the time Max gets in, and we’ll want to talk with Tressa then, too.”

CHAPTER TWENTY

Port Ireland, Terra Four

Jonathan reached for a small control pad built into his desktop and depressed a button. “Lizzy, get WheelerEx on the vidcom for me. Immediately, please.”

“Anyone in particular, Mr. Loring?”

“Yes,” he gritted out, “Wheeler.”

“Right away, sir.”

Loring spun his chair about, facing the glass wall behind his desk. Stretched out beyond it laid a network of buildings, parking lots, and warehouses. Leaning back, he waited, steepling his index fingers and placing them to his chin in thought. He’d personally taken the rest of the morning and part of the afternoon double-checking Carson’s claims and finding everything he’d said to be true.

Jonathan’s features hardened at the thought of being suckered, but to think that Tressa had been pulled into it made his blood boil. Wasn’t it interesting, he thought, that Wheeler just happened to set up a mining brokerage right when a very large contract happened to be surfacing? It surprised him that Tyron Wheeler would stoop to such a plan. But again, the thought of Tressa being caught up in the scheme, enraged him beyond reason. Jonathan’s thoughts were interrupted by the intercom. “I’ve got Mr. Wheeler on the vidcom, sir.”

“Thank you,” he said, swiveling to engage the large comscreen on the sidewall. The screen flickered briefly, and then focused to reveal Wheeler’s face. Tyron Wheeler was a work-hardened man in his early sixties with a stocky build and thick silver hair. In person, or on screen, Wheeler was impressive no matter how you met him.

“Jonathan, it’s always a pleasure.” He seemed genuinely pleased by the call.

And why wouldn’t he be, Loring thought, he probably thinks I’m calling to discuss the upcoming contract. “Cut the crap, Wheeler. I just want to know one thing. Is your grandson—-or whatever he is to you—-running a mining brokerage here in Port Ireland?

Wheeler’s smile faded. “My grandson? Yes...” he said slowly. “I’ve got him managing a small subsidiary. Why?”

Loring’s face suddenly went grim. “What in a renegade’s hell do you think you’re doing? Is this how you’re operating now? And dragging my daughter into it is a mistake you’ll regret.”

“Dragging your dau—-I don’t know what you’re talking about!”

“I’m talking about sending your grandson here under a fictitious name. Using him to secure a mining contract you probably would have been awarded anyway. And…tell me, how does Tressa fit into your plans? Thinking of merging our companies, Ty? It would be a nice advantage to you, wouldn’t it?”

Moments of silence passed in which Wheeler nailed Jonathan with his steely gaze. Finally, he spoke—slowly enunciating each word. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

Jonathan would have almost believed the look of innocence if he weren’t so furious. “You’re denying you sent your grandson here under a fictitious name to secure the mining contract for the silicon crystals?”

“What fictitious name? Yes, I deny it! I sent my grandson to Port Ireland to run Mining and More, but I didn’t—-Fictitious—? What the hell are you talking about?”

“Friendly warning, Wheeler.” Jonathan said, “Tressa’s life has been threatened, and if I find out that you or your grandson have had anything to do with it, I’ll crush you.” He paused meaningfully. “And that’s a promise.”

A drawn-out moment passed in which both men glared at one another in silence.”

“Jon,” Wheeler began calmly, “we can sit here trading threats and flexing our muscles all day, but I guarantee it won’t get you any closer to finding out who’s really behind whatever it is you’re accusing me of.”

Wheeler’s image wavered and then cleared again. “If my grandson’s been running Mining and More illegally, I will deal with him. Meanwhile as a sign of goodwill, and my innocence, I’m offering any assistance I can. What do you say? Between the two of us and our combined resources I guarantee we—”

“I don’t need your help,” Loring ground out. “And if I find out you’ve had any involvement in this, you and your grandson are going to wish you’d never heard of me.”

* * * Nick... Awaking with a start, Tressa bolted upright. A quick glance at the clock on a nearby stand told her it was almost noon. Nick...the memory of last night’s experience lingered vividly.

Throwing back the covers, she swung her feet over the edge of the bed and took in her surroundings. The room was light and cheerful as shafts of bright sunshine streamed through the skylight and windows, but Tressa had neither the time nor the inclination to enjoy any of it. Rising quickly, she grabbed a travel pac and headed for the lav. After a quick shower she would seek out Delta and find out about Nick. Surely they had found him by now.

Her damp hair hung in a single heavy braid down her back as Tressa stepped out into the hall.

There it was again. Earlier she heard voices drifting up from below, but it was Nick’s voice she heard this time. Quickly moving to the wide staircase, Tressa stood at the top of the landing for one breathless moment and listened.

“Nobody spills one drop of Banner blood and gets away with it! Nobody!” An angry voice rose above the rest, and with it Tressa’s heart skipped a beat. Nick!

Starting down the stairs, she drew to a halt as a man stormed from the drawing room into the entry foyer. Their eyes met and Tressa found herself frozen in place. He was older than Nick by several years, but the resemblance was striking, and he possessed those same luminous blue eyes.

She swallowed, unable to pull away from of his riveting gaze. Slowly the man’s anger and hard expression softened. “You must be Tressa.” His voice was low and smooth, like aged whiskey, and he sounded, Tressa thought, just like Nick.

“Yes,” she replied, slowly descending the stairs. “And you must be one of Nick’s brothers?”

His answer was an unexpected rumble of laughter. “Darling, you just bought the universe with that one. I’m Max, Nick’s father.”

“Oh...” A blush immediately heated Tressa’s cheeks.

As she neared the bottom step, Max came forward extending his hand. “No wonder Nick’s keeping an eye on you.”

“Is he here?” Before he could answer, Delta and three men burst into the foyer.

“Tressa, how are you feeling?” Delta asked, rushing to her side.

“Better, thank you.” Her gaze searched the faces surrounding her. “Where’s Nick? I thought I heard him talking.”

Delta sighed. “They all sound alike. You’ve met Nicky’s father; let me introduce you to the rest of the family. This is Clinton, Nicky’s older brother.”

“My pleasure, Sunshine.” Clint’s gaze skillfully captured Tressa’s as he caught her hand and held it a little longer than necessary. She only needed two seconds to know that Delta was right.

Clinton was just as dangerous as Nick—possibly a little more restrained.

Next came Marc, the youngest of the three and the one who looked the most like Nick.

“Tressa,” he said with a clipped nod of acknowledgement. Marc was still young, but with two older brothers setting the example, the outcome was predictable.

Finally Zeke was introduced, along with a brief explanation of his friendship with the family. Zeke greeted Tressa in much the same manner as Marc, with an extended hand, a nod and the gentle mention of her name.

Tressa was suddenly the center of attention—mainly Clint’s. Marc and Zeke weren’t quite as blatant in their inspection. Nevertheless she was beginning to feel like pirates loot just unloaded off Nick’s ship.

“But where’s Nick?” she asked again.

Delta finally spoke up. “Why don’t we all go back in and sit down?”

Clint immediately sauntered forward as Tressa’s self-appointed escort.

The family resemblance was strong among the Banner men. There was certainly no mistaking them for anyone but Banners.

“I told them what happened last night.” Delta said as they sat down. “They’re going back out now to try to find Nicky, but first they need to ask you a few questions.”

Tressa’s eyes widened. “No one’s gone after him yet?”

Zeke spoke up. “We’ve tried, Tressa. I spent the morning retracing his steps and questioning port security, but it all dead-ends at the Victorious. We’re hoping you might be able to help us.”

“Of course I’ll help. I’m going with you.”

Max sat forward. “It will be best for you to stay here.”

Although his words were kindly spoken, Tressa recognized that Banner-end-of-discussion look. She’d certainly seen it enough in the last three weeks.

Standing before a large floor-to-ceiling window, Zeke turned and came forward. Hunkering down before her, he placed himself on eye level and began speaking in a slow, gentle manner. “Do you remember what you experienced last night?”

“Yes,” she said, clasping her hands tightly in her lap.

Zeke paused, then slowly asked, “Are you telepathic, Tressa?”

She lowered her gaze, making an attempt to straighten nonexistent wrinkles from her shift. Slowly she lifted her eyes to meet his. “No, not that I know of.”

“I see. Then, do you read minds?”

Tressa shook her head. “No.”

“What about visions?”

Again, “No,” she said with conviction.

As if having run out of ideas, Zeke cast a questioning glance to Clint.

“How about emotions, Tressa?” Clint asked. “Like experiencing weird things…. feelings that aren’t yours—happiness, sadness...stress that can be associated with pain maybe?”

Tressa hesitated. “No. I mean—-not until Nick.” She glanced up. “I didn’t exactly feel his pain, I felt distress, his—-agony. I know beyond a shadow of a doubt that he is suffering unbearably.”

“Are you Creohen?” Clint asked softly.

“My mother is part Creohen. But I didn’t—”

“Bulls eye,” Clint whispered. He shot a glance at Zeke. “If she’s Creohen, you can be sure that what she is feeling is right on target.”

Zeke reached for her hand and squeezed it gently. “Do you feel up to just a couple more questions? It might help us to find Nick sooner.”

With a nod, Tressa let out a shaky sigh. “Yes, I’ll do my best.”

“Good. First of all, Delta tells me Quint Kendyl came aboard the Victorious.”

“Yes, Nick’s ex-partner.”

Max spoke up. “And other than informing Nick about the tracer, Kendyl mentioned no names, gave no indication at all about who had put the tracer onboard?”

Tressa shook her head slowly. “Just that he’d picked up on the tracer. I really don’t think he knew who had put it there, let alone where it was.”

“That rules him out as being part of this,” Delta murmured.

“Not necessarily,” Zeke said, pushing himself into a standing position.

Clint immediately took the seat beside her. “What about now? Do you feel or sense anything now?”

A wave of panic flashed through Tressa at the question. Suddenly she wanted to jump up and run—escape their probing questions, and evade the strange sensations of pain and fear that weren’t hers.

Ever since the night Nick had tried to seduce her she had denied the occasional waves of unfamiliar emotions that connected her so intimately with him. Though naïve in the ways of love, the raw passion she had felt that night was that of a practiced lover, not an inexperienced young woman. It had been like a dark tide of lust carrying her below the surface of good sense and willpower. Tressa found the foreign desire both intriguing and frightening all at the same time. Now there was not a doubt in her mind whose lust and passion she had felt that night.

Then there was the time when he was unconscious from the stunner; again foreign sensations had assaulted her mind. Frightful things she didn’t want to feel—-his pain, his panic, and his aloneness.

Even now, she somehow knew his ribs ached. Anxiety coursed through her with his panic, and a cold knot formed in the pit of her stomach with his isolation.

Clint’s warm hands suddenly engulfed both of hers and tightened in reassurance. “You’re sensing something right now, aren’t you?”

Tressa squeezed her eyes shut against the terror that welled up deep inside. She fought back the waves of fearful emotions, unfamiliar and confused feelings that weren’t her own.

Terrified to delve deeper, she denied the intrusion on her thoughts and frantically sought to erect a wall of defense. She would not go through again what she had last night.

“Tressa,” Clint said gently. “What is it?”

“Noo,” she cried, snatching her hand from his grasp.

Clint flashed a quick glance at Max, then back to Tressa.

“Can you tell us what it is you’re feeling, Sunshine?”

Tressa drew a shaky breath, and for a moment said nothing. “He’s...suffering,” she said at last, afraid to probe deeper.

“Hang on for just a little longer, Tressa. Okay? Try to reach for Nick.” Clint’s voice was low and gentle, and so Nick. If she closed her eyes...it was Nick.

Max stopped pacing and came forward, dropping to one knee before her. “Tressa, I know you can’t actually see things, but as you sense Nick’s feelings...can you give us any clues at all as to his whereabouts?”

Zeke nodded and moved closer. “Good idea.”

“Are you sensing anything else besides his pain?” Max continued.

Yes, she wanted to scream. Yes. She was feeling a whole gamut of emotions that she neither asked for nor wanted. And other than the pain, she didn’t know which emotions were hers and which were his. She glanced from one anxious face to the next, each one expectantly awaiting her answer.

“My goodness, boys,” Delta cut in, fanning her hands at the four of them. “Back off. You’re giving me claustrophobia. How can you possibly expect Tressa to concentrate on anything with all of you crowding her like this?”

They backed off reluctantly, but not far. Clint remained seated at her side. Max, his eyes never leaving her face, went only as far as the couch across from her. With a sigh of exasperation, Zeke impatiently paced back to the window, leaning an arm against the framework. And belying his frustration, the youngest brother, Marc, calmly withdrew a slim cigar from his pocket—the same brand Nick occasionally smoked. Ignoring the look of censure from Delta, he lit it and stepped back against the wall to study Tressa, the cigar clamped between his teeth.

“Tressa, dear,” Delta’s voice broke the silence. “I think what they mean is...is there anything else you can tell them that might help them know where to start looking? Do you sense that he might be cold...hot? Is he alone?”

The air was charged with tension and suppressed frustration.

“Can you sense smell, Tressa?” This time Marc’s deep voice penetrated Tressa’s barriers. “Anything?” No matter now small or insignificant you might think it is, it could be the very thing to help us find him.”

“He—He’s alone, and—” Panic welled in her throat, choking off her words. “I—-can’t!”

Clint reached for her hand again. “Yes, you can. Tell us. And...what?”

Max caught Zeke’s attention, and with a jerk of his head, strode to the far end of the room. Zeke followed.

Tressa’s fingers slowly curled around Clint’s hand. She swallowed hard, searching his face, her own grim with pain...Nick’s pain. “He’s—hurting again.” A lone tear trickled down her cheek. “My—” She struggled to separate the two sets of emotions warring within her. “His,” she corrected, “ribs hurt and his arms...and...” tears began slipping freely down her cheeks as she finished in a tiny voice… “I think he’s having trouble breathing.”

Delta slipped Tressa a soft handkerchief.

“Tressa,” Clint’s voice sounded rough with concern, “try not to concentrate on Nick’s pain right now. Okay? If you can, try to shut it out and concentrate on anything that might help us rescue him. You’re all he’s got right now, honey.”

Nodding bleakly, Tressa remained silent for a long time. Swallowing hard, she slowly lifted her eyes. “I sense discomfort—besides his injuries. Cold and hardness and—” She sensed what could even be described as a deck or maybe a bulkhead. “I don’t know why, but I think he’s still at the spaceport.”

“You do?” they all four said in unison.

“I—-I think he might be tied up to something.” Tressa’s chin started trembling.

Clint squeezed her hand. “Thank you. Tressa. That gives us a starting place at least.”

Another gentle squeeze and he released her hands and rose to his feet. “You all right?”

She nodded.

“Would you like something to drink?” He turned his gaze toward Delta. “Maybe a cup of tea or something?”

Tressa shook her head. “I want to go with you.”

“Pardon me?”

“I want to go with you,” she repeated with emphasis.

“I’m afraid that’s out of—”

“But you don’t understand! You need me.” She rose in one fluid motion. “I can help you find him. I know I can. It only makes sense that the closer I get to him, the stronger—”

“You’re staying here, Tressa.” Max said in a voice that forbade argument.

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

Tressa had about the most expressive brown eyes Clint had ever seen. His breath caught as he stumbled over his words. “Tressa...” he said gently, “we can’t take you with us.” He glanced away for the length of a heavy sigh. “Number one, it would be far too dangerous, and number two, Nick would—”

“But I can help,” she interrupted. “I know I can. You have to let me go with you!”

“Tressa,” Max’s voice carried a unique force all it’s own.

But she wasn’t listening. “No, you don’t understand, I—”

“Tressa!” He said, this time catching her attention. “I want you to stay here with Delta.” Again his tone was uncompromising, yet at the same time oddly gentle. A long moment of silence followed in which Tressa and Max locked gazes.

“Very well,” she said stiffly, “if you are finished, then I wish to return to my room.”

“Certainly,” Clint said, rising to see her to the stairs. Tressa started to refuse his assistance, but he wouldn’t be denied.

After the doors of the drawing room had closed behind them he caught her arm. “Tressa, surely you can understand the danger that will be involved here?” One corner of his mouth rose in that unmistakable smile. “Besides, as I started to explain back there. I’m afraid Nick would end up feeding us all to the greegs in bite-size pieces if we brought you along.”

“Ha! That’s a laugh. What makes you think he’d care? Why, I’ve been exposed to more danger in the last three weeks than I have in my entire life! I’m you’re best bet, Clinton, and you know it. Please let me go with you!”

Clint’s amusement waned. “Believe me, he’d care, Tressa. And he’d be damned mad—and that’s just if nothing happened to you. We could handle his anger all right, but if you were to get hurt...or worse, we’d have our own regret to deal with along with his fury. Personally, that’s a chance I’m not willing to take.”

Tressa jerked her arm from his hold. “I can assure you, in the shape he’s in right now he wouldn’t know. Please. Let me go, Clinton.”

He grinned. “Just plain Clint will work, Tressa. And it’s not that simple. I know, ‘cause I’ve had an experience with a Creohen girl myself.”

A long moment passed. “So?” she said, staring at him blankly. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

She really didn’t know, he thought in disbelief. “Didn’t—didn’t anybody ever explain this to you—your mother or someone?”

A look of wariness crossed Tressa’s face. “Explain? Explain what?”

“Your Creohen heritage,” he replied.

“My mother explained very little. I was tested when I was ten and came up negative. And until now I’ve never experienced anything even remotely like this.”

Clint released a sigh of frustration. “Look, whatever you and Nick have shared is your business. You’ve bonded with him, lady, whether you realize it or not. Nick’s in this as deep as you are, and if my guess is correct he’s hooked but good.”

“Hooked?” Taking a steady breath, Tressa stepped back. “For your information, Clint Banner, Nick and I have shared nothing!” That earned her a raised eyebrow. “And I can assure you I have not bonded with anyone! Specifically him.”

“Look Sunshine, I haven’t time right now to get into this, but—”

“Just plain Tressa will work, Clint.”

His mouth twitched. “Fair enough.”

She nailed him with a glare. “Let me go with you. Please! This should be my decision. Not Nick’s or anyone else’s.”

Clint shook his head. “No.”

“All right,” she said at last, turning for the stairs. “I understand. I’d probably just slow you down anyway.”

He cast her an amused glance. “Now that isn’t what I said. I said it’s too dangerous.”

Tressa nodded. “You’re right. I think I’m going to go back to my room and try to get some rest.”

He favored her with an easy grin. “That’s a good idea.”

The rest of the men burst from the drawing room. “Clint! You coming?”

“Be right there!”

“Hurry it up,” Max called over his shoulder, “We’ll fill you in on the way.”

Clint simply stood there, a twinge of suspicion crossing his mind as he glanced back at Tressa so obediently ascending the stairs. Only a moment ago she had shown no sign of relenting. Now all of a sudden she was as meek as a kitten—-even to the point of telling him he was right. He didn’t buy it. Not for a second. She was just a little too submissive for his peace of mind. And damn, he didn’t have time to question it now.

He turned to catch up with the others when her voice stopped him.

“Oh, and Clint? As far as Nick being hooked, as you put it? He couldn’t get me off his ship fast enough.” With that, she turned and continued up the stairs.

Clint’s roving gaze lazily appraised her. “Honey... I’ll just bet he couldn’t,” he murmured as he turned for the door.

Frustrated beyond measure, Tressa rushed to her room. “Stupid, stubborn, arrogant men!” She leaned against the closed door, and began forming the basis of a plan. She was getting sick of being told what she could and could not do. First her father forcing her into this trip in the first place, withholding his reasons as if she were a child. Then Nick, ordering her about as if she were some member of his crew. And now...now his family, too caught up in their chauvinistic world to listen to reason. Couldn’t they see that Nick’s life was at stake?

She froze, mind and body benumbed. “Nick...” Just breathing his name shot a lance of panic through her. She was no longer sensing him. When had it stopped? Why? Had they taken him away somewhere? Was he unconscious—or worse?

With a surge of determination she shoved away from the door. If the Banner’s thought they were keeping her here, they were in for a surprise. No one was going to tell her she couldn’t help. She tugged her shift up over her head and threw it in a rumpled heap on a nearby chair. Next, jerking her travel pac from beneath the bed, she tossed it on the bed and pulled out a clean well-worn pair of blue pants—a timeless import from Earth called Levis.

Suddenly a light tap came at the door. “Tressa, it me.”

Delta! Quickly sliding the pac under the bed, Tressa grabbed her shift from off the chair and swiftly opened the door.

“Are you all right, dear?”

“Yes, I’m fine. Still a little tired, that’s all.”

Delta nodded in understanding. “Can I get you anything?”

“No actually, I thought I’d just lie back down for a while. The lie seemed believable as she stood there clutching the shift to her chest.

“I am sure you could use the sleep. If you’re still sleeping when they return with Nicky, I’ll wake you.”

“Thank you, Delta. I’d appreciate it.”

“You try to rest now, and don’t worry, they’ll find him.”

“Thank you.” Closing the door gently, Tressa quickly returned to her purpose.

Stepping into the pants, she yanked them up over her hips and then reached for a soft mint green t-shirt with the words “Deal With It” printed across the front.

TiMar leapt on the bed, watching curiously as she hopped first on one foot and then the other, donning her boots as she went.

“You’re worried about him, too, aren’t you little man?” She picked him up and squeezed him affectionately before putting him back down. Then grabbing her jacket off the hook, she headed for the door.

The hall was empty. Good. Calling upon her skills of stealth, she made her way down the length of the wide, paneled hallway, her footsteps quiet on the carpeted floor. Several times she paused, listening for sounds, but was met with nothing more than the pounding of her own heart.

She stopped at the landing, holding her breath as she surveyed the foyer. All was quiet. Relieved, she hurried down the rest of the stairs and made her way into the kitchen, where she recalled seeing a service entrance on her tour yesterday. A quick trip through the kitchen and she was out the door.

Tressa kept a low profile as she hurried across the parking lot. If she were lucky, maybe she’d get one of the landcrafts to work. They looked similar to the ones she was used to driving back home.

“Hello there.”

Startled by the voice, Tressa turned to face a smiling young woman about her own age. “Hello.”

“I’m Jen.”

Masking her anxiety behind a brilliant smile, Tressa offered her hand. “I’m Tressa. Hey, you wouldn’t happen to be heading into the city, would you?”

“I am. Want a lift?”

“Oh please.” With relief sweeping through her, Tressa hurried around to the passenger side of the vehicle. Within minutes they were heading down the long drive.

“Today’s market day,” Jen said, holding up a list for emphasis. Sliding a tiny square disk into a slot, she cranked up the music.

Deep in unsettled thought, Tressa turned toward the window and tried to ignore the tightening knot in the pit of her stomach. Nick... A fierce longing was taking hold, wrenching her heart in two. Would she find him? Would he be all right? What if he’d been taken off-planet— was that why she could no longer sense his presence? What if...

Soon the landcraft picked up speed and the scenery became a blur. Jen turned briefly to give Tressa an assessing glance. “So...” she asked over the blare of music, “whose friend are you? Clint’s or Marc’s?”

Jen seemed energetic and highly curious. Under other circumstances, Tressa might have laughed at her boldness. Instead she simply answered, “Neither. I guess you could say I’m here on business. Nick hauls cargo for my father and—”

“Nick?” With a sharp intake of breath, Jen cast another quick glance at Tressa. “Nick’s back?” she asked in pleased surprise.

“We got in late yesterday afternoon.”

A thoughtful smile curved Jen’s mouth as she returned her attention to her driving.

“Well…that ought to stir up some gossip.”

“Why do you say that?”

“Imperial’s a small settlement. Nick’s already known as the family rebel. You’re bound to stir up talk.”

“There’s nothing to talk about,” Tressa said, turning back to the passing countryside.

“They’ll talk anyway,” Jen assured her. “So where are you from?”

“Terra Four.”

Jen looked at her with exaggerated shock. “Terra Four? What’s that, a couple of weeks away?

“Roughly three,” Tressa offered.

With Nick?” Jen groaned. “Bet that’s been an experience.”

Tressa smiled wistfully. “Yes. It was.” Returning her attention to the window, she struggled to tune-out Jen, her questions, and her thundering rock music. Under different circumstances, she might have found the girl delightful. But the knot in the pit of her stomach was growing tighter by the minute. Nothing mattered anymore. Nothing but Nick and finding him...alive.

Soon they were entering the city limits. “Would it be too much trouble to just drop me off at the spaceport?”

“Sure. Hang on. I know a short cut,” Jen said, swinging a hard right.

Within minutes they were entering a circular drive and pulling up to the main terminal at Imperial’s spaceport.

“I really appreciate this. Thank you so much.”

“No problem. You have a ride back?”

“Yeah. I do. Thanks again.” Stepping out, Tressa traded the thunder of rock music for the deafening roar of a departing ship.

Making her way through the terminal, she hurried below to the lower hangar. The Victorious sat rows ahead. But it wasn’t the Victorious she was seeking. Tressa was certain that somewhere on this lower deck Nick was being held captive.

The hangar was enormous. Overwhelming was more the word, she thought, pausing to gather in her awareness of Nick.

Finally honing in on what could only be explained as Nick’s weakened life force, Tressa galvanized herself into action, cautiously making her way across the burn-blackened surface of the decking, picking her way over fuel lines and sidestepping maintenance platforms. The air was heavy with what was now becoming the familiar stench of a spaceport and it’s ever-constant whine of turbines.

Pausing beneath a ship that was still emanating heat, Tressa narrowly dodged a hot jet of vapor that suddenly surged from a vent.

Without conscious thought of where she was going or what to look for, she continued making her way deeper into the maze of ships and equipment. A roboloader beeped, and she scurried out it its way.

Suddenly off to her left a loud klaxon sounded three short blasts of warning. Moments later, Tressa’s eyes were drawn upward as two enormous floor-to-ceiling doors began cycling open with a bone-jarring rumble. Shafts of daylight streamed in around the perimeter of a huge platform that was positioned at the top of the opening.

Tressa glanced at the overhead sign that was flashing STAND CLEAR. She was a good hundred feet away, and deciding it was far enough, she remained, transfixed, her head tilted back as a ship slowly moved into place on the platform, its navigational lights strobing, its thrusters screaming.

Covering her ears against the deafening roar, she watched as the ship eased down onto its jacks, then killed its drives. At the brief reprieve she released her ears, watching as the platform, with a deep hydraulic growl, slowly began descending.

Upon reaching the bottom, a robosphere hopped off and glided ahead, just as it had yesterday when Nick had docked the Victorious.

Tressa remained sheltered behind a stack of cargo pallets, watching as the robosphere moved ahead, its message, FOLLOW, flashing. Again she covered her ears as the ship powered up and advanced off the platform. The deep rumble of the closing doors soon became lost in the high-pitched scream of the ship’s turbines. Cowering lower, Tressa covered her head as waves of heated exhaust washed over the area, the vibrations pummeling her body.

Once it had passed, she stood up, hands still covering her ears, and staring in disbelief at the retreating ship. At last she turned to press on, stepping over maintenance hoses, avoiding landing jacks, and dodging freight sleds along the way.

Then she saw it, off in the distance. She didn’t question how she knew—she just knew. There it was, the ship she’d been seeking.

It sat low on its jacks, with a short set of stairs reaching down to touch the ground. The main lock stood open and unguarded.

Darting in behind yet another stack of cargo modules, Tressa crept closer, her empathic senses reaching out for Nick’s presence. It was weak, and she steeled herself against the distraction of panic. What he didn’t need right now was an overemotional female on a self-appointed mission of mercy. If she lost control, she’d most likely end up shackled next to him.

Inching forward, Tressa cautiously ducked behind the landing jack of a nearby ship and waited, watching, deciding whether to take advantage of the unprotected entrance.

Suddenly a large hand clamped over her mouth and an arm snaked about her waist, jerking her up tight against a steely length of hard muscle and bone. Tressa’s heart nearly stopped beating before she heard the whispered voice against her ear.

“What the hell are you doing here?”

Tressa relaxed immediately, and with a muscular twist, Clint whirled her around to face him. “You’re quite a handful, aren’t you?” he said in a whispered tone that was almost conversational. He tipped her chin so that her eyes met his narrowed gaze. “If we were anywhere else but here, I’d turn you over my knee and heat that cute little backside of yours for coming here.”

It was her face that grew hot instead. “You wouldn’t dare!”

“You underestimate me, sweetheart.”

Judging from his grave expression, there was little doubt but that he most certainly would dare. Tressa’s gaze slid to Max, Zeke and Marc, who didn’t appear any more pleased with her than Clint was. They all wore identical scowls.

Swallowing a surge of anger, Tressa met Clint’s glare head on and responded in a angry whisper of her own. “Your childish threats are hardly the issue here. Nick’s inside that black ship and I really don’t think now is the time or the place to make an issue over my defiance.”

“What are you saying?” Max broke in.

Clint released his hold, “You think he’s on that ship?”

“I don’t think. I know!”

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

“What are we waiting for? Let’s go!” Max said.

“I’m coming with you!”

“No you’re not.” All four men spoke in unison.

“Yes, I am.”

Zeke groaned. “Not this again.”

Max caught her arm and spun her about to face him. “Dammit woman,” his voice was a harsh whisper, “this is not some damned game. It’s my son’s life we’re dealing with here.”

“And you think I don’t know that?” Tressa shot back.

“What I know, young lady, is that you’ve become a liability and I will not jeopardize this mission or the lives of my boys by having to rescue you from your misguided heroics.”

“But you don’t understand—”

“But I do. And unless I miss my guess these thugs are the same ones that have been after you right from the beginning.”

Tressa fell silent.

“Max,” Zeke interrupted. “Looks like our guard’s returned.”

Without so much as an acknowledgement, Max continued to hold Tressa’s stunned gaze. “Do we understand each other, Tressa?”

She nodded woodenly.

“Say it.”

“...Yes.” The word stuck in her throat.

Max hesitated, still holding eye contact. “You’d better.” He released her. “Damn, this changes everything,” he said, turning back to the others. “Now one of us is going to have to keep an eye out for her.”

“You want me to take her back to the landcraft?” Marc asked, watching Tressa closely.

“No, we don’t have time.”

For the moment Tressa obediently remained standing where Max had left her.

“What about the guard?” Zeke asked. “Someone’s going to have to take him down.”

Tressa’s eyes followed theirs to the man standing watch. He was armed and looked tough. Her gaze slid back to the Banners, listening as they worked out a plan. “Marc, I want you to...” They were huddled together in conference. Clint glanced up, captured her gaze for several breathless heartbeats before returning his attention to the on-going discussion.

This is not some damned game! It’s my son’s life we’re dealing with here! Max’s words pounded through Tressa’s mind again and again.

Her gaze returned to the guard. What they needed was someone to distract him. And who better to do it than her? It was the one thing Tressa knew for a fact she could do better than any one of them. The only problem was, they’d never go for it. Plus, they were keeping a close eye on her to make sure she didn’t try anything foolish. If she were going to do anything, it needed to be either very quick or so slow and subtle, they wouldn’t realize it until it was too late.

With her eyes still fixed on the men, Tressa opted for slow and subtle, taking one tiny step backward. She paused, and then took another small step...paused, then another. Again Clint glanced up, and their eyes met. Returning his look innocently, Tressa assumed a relaxed pose, knowing her chances of escape depended upon their arrogant belief that she would not dare to disobey them a second time.

Seemingly satisfied, Clint glanced away again.

“When we get to the ship...” Max’s deep voice became lost in the backdrop of whining thrusters from a nearby ship.

Now was her chance! With her heart in her throat, Tressa quietly slipped out of sight and broke into a run. Once again dodging service equipment, fuel lines and roboloaders, she made her way down the row of berthed ships. Within moments she was directly across the from The Renegade—the sleek black yacht she knew Nick was on. Tressa kept herself hidden from view. In order to play decoy and do it right, she would need to go a ship or two beyond the Renegade, so that when she approached the guard, it would force his back to the encroaching rescue party.

Edging her way over, between and around various pieces of equipment, she rapidly covered the distance of two more ships. The area was clearly marked “restricted” which would make her task all the harder. Pausing, she appraised the guard. He seemed young, yet she sensed a hardness about him that left no question but that he would kill her in a heartbeat if he were to know what she was up to. Stars, maybe he’d kill her anyway. A chill tripped down her spine at the thought.

Inhaling deeply she emphasized the curves beneath the quote,“Deal With It”. To complete the look, she released the clasp on her hair, shook it free, and allowed it to hang loose about her shoulders. At last, she forced herself to step from the shadows and found herself looking directly down the business end of some sort of weapon.

“That’s far enough!”

“Oh...” Her hand fluttered to her chest as she slipped into the role of a vapid female, too dumb to know she’d stumbled into a restricted area.

“This area is restricted, woman. How the hell did you get past the security?”

“I-I got lost...” Tressa stammered. “I was hoping you could help me.”

A long moment of silence passed before he spoke. “That depends on what you need help with, honey.” His gaze was riveted to her chest.

Tressa moistened her lips. “This is my first time ever off planet,” she cooed in her best imitation of an oversexed echo-brain.

“Uh huh.” Clearly not trusting her, he wasn’t buying her story for an instant.

I thought I knew the way back to his ship,” Tressa went on, “but,” with a fluttering wave, she took in the expanse of the hangar. “This place is so big, and so many of the ships look alike. You know what I mean?” She frowned indignantly. “And a moment ago, I was practically run down by one of those...those robo things.”

“Whose ship?”

“Pardon me?”

“Who’s the pilot?”

With a troubled frown, Tressa hesitated. “You know, now that I think about it, I never did learn his name.” With a shrug, she giggled. “Just never needed to. He always answers to ‘hey baby.’”

That last brainless comment managed to tip one corner of the man’s hard mouth, and the gun lowered a notch. “Do you know the name of the ship?” he asked.

“Of course I do. It’s the West Star. Have you heard of it? It’s a really pretty ship. Black like yours with the name across the side in a beautiful shade of—.”

“I don’t recognize it.”

“Oh...” Tressa sighed, wondering what to do next. Playing the role of a spaceport prostitute wasn’t exactly a rehearsed role. Scared, or not, she knew she had to come on to this guy and do it with such skill that it would leave no doubt about what she was offering, or the expertise with which she offered it.

Suddenly she recalled Nick’s seductive performance the night she had cared for his wounded side. How he’d slowly unbuckled his belt and toyed provocatively with the studs on his trousers before nudging the waistband over his narrow hips. He’d skillfully ignited a slow fire in her that night, and with a modification or two, Tressa decided that she could mimic the performance.

Swallowing back a wave of panic, she sauntered closer, her tone silky. “What are you guarding with the great big gun of yours? Something real valuable I bet, huh?” She rested one hand suggestively on a cocked hip. “Don’t worry sweetie, I’m not a threat. I don’t have a violent bone in my body.”

A muscle jumped in his jaw, and Tressa lowered her lashes, relieved at his response and terrified at the same time. She stepped closer, her hand moving to her hair where she caught a lock and began slowly twisting it around her finger. “I’d be grateful to you if you could help me find my way back.”

A long moment of silence passed before he finally said coldly. “I’m on duty.”

Tressa took in the muscled contours of his body with a look of deliberate approval. Though unshaven and hard-edged, she decided that beneath it all was a face that probably had no trouble gaining feminine approval. And in a way that was good, for it made it all the more believable that she could be attracted to him.

“You look like a guy who knows his way around. I don’t think it would take long at all. I’d make it worth your while,” she added suggestively.

That got his attention. “Oh, yeah? What do you have in mind?”

“A trade maybe?” She managed a seductive smile, even as a tidal wave of terror swept through her.

The guard hesitated. Raw passion lurked in his gaze as he assessed her boldly. Finally he grinned and holstered his gun. “Maybe I can help you out after all.”

** *

Max looked up just in time to witness Tressa stepping out of the shadows. “That little fool!”

Even from four ship-lengths away Tressa’s intent was boldly written in body language. In shocked disbelief, the Banner rescue party watched as Tressa cleverly coaxed the guard away from the ship’s main hatch.

“You know what she’s doing, don’t you?” Zeke asked.

Max nodded slowly. “I know exactly what she’s doing. And it’s the fact she’s doing it that I’m having trouble with.”

Clint shook his head. “Sure a good thing she’s Nick’s headache, huh?”

Max turned to his youngest son, “Marc, I’m going to need you to keep an eye on her.”

A look of disappointment flashed across Marc’s young face, leaving no doubt but that he had been looking forward to the prospect of a little action—not babysitting.

“And Marc,” Max added forcefully, “no heroics. Understand? You do nothing unless she gets in over her head. If you have a clear shot, go ahead take him down with your stunner.”

She’s already in over her head,” Clint muttered.

With a heavy sigh Max returned his gaze to Tressa. “Well, since she’s sacrificed herself, we might as well make use of it. Time to move.” With weapons raised, they darted from one cover to the next, and in a matter of moments they were crouching behind an empty freight sled, close enough to the yacht now to actually see inside the open hatch. Soft lighting spilled out onto the LZ from inside the ship.

“Notice the name?” Zeke whispered.

Max nodded slowly. “The Renegade.” His expression grew hard. “Kendyl.”

Silently assessing the surrounding area, Max wondered why they would post only one guard at the entry. Two would have been harder to distract. As it was, it was taking no more than a little slip of a girl to render the ship defenseless. And in his opinion, that meant one of two things: They were up against people who were either very stupid or very confident.

A curt nod from Max sent Marc veering off to the right to keep an eye on Tressa. Then, closing the distance between them and the Renegade with predatory swiftness, Max, Clint, and Zeke silently ascended the boarding ramp.

Pausing just outside the main hatch, Max quickly scanned the entrance for electronic eyes or signs of any other types of security devices. Seeing none, he led the way onboard, easing his back against the bulkhead just inside the door.

Strangely, the ship appeared deserted. Only a few winking lights on the command console greeted them. He couldn’t believe the lack of security. Either people weren’t doing their job or Kendyl was awfully damned sure of himself.

Max slowly scanned the area. To his right an empty and highly sophisticated cockpit spanned the entire bow of the ship. To his left a port-side corridor led the way to the stern. At Max’s signal the three of them began edging their way down the narrow corridor.

All but holding his breath, Max found himself acutely aware of how noisy “trying to be quiet” can be. Every chain, every buckle and clip suddenly seemed to rattle and clink with each step.

Even the rasp of metal sounded like thunder as Zeke checked the ammunition chamber of his weapon. Both Max and Clint turned on him with identical scowls. Meeting their looks with a sheepish shrug, Zeke eased the lever back in a series of tiny nerve-jarring clicks. Max rolled his eyes heavenward, thanking God above that at least he and Clint had stunners.

Though not denying the advantages of the high-tech stunner, both Zeke and Nick seemed to prefer the heaviness and the dead-set accuracy of a traditional slug gun to that of its silent counterpart.

Expelling the breath he’d been holding, Max again started down the corridor. Bringing up the rear with a two-handed grip on his weapon, Zeke slowly rotated, making a wide sweep of their back trail before proceeding.

The aroma of food drifting up from the corridor suggested that somewhere ahead was the galley. And if Max’s guess was correct, that door at the very end led to the cargo bay—and his son.

Long before he’d boarded the ship, Max had decided that if anywhere, he’d find Nick in the ship’s hold. Anything as messy as dragging information out of someone, wouldn’t be performed in the living quarters.

Suddenly he paused, stopped by the sounds of deep voices drifting out of an open doorway. Backs against the wall, weapons drawn, the Banner party prepared for trouble. In silence they waited until they were satisfied there was no immediate danger. Max gave the signal to commence. Step by step they progressed until Max raised his hand once again, bringing them to a halt.

The time for mercy was long past. A soundless command left Zeke standing guard in the corridor while Max and Clint swiftly entered the galley, weapons belching silent beams of nerve-jamming impulses.

“What the—” Words were cut off mid-sentence as Clint dropped to one knee and fired again.

And then there was silence.

It was over before the punks even knew what hit them. One man lay sprawled on the floor beside a dining booth. An overturned cup of steaming hot coffee trailed across the surface of the table to spill over the edge and form a dark puddle near the man’s face. Another crewman, still sitting in his chair, was slumped over a scattered deck of cards. Weapon poised, Max cautiously advanced further into the galley. To his left, a third and final crewman lay crumpled at the base of the food service center; his meal remained untouched on the counter above.

At last satisfied, Max turned for the exit. Clint exchanged a confident glance with Zeke, and the procession resumed its trek toward the ship’s hold.

Max drew in a long, steady breath as he pulled to a halt before the double doors at the end of the passageway. The thought of his son lying just beyond filled him with anguish. Nick, his middle son, was as independent and bullheaded as they come. He couldn’t even remember the last time Nick had turned to him for help. And now... the one time Nick had really needed him, he hadn’t been there for him. None of them had! His gut churned with remorse. And what terrified him more than anything, was the realization that they might be too late.

Somehow it wasn’t surprising when they discovered a security device on the door to the cargo bay. Whether it was engaged or not was another question.

Zeke brushed past Clint. “Security?” he whispered, directing his gaze toward the door.

Max nodded; sweat beginning to bead on his forehead.

“Let me take a look at it,” Zeke muttered softly, visually tracing a series of electronic eyes along the doorframe. “Well, it’s definitely manufacture-installed.” He turned and headed back up the corridor toward the cockpit, Max following at his heels.

“The first thing we need to know is whether it’s engaged or not,” Zeke said in a low voice, as they came to a halt before the controls. One glance was all it took. A tiny red indicator boldly stated that security to the hold was indeed activated.

Taking a seat, a long moment of silence passed as Zeke studied the command console. Finally, rubbing his sweaty hands on his thighs, he tapped in a directive to the on-board computer.

Immediately the words ACCESS DENIED appeared on the screen. Zeke heaved a heavy sigh, dragging both hands through his long hair as he studied the console again. Then suddenly, on a wild hunch, he began entering a series of five numbers. It was a crazy long shot, he knew, but what the hell? This particular little set of numbers had not only pulled him out of a tight spot on more than one occasion, they’d even been lucky at the gaming tables.

Several heart-stopping seconds ticked by; then, grinning, Zeke shook his head in complete disbelief as the computer accepted his entry. Within moments, the red-lit indicator winked out.

“What did you do?” Clint asked.

Still grinning, Zeke rose from his seat. “You remember that black jet bike I used to own?”

”You’re kidding. Not that serial number again?”

“Let’s move!” came Max’s harsh whisper. “I just want to grab Nick and get the hell out of here.” Once again they hurried down the corridor. Without hesitation, he palmed the lock—this time storming the hold the instant the doors cycled open.

Caught by surprise, two inside guards went for their weapons, but not fast enough. Max dropped one of them with a fist to the jaw. And Zeke, having just ducked a meaty fist aimed at his own jaw, grabbed the offender by his shoulders and pulled him down onto a hard uplifted knee. It was over in a matter of seconds, and Clint added insurance by using his stunner on them

both.

“...Nick.” The whispered name was barely audible as Max rushed to his son’s side.

Unconscious, his head resting to the side against a raised arm, Nick hung lifelessly from tie-downs along the bulkhead. His breathing was so shallow that it was barely discernible.

Max’s shoulders tensed visibly at the site of his son—reduced to a state of helplessness.

Jaw set, Zeke stood guard at the corridor as Clint and Max tucked their weapons into their waistbands and began working to release Nick from his bonds.

“Easy! Easy with him,” Max commanded, his voice choked with emotion as they struggled feverishly with the cargo ties.

Nick’s body sagged as the wrist Max was working on finally broke free of its restraint. Quickly supporting his son’s slackened weight, he eased the tension on the other wrist while Clint struggled with the binding.

“They have these damn things tight enough!” Clint muttered, withdrawing a knife and attempting to saw away at the reinforced metal bindings. Next instant, Nick was buckling to the floor.

“I got him!” Clint gasped, bracing his brother’s bulk against his own body.

Moving into position, Max accepted the weight as Clint eased Nick up over his father’s broad shoulder.

“Let’s get the hell out of here,” Max said harshly, exhaling as he straightened under the burden.

Shouldering Nick’s body as gently as possible, Max laboriously made his way back up the corridor. Weapons readied, Clint lead the way with Zeke following behind. Nick emitted a low moan as they halted at the main hatch. Pain, no doubt, breaking through the threshold of consciousness. It didn’t take much to envision the discomfort of cracked ribs wedged against a hard shoulder. Max gently shifted the weight, but the movement only brought forth another low groan.

Clint gave a quick glance outside. “Let’s go!” he whispered, starting for the door. Zeke stepped in front of Max, strengthening the security as they made their way down the boarding ramp to disappear into the shadows.

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

Weapon readied, Marc remained hidden, watching as Tressa said something to the guard. He laughed and kissed the hollow of her neck, then thrust her roughly against the wall of loading pallets.

It was getting a little out of hand in Marc’s estimation. Yet, there was Tressa, running her hands through the guard’s hair, clinging to him as if she were enjoying herself. Just how the blazes was he supposed to know if she was over her head or not? Didn’t that little fool realize what she was inviting? Hell, at this rate it wouldn’t be long before the guy would be taking her right there.

Scowling, Marc worked his way closer. Damn, if she weren’t standing so close, he’d simply immobilize the bastard now and get it over with.

** *

Willing herself to follow through, Tressa offered her most alluring smile. “What’s your name?”

He laughed, “Does it matter?”

She shrugged. “I simply wondered.”

He studied her long and hard. “Name’s Pallo.” Once again he lowered his head to kiss her.

“Hmmm. Pallo,” she said, testing the name, “I like that name.”

“You do, huh?”

Revolted by his attentions. Tressa feigned a fevered sigh as he began working his way down her neck. Dear God, please make them hurry, she prayed. She knew she was playing with fire, and in all probability would get burned. But the stakes were too high to back out.

You can do this, Tressa. They’re depending on you.

Pallo murmured something unintelligible against the swell of her breast, and she shuddered. Fighting a wave of nausea, she fixed her gaze on the Renegade.

Up until now, she’d been very careful to keep her eyes off the ship, drawing his attention only to herself and away from his post. And now that she had his undivided attention, Tressa struggled for the composure she needed to follow through.

How much longer, she wondered? If only she had a weapon.

Panicked by the feel of his hands on her, she fought down the urge to bolt and run. Only one other man had touched her so intimately. Tressa recalled how Nick’s glance alone was enough to send her over the edge. There was no comparison between the two men. No contest between Pallo’s lewd comments and pawing hands and Nick’s murmured words and slow magic.

Tressa felt a hard lump in her throat as his hands moved down her body.

“I want you. Now,” he growled, crudely taking her mouth once again. He reached for her T-shirt, destroying it with a vicious yank. It was an open invitation as he lowered his head, nuzzling his stubbled cheek against her tender flesh.

When she opened her eyes again they widened at the sight of Clint descending the ramp, his weapon poised. Nick’s friend came next, the man with the long sun-cured hair. And then… Tressa drew in a sharp breath as Max emerged with Nick slung over his shoulder.

Nick…The name was all but audible as a cold knot formed in the pit of her stomach. Dear God! He was unconscious.

Numb and un-heeding of what Pallo was doing, Tressa stood motionless, watching, as the Banner group quickly descended the ramp and disappeared into the shadows.

It was over. Her work was complete.

Pallo mumbled something lusty—something Tressa wished she hadn’t heard. With a sharp intake of breath she was jerked back to hardened reality and the knowledge that she must deal with this animal on her own.

And deal with him, she would. “You know…I think I’ve changed my mind.”

Pallo’s head jerked up. “What?”

Tressa smiled sweetly. “I said…I’ve changed my mind. I suddenly remember now where Baby’s ship is.”

Assessing her sharply, he pulled back, a cold smile moving into place. “Well now, that’s just too bad,” he said, grabbing for her again.

He never saw it coming. Drawing her knee back, one swift thrust was all it took. The anguish on his face said she’d scored. He doubled over in agony as her tiny hard fist hit him square in the jaw. Groaning out his distress, Pallo wilted at her feet.

Tressa stumbled backward, clasping one hand to her mouth and the other to her gaping t-shirt.

Approaching footsteps sent yet another surge of panic racing through her. Jerking the gun from Pallo’s holster, she whirled toward the sound, eyes narrowing as she gripped the heavy weapon with both hands, cocking and aiming it at the chest of the advancing man.

The action brought Marc to a skidding halt. “Tressa, it’s me! Put the gun down!”

Her hands shook, as Marc remained frozen in place.

“Tressa! Put the damned gun down! Now.”

Numbly, she lowered the weapon.

Marc strode to her side, his gaze quickly sliding over her half-clad body as he snatched the gun from her hand and tucked it safely into the waistband of his pants.

“Here, put this on,” he said, shrugging out of his brown taubear hide jacket and thrusting it at her. Turning away, he regarded the man still down and moaning. “Whew,” he said in a breathy whistle, “Nice knee action.”

“I had no choice. He meant to have me.”

Sliding her a sidelong glance, Marc didn’t respond. Instead he dropped to one knee beside the injured guard and pressed a small black object to the man’s temple. Pallo’s body shuddered, and then fell unconscious.

“You just now figure that out?” He confiscated a small knife that hung from the man’s belt.

“Figure what out?”

“That he meant to have you,” Marc said, rising to his feet and returning to her side. “What did you expect the way you were coming on to him? You’re lucky he didn’t—”

“Coming on to him?”

Marc caught her arm. “Let’s just get the hell out of here.”

Tressa jerked free of his grasp. “And how would you know how I was coming on to him?”

“Let’s go!” he said grasping her elbow for the second time.

Again she jerked free, her cheeks flaming. “You needed someone to distract that guard. There’s not one of you who could have done it as well as I did!”

“No. We would have simply dropped him in his tracks and been in and back out before he even knew what hit him. But you are right about one thing…” He stepped aside allowing her to precede him through a narrow opening between two cargo stabilizers. “You did pull it off with a certain flair none of us could have matched.” He shot her the notorious Banner smirk. “That I’ll grant you.”

“Again, how would you know?”

“Max gave me the job of keeping an eye on you.”

“That stopped her mid-stride. Is that what you did? You watched?”

Marc muttered a silent oath, his face reddening at Tressa’s accusation. “Well, not in the sense you put it. No.”

Ignoring his flushed features, she challenged him again. “And in what sense would you put it, may I ask?”

“Look, we can discuss this later if you’d like. Right now I suggest we get the hell out of here.”

“I can’t believe, “ she said, half running to keep up with his long strides, “that you were skulking around in the shadows. Watching! Of all things.”

Marc stopped abruptly. “I wasn’t skulking around, Tressa. And I wasn’t watching the way you’re inferring.”

“Plus you never even lifted a finger to help.”

He studied her long and hard. With a heavy sigh, he raked his hand through his dark hair— the action alone reminding her of Nick. Marc reminded her a lot of Nick. Delta was right. Marc was a duplicate of Nick right down to the same body language when agitated.

“Let’s just go,” he said, his tone filled with frustration as he stalked away from her.

“And tell me,” Tressa called out. “did you enjoy the show?”

Marc’s back stiffened, but this time he didn’t break stride. “To hell with it,” she heard him mutter.

Tressa hurried to catch up. “You could have at least helped, you know.”

“Oh yeah? And just what would you have suggested I do?”

“Well for starters, you could have taken him by surprise and—”

“And what, Tressa? He would have had a gun pressed to your temple before either of us could blink. Look, I would have immobilized him, but I was too far away for a direct hit. Besides, you’d have been hit right along with him. And by the time I moved into closer range…” he shot her a twisted grin, “You seemed to have everything all under control.”

“Yeah, well no thanks to you.”

“This way,” he said curtly, guiding her to the left and up a short flight of stairs to another level. A sign declared it a public parking area for ground vehicles.

Marc hastily escorted Tressa toward a landcraft just backing out of the parking slot. Her eyes urgently swept over the blackened windows concealing its occupants. The car stopped, the front passenger door slid open, and meeting Max’s grave expression Tressa scooted in next to him. Marc slid in beside her and the door hissed shut.

“Nick… Is, is he all right?”

Max gave a taut jerk of his head. “In back.”

Turning around, Tressa’s gaze fell upon Nick with an indrawn gasp. Unconscious and bruised, he was wedged securely between Clint and Zeke with his head slumped against Clint’s shoulder.

Tressa’s heart wrenched at the sight of him. “Dear God,” she breathed, her tearful gaze wandering over his face and body in horrified assessment. “What did they do to him?”

“Everything imaginable,” Clint ground out, his eyes glittering with rage.

Swallowing hard, Tressa reached over the seat for Nick’s hand. It lay limp and unresponsive in her grasp. Blinking away tears, she held his hand, rubbing the pad of her thumb across the back of his bruised knuckles, studying his expressionless face and uttering broken words of encouragement.

It was subtle, but it was there nevertheless —that mysterious flicker, a sudden awareness flashing across her mind. For a brief instant Tressa sensed Nick’s inward response to her voice, her touch—her presence.

Then…it was gone again.

The sun was low in the sky as they pulled out into traffic. Refusing to release Nick’s hand, Tressa continued holding him while they headed away from the spaceport, the silence broken only by her gentle words of encouragement

“We are going to a medical facility, aren’t we?” she asked. It was obvious they weren’t heading back home.

“No, we’re taking Nick to the town house,” Max replied. “It’s closer and a lot safer.” He glanced over at Marc. “Call the Medical Center. Tell Grant we’ve got an emergency and ask him to meet us at the town house immediately.”

Marc nodded and reached for the comphone.

The landcraft lurched as it turned off the main street. Within minutes, they were approaching a mid-sized building. The name over the main entry read BANNER TRANSPORT, INC. Turning again, they followed a short drive to a security gate. Max hit a small sensor pad on the dash and the gate swung open. Soon they were driving onto the platform of a large elevator. Hydraulic braces slid out from the sides and secured the base of the landcraft for the ride. And with a tiny jolt so subtle it was barely noticeable, they began slowly ascending. When they reached the top floor, the elevator stopped, the braces glided back into their housing, and the wall in front of them began cycling open. Max guided the runner off the platform and into a spacious garage. The wall was still closing behind them as he burst from the vehicle, Marc and Zeke following.

Tressa remained inside, still holding Nick’s hand as Clint eased out from under his brother’s slumped body. It wasn’t until Max leaned in and began lifting his son out, that she reluctantly let go of him. The effort of being eased out of the back seat brought forth another agonized groan from Nick as the boys rushed forward to help carry him.

“The door!” Max yelled as Tressa hurried ahead to palm the plate on the wall. She then stepped aside as they entered the condo.

Kate, the housekeeper, met them at the entry, her gaze riveted on the load they were bringing in. “Sir?…”

“My room!” Max commanded.

Kate rushed ahead, turning back the covers as Max lowered his son onto crisp white linens.

At first there were no words spoken. Dazed, Tressa simply stood outside the doorway, watching in mute shock as Kate brushed past mumbling something about getting water and towels.

Clint quickly removed Nick’s leather jacket, cutting away the bloodied crew shirt in the process. Max unbuckled his son’s belt easing the tightness on Nick’s bruised stomach.

“Damn,” Marc muttered, “They beat the shi—” he’d almost forgotten Tressa, “out of him.”

Silently Tressa stepped inside, pressing her back to the wall, her heart wrenching in anguish at the extent of Nick’s injuries. Her medical training told her some of those marks could very well indicate internal injury. The flesh across the whole of his stomach and rib cage was badly bruised. Shades of deep purple marked an area where she suspected ribs had been broken. Both of his eyes were blackened and swollen nearly shut. Traces of crusted blood trailed from his nose and the corner of his mouth.

With a moan of distress, she turned away, biting her lower lip to control her sobs. Were these welts and bruises the physical evidence of the pain she had sensed last night? His pain?

Her thoughts were interrupted when Kate returned with an armload of towels. Setting them on a bedside table, she then bent to pick up the discarded jacket and soiled shirt. “I’ll be back with the hot water,” she murmured, heading for the door.

Tressa moved forward to help and with a sudden surge of newfound strength, she turned to Max. “He should be in a medical facility.”

Max nodded slowly, dragging his anguished gaze from his son. “Yes, I know. But I don’t trust the security—” His voice broke. “This place is a fortress, Tressa,” he continued. “Both of you will be safe here.”

His gaze returned to Nick. “If we have to, we’ll turn this room into—” Again his voice broke off, and this time his jaw tensed visibly. “The MedTech should be here shortly,” he said, finally regaining control of his emotions.

Kate reentered the room, carefully carrying a large basin of steaming hot water.

“Here, let me take that,” Zeke said, lifting the heavy container from the housemaid’s arms. He set it on the bedside table.

Kate stood by, her fingers clenching together nervously. “Is there anything else I can do?”

“First-aid,” Tressa said. “Do you have a first-aid kit?”

“Yes…yes.” The woman turned and headed away.

“We need to get him cleaned up,” Tressa said, her gaze returning to Nick. The dried blood, the bruises—evidence of the pain he must have endured before blacking out. Was Max right? Had Nick been beaten because of her—because he had protected her? She squeezed her eyes shut against the stab of guilt that lay buried deep in her breast, and against the deluge of questions flooding her mind.

Get control of yourself, a tiny voice cautioned. Cry later. For now you must be strong!

“Where the devil is Grant, anyway?” Max thundered, pacing the room like a caged animal.

“I don’t believe I’ve ever seen anyone this badly bruised,” Kate said, returning with the first-aid kit.

“I have,” Tressa said coldly, clenching her jaw to kill the sob in her throat. “Once..” She didn’t go on to mention that the man had died.

Suddenly the professionalism of her medical training began taking over. With iron control, Tressa separated herself emotionally from Nick and began a cursory examination, viewing the man lying before her as merely a patient.

Dipping a soft cloth in the pan of warm sudsy water, she began cleaning the blood and grime from his face, mentally noting a bump on the side of his head that didn’t seem too serious. It was hard to tell about his eyes; they were swollen shut. An especially dark bruise marked his left cheek.

“Well his nose, at least, isn’t broken,” she said in a voice that sounded much calmer than she felt.

He was breathing shallowly through parted lips. Pulling gently on his jaw Tressa opened his mouth further; noting his lower lip was split open and the inside of his cheeks were badly cut up from his teeth. “Thankfully,” she murmured, “all of his teeth appear to be intact.”

Once again submerging the cloth back into the soapy water, Tressa wrung it out and began working her way down his neck and shoulders. Her determination faltered at finding his left shoulder painful. Angry welts encircling his wrists clearly explained how his arms had been pulled to the point of possibly wrenching his shoulder. Lifting his right hand, Tressa began gently cleansing it, being particularly mindful of the abrasions on his wrist and knuckles.

It was too much. By the time she’d finished his other hand, her control was slipping. Tressa swiped at a tear and wondered what bastards would do this? A long moment of silence passed as she worked to recapture her composure.

“There’s a possible subluxation of his left shoulder,” she said at last in a weak whisper. Carefully probing his upper torso, she ran her hands intimately along the hard-muscled contours of his chest.

“I know this hurts,” she murmured compassionately, watching the play of pain across his face, almost feeling the twinges herself as they broke through the threshold of his oblivion.

With the slightest of pressure, Tressa moved the sensitive tips of her fingers along the arching length of his rib cage, breathing a sigh of relief that there were no displaced ribs. But when she began gently probing the darkened mark on his left side, he emitted a low groan and sucked in his breath with a hiss. She ignored the faint sensation of pain in her own side. “I know, darling,” she whispered, never even hearing the endearment.

Despite his agony, Tressa didn’t pause in her task. He flinched again. Yes…there it was, the pain alone confirming the fractured rib that she had suspected from the beginning. She probed further, and this time Nick emitted a husky growl, mumbling incoherently as he reached feebly for his side.

Tressa eased his hand away. Maybe two fractures, she thought. She made a mental note to mention it to the MedTech.

Max instantly came forward. “Tressa, the MedTech should be here anytime.” The concern and protectiveness in his voice was unmistakable. It clearly said, leave my son alone.

Tressa’s hands stilled as she glanced up. “Please, I know what I’m doing. Your MedTech would have to do this very same thing when he arrives. It will only speed things along if I am able to tell him my findings.”

Weighing her words, Max hesitated. “All right,” he said at last. “Marc, find out what’s holding Grant up.”

Tressa moved lower, to Nick’s stomach. Although it was badly bruised, thank God it wasn’t distended—a miraculous good sign of no internal bleeding. However, she could only see what was on the outside. It would take a diascope to say whether he had internal injuries or not. She watched his chest rise and fall with another broken gasp as she palpated a particularly tender area.

“I’m going to need help turning him onto his side,” she said at last.

“Max, I need you over here,” she added with a newfound voice of authority. “Take his shoulders. Be careful, though, his left one is injured. Clint, I want you right here,” she went on, pointing to Nick’s midsection, “And Marc…here,” she said indicating Nick’s legs. “Now, on my count I want him log-rolled onto his right side in one smooth, single motion.”

Once Nick had been turned, Clint steadied him, while Tressa tugged down the loosened waistband just enough to expose his lower back. Instantly her stomach clenched at the sight of a purplish bruise just below his right kidney—obviously the result of a vicious booted kick.

“From the looks of that imprint, I’d say someone was wearing cleat-toed boots,” Clint said.

Zeke leaned forward, closely examining the bruise. “Don’t see those much.”

Tressa shot them both a quelling look. “Any higher and it would have been a direct hit to the kidney.” Little did she know Clint and Zeke weren’t casually commenting. Cleat-toed boots significantly narrowed the search for those responsible.

Gently placing her palm on the darkened mark, she checked for swelling and abnormal heat, breathing a sigh of relief at finding neither.

Tressa’s gaze was drawn to a jagged scar that ran diagonally across his upper back. Obviously an old wound, but one that had been deep. She briefly wondered at its cause. “Okay,” she sighed, stepping aside as the men rolled Nick smoothly onto his back again.

Tressa blew tendrils of hair from her forehead and turned her attention to Max. “You might want to go ahead and remove the remainder of his clothing before—”

A soft chime announced someone at the main gate. Marc strode to the vidcom and hit the pad. “That must be Grant now.”

But as the screen flickered to life, the worried face of the Banner household’s head butler materialized. “Dawson …”

“There’s trouble,” Dawson exclaimed into the camera as Marc released the security.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

Max met Dawson at the front entrance, his expression tight. “What do you mean, there’s trouble?”

“It’s Tressa. We’ve looked everywhere for her. Delta’s worried sick.”

Awkwardly clearing his throat, Max’s gaze slid away, then returned to Dawson. “I intended to call Delta the instant we got here,” he muttered. “We’ve got Tressa with us.”

“But—You mean, she went with you?”

“No,” Clint interjected. “Little Miss Rebellious left all on her own.”

Wordlessly, Max turned and headed for the phone.

“There’s more,” Dawson added, hesitating until Max turned to face him. “I think the house is being watched.”

Max’s jaw tightened. “What makes you say that?”

“Somehow that doesn’t surprise me,” Clint said. “It only figures Kendyl would case the house in his search for Tressa.”

Overhearing voices, Tressa briefly left Nick’s side and came to the end of the hallway. There was a new aura of desperation in the air. In silence, she scanned the room, gauging the mood of its occupants.

“I’m going back out to the house,” Max said, replacing the handset. “I don’t like the idea of Delta being alone out there. Zeke, Marc, I want you to come with me.”

Tressa cleared her throat softly. “Delta’s alright, isn’t she?”

“She’s fine,” Max said, turning to face her. “I just don’t want her by herself.”

“Will anyone be coming back?”

”What do you need, honey?”

“Would you please ask Delta to get the Acuel salve? It’s in my overnight pac.”

Max nodded in acknowledgement. “Clint, I want you to stay here.”

With a nod, Clint ambled to a nearby chair and sprawled into it in the same rangy manner Tressa had become accustomed to.

Nick… An odd sensation suddenly sliced through her, a beckoning she couldn’t begin to explain or understand. Turning in response, she hurried back down the hall.

Nick’s eyes were closed when she entered the room.

“Nick?”

He seemed agitated. Tressa approached the bed. “I’m here,” she whispered, brushing back a sweat-dampened lock of dark hair from his face. With a low groan he stilled at her touch.

Reaching for a small cloth, Tressa dipped it into a fresh basin of clean water that had been brought earlier. In mute protest, he turned his head away from her when she placed the cloth to his face.

“You’re just bound and determined to make this difficult, aren’t you?” she continued in the same measured tones. Laying the length of her palm against his stubble-roughened cheek, she turned his face toward her, holding him still as she bathed his face in coolness. “No man should ever be allowed to have lashes as long as yours,” she whispered, gently laying the cloth against his bruised and swollen eyes.

The chime sounded again, announcing the arrival of yet another caller.

Marc engaged the security vid to find Dr Grant Adams, a distinguished man in his late fifties, gazing directly up at the vidcam. Tall and lean, his full beard was close-trimmed. His dark gray hair was cut in a short butch.

“It’s about time,” Marc grumbled, releasing the security.

Flicking a speck of lint from his navy-blue MedTech’s uniform Grant jerked his gaze back to the vidcam. “Sorry. Your message came moments after I had gone into surgery.”

The elevator door slid open, and another vidcam switched to life as Grant entered the cubicle. The conversation continued. “I came as fast as I could.” He hesitated, his snappy brown eyes nailing the vidcam. “What’s the emergency anyway?”

“It’s Nick,” Max replied.

Grant’s gray eyebrows rose inquiringly. “Nick?” he asked, staring blankly up at the camera. “You mean, Nick, as in your nomadic middle son?”

“Yes,” Max answered tersely. “Hurry it up, Grant.”

“I am hurrying it up, unless you have a turbo on this thing I don’t know about.”

** *

Burke Sinclair shut down the COM link with a doubled fist. Here he was, just one damn day out of Acacia, expecting to breeze in, pay the ransom, rescue Tressa, and seal his future with her and LorTech, in one gallant gesture.

The plan was so simple, and it would have worked, too. He’d have had her and her old man both eating out of his hand. But instead, everything that could go wrong, had.

The kidnapping was to have taken place at Port Ireland, not on Acacia. He hadn’t counted on her leaving with Banner. Hadn’t counted on some damn high-tech immobilizer zapping everyone within range of Banner’s ship. Hadn’t counted on having to travel halfway across the sector to pull off this fiasco. Hell, he hadn’t counted on some ex-partner of Banner’s getting involved either. Especially some bastard with a score to settle—screwing up his plans like this.

Everything had changed. Just like that, all his carefully laid plans had vaporized. Banner was supposedly all but dead, not that he gave a damn, but Tressa was nowhere to be found. And to top it all, James Catlin had just told him that Bryant had broken off the deal. Apparently Banner’s ex-partner was calling the shots now. Catlin told him if he wanted the rest of the story, it would cost.

Sinclair groaned aloud. Like a fool, he’d agreed to meet with Catlin at the spaceport. And just what the hell good would it do to know the rest, he wondered?

There’s nothing you can do, a dark, defiant voice thundered in his mind. Besides, from what you’ve heard about Banner, three long weeks aboard ship with him and you may as well consider Tressa used merchandise.

A small, barely perceivable voice of reason broke through his frustration. But then, what do you care if she’s used or not? What bearing does that have on attaining your goal? You’re losing sight of your objective here. LorTech alone will be compensation enough, not to mention the favor you will gain from your grandfather.

Sinclair rubbed the back of his neck. Oh, hell. Even if he did go after Tressa, what could he do? He’d never stand a chance against their kind.

Ah…but what if you go to Banner instead, personally elicit his help? If he’s not dead by now, he’ll go after her. ‘Course, that’ll mean having to answer questions. But you can come up with something. Hell, you can simply say you were approached for ransom. Yes, that’d do it.

* * * A nagging pain in the back of her neck roused Tressa from her slumber. Nick!

Memory returned with shocking perception as she bolted upright in the chair. Her eyes riveted to the bed and…Nick. She recalled Dr. Adams giving him an injection—something to help him rest. Then before leaving, the MedTech had turned to her and, in a fatherly tone, issued strict orders for her to get some rest, also.

Kneading the muscles at the base of her neck, Tressa rose from the chair she had been sleeping in, barely remembering easing into it. But she did remember applying Acuel salve to every scrape, every scratch and every cut on Nick’s battered body. Oh, yes, she remembered that with dramatic clarity.

Tressa glanced about. A soft breeze ruffled the sheer curtains to her left. Sunrise was already tinting the horizon, filtering through the wall of veiled windows, bathing the room in a soft pink, almost magical atmosphere.

A quick glance at the bedside timer told her that a little over five hours had passed since Dr. Adams had left, and it was time for a second application of the Acuel ointment. With that, she reached for the Nervatrite, the pretreatment that would act as a pain-killing barrier against the burning effect of the Acuel salve.

Tressa’s eyes drifted over the expanse of Nick’s broad shoulders and muscled biceps. A tattooed armband of hieroglyphics encircled his left upper arm. She’d noticed it before and wondered at its meaning. A small golden medallion had fallen haphazardly over his shoulder. Hooking the golden chain with her finger, she drew the slackened length up until the medallion was in her hand. One side was embossed with what appeared to be a family crest, the same insignia that hung in the entry of the Banner home.

Tressa slowly turned over the pendant, frowning intently as she studied the flip side. “Bannier,” she whispered, recognizing what appeared to be the French origin of the name Banner. Had it been the original name, generations back? She wondered when had the i had been dropped? After curiously examining both sides, she laid the pendant back down on his chest.

Nick’s left arm was bound firmly to his midsection. The ordeal of adjusting the wrenched shoulder had been excruciating. He’d come out of it fighting, momentarily rousing from unconsciousness with a growl and a right hook that narrowly missed its target—Dr. Adam’s jaw.

“Do something!” Tressa cried.

“Like what?” Clint answered, already adding his brawn to the struggle. It was evident they were dealing with supercharged strength, and it was all the two men could do to hold Nick down.

“Careful of his shoulder! Don’t hurt him!” Tressa moved forward to help but quickly backed off as Nick delivered a smashing blow to Clint’s mid-section. Catching the full force of the impact, Clint doubled over, clutching his belly and gasped for breath. Then, as suddenly as it began, it ended. Nick collapsed onto the bed, out cold, as three panting, gasping people stood staring at each other in disbelief.

“I’m getting too old for this,” Adams groaned, retrieving his diascope, along with several other items that had fallen and scattered about the floor during the brief but wild struggle.

Tressa’s thoughts were brought back to the present when Nick emitted a soft moan. Trailing one long finger along the relaxed muscles of his biceps, she contemplated the initial pain he’d endured at having his shoulder twisted as it had been. Recalling her own strange and agonizing awareness of pain, she wondered if it could have been the very torture that had driven her to her knees.

Settling hipshot on the edge of the bed, she slowly opened the jar of salve, recalling the time she’d doctored his wounded side. He’d embarrassed her so; she’d never asked to see the wound again. Instead she handed him the jar with orders to apply the salve himself, strongly doubting he ever would.

It wasn’t until the MedTech’s examination that she had seen the results for herself. No longer was it the inflamed, angry gash she’d first treated. In just a matter of days the wound had been reduced to a minor scar.

It couldn’t possibly have healed to that degree with only one application, she thought, denying a twinge of guilt at the realization that he’d used the Acuel without ever knowing to apply Nervatrite first. She had forgotten to tell him.

Glancing down at his still form, Tressa’s heart tugged at the welts, bruises and cuts he’d suffered in trying to protect her.

Dr. Adams had confirmed her evaluation of Nick’s condition. All in all, he looked worse than he actually was. Only one rib was fractured, and despite the awful bruises, there was no internal damage.

Twice during the examination Nick had roused from unconsciousness. Both times it had been her name he’d cried out. Tressa reveled in the thought. The notorious Nick Banner had called out her name, not someone else’s.

Using a gentle touch, she continued smoothing salve over his scraped cheekbone. Even unconscious, there was an aura about him that couldn’t be denied. A two-day beard lent him a dangerous look. The stubble was rough and scratchy against her palm.

“In a day or so these bruises will be gone.” She murmured. “I promise.”

Tressa slid the sheet lower, exposing his stomach for treatment. And the harder she tried not to notice, the more aware she became of the pronounced demarcation between the darker coloring of his upper torso and the flesh protected below his belt line—physical proof of shirtless hours under the rays of an alien sun.

Envisioning the Victorious docked on some hot, arid planet, Tressa could almost see Nick, stripped to the waist, overseeing, even assisting in the transfer of cargo between his ship and the dock.

No matter how hard she tried to fight it, Nick Banner aroused her sexual curiosity as no other man ever had. As if to prove the extent of her helplessness, a heated rush surged through her as she boldly took in every muscled inch of him, her gaze following a tapering path of dark hair across his flat belly to where it disappeared beneath the low-slung cover. Unable to resist the temptation, her gaze wandered even lower, trespassing to that forbidden territory, the soft cover hugging his body and leaving little to the imagination. But then, there was no need for imagination. Tressa swallowed, color climbing high in her cheeks. She’d seen more of Nick Banner at the MedTech’s side than she was prepared for.

The profound revelation went even deeper than that. She had seen more of this man than she had ever wanted to see of Burke Sinclair.

The realization stunned her. Since when had she started comparing Burke to Nick? There was no comparison. The two men were complete opposites. Where Burke was polite and mannerly, Nick was cynical and rude. Where Burke was civilized, Nick was rough-edged. Where Burke was decent—now there was a word. Nick Banner was anything but decent, and he would be the first to agree.

So what was it about this man that drew her? Was it this rugged, dangerous side—the lack of decency? Tressa was rocked with the memory of just how indecent Nick Banner could actually be. How he’d awakened her senses that night onboard the Victorious. How he’d taught her more about herself in the space of a heartbeat than she’d learned in a lifetime. He’d left her confused that night, longing for something she didn’t understand, for something only he could teach her. Tressa’s gaze drifted to his bruised hands and chafed wrists, lingered for a moment, then returned to his swollen face. There was no doubt what drew her to him. The man lying before her was a hero—a man of unrelenting loyalty. This is what her father saw in him. When everyone else saw a self-serving womanizer, Jonathan Loring saw a man whose trustworthiness went beyond the call of duty.

Would Burke have withstood this kind of abuse, or would he have sold her out long before it became painful? The question had tumbled through her mind before she realized it.

How do you know you’re in love? It was a question she’d asked not all that long ago of her mother when Burke had asked her to marry him.

Oh darling, Mary had said, for each person it’s different. She had placed a loving arm around Tressa’s shoulders and given her a gentle squeeze. But there are some common signs that almost everyone experiences.

Like what? Tressa had persisted.

Well, for instance, do you feel breathless whenever you’re near him?

Tressa had shrugged.

A little dizzy, maybe?

She shook her head. No.

How about weak in the knees?

Tressa had laughed out loud. Sounds like you’re describing the symptoms of Quarax.

Mary chuckled. In a way, it is a sickness. And…if I’m reading you right, I am not sure you have the symptoms.

As the memory faded, Tressa’s gaze rested upon Nick’s gloriously handsome face, now swollen and bruised.

Do you feel breathless whenever you’re near him?

Yes. The answer came without hesitation.

Dizzy?

Stars, yes!

Weak-kneed?

“Oh Yes,” she whispered softly. “Yes.” Just the sound of his voice made her weak. His very presence incited a myriad of scandalous thoughts and temptations within her, a recklessness she’d never known before. For what seemed the thousandth time she closed her eyes and wondered what it would be like to be loved completely by this incorrigible hero. To have him finish what he’d so skillfully started that night. To have his deep satin voice murmuring love words in her ear. Would they be sweet and tender, she wondered—or would they be rough and heated?

This time it’s not clinical, is it Tressa? It’s not just some stranger lying there before you. It’s Nick.

Her eyes flew open in silent denial. She’d spent the last ten hours caring for this man, cleaning him up, nursing his injuries, and never leaving his side. She’d even napped in the chair beside his bed.

And you haven’t been lusting after him? the inner voice taunted.

She was a MedTech’s assistant. She’d glimpsed other men before. She’d—

That’s right, the inner voice laughed. The word is glimpsed, Tressa. And never at one so powerful, so blatantly masculine as this man lying before you.

Because of her age and her volunteer status at Port Ireland’s Med Center, a resident MedTech’s assistant had always replaced Tressa when it came to dealing with an unclothed male patient. Somehow textbooks and fleeting glances hadn’t quite prepared her for the reality of seeing Nick in all his glory. In spite of Dr. Adam’s attempts to preserve Nick’s dignity, and in spite of her own sense of propriety, it couldn’t be helped. Tressa gently caught her lower lip as once again a rush of heat surged to her cheeks.

With quiet determination she quickly finished applying the salve to Nick’s bruised stomach, then set down the jar of salve.

A hint of a frown creased her brow as she drew the cover completely up over him. Somehow…he was different. It wasn’t just her imagination, either. Inwardly she sensed his response to her nearness.

For a long moment Tressa simply stood there, motionless, comforted by the steady rise and fall of his chest. Then, driven to touch him just once more, she slipped her hand beneath the cover, pressing it to his heart.

Closing her eyes, she found solace in the warmth and the steady beat beneath her palm. Splaying her fingers, she gloried in the knowledge that he was alive. Silently marveling at the wondrous combination of crisp dark hair, smooth flesh, and hard-steeled muscle that was Nick.

It was by unspoken command that Tressa’s eyes flashed open. Slowly her gaze moved upward across the broad expanse of his chest, past a stubborn jaw, past the hint of a rueful smile.

…Smile?

Tressa’s eyes widened and locked with two smoldering sapphires glowing beneath swollen lids.

“I’m ’fraid…you’re gonna have to wait ’til—I’m feelin’ a little better, Irish.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

“Nick…” Tressa’s voice was a hushed whisper at finding him suddenly conscious and her hand shackled in a gentle grip. “Y…you’re awake!”

“I am now.” His voice was raspy, and a mischievous grin lightly tipped the corners of his mouth.

Tressa found it difficult to swallow. Her face flamed.

A subtle attempt to slip her hand free of his grasp didn’t quite do it. It took a determined yank, which she strongly suspected wouldn’t have done it either had he not been so weak.

“I’ll…umm…I’ll let Clint know you’re awake,” she stammered, tearing her gaze from his and turning for the door.

“Wait. Tressa…please… Stay.”

But she was out the door.

Ignoring his husky plea, Tressa rushed blindly into the hallway, flames licking at her cheeks. Good lord, had he read her mind? Had he been awake the entire time she— “Umph!”

“Hey, Sunshine, slow down!”

The wall she’d just slammed into was Clint. Grasping her by the shoulders, he set her back. “What’s the rush?”

“It’s…it’s Nick! He’s conscious!”

“Yes, I know.”

“You do?” Her reaction seemed to amuse him.

Clint released her. “He came out of it during the night.”

“But…” Tressa watched a slow smile break across his handsome face.

“You were asleep in the chair, sweetheart.”

“Why didn’t you wake me?”

“I didn’t see a reason. Besides, you needed the sleep.”

Tressa paused. “How was he? I mean….”

“In a world of pain. I gave him the injection that Adams left for him and he settled back down.” Clint’s eyes shifted toward Nick’s room. “So what prompted the hasty exit?”

“I…I was just coming to get you.”

“Ahhh.” A knowing smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. Tressa averted her eyes. If her face was as flushed as it felt, she could count on the fact that Clint had not only noticed, he’d already construed his own version of the cause.

“Let’s let Kate know. She’s brewing some sort of special tea for him. You hungry?” His brows lifted in question. “When did you last eat, anyway?”

“Yesterday morning. I think.”

“Yesterday morning?” With a frown, Clint reached for her hand. “Come with me lady. If I know Kate, she has the morning meal well underway.”

“But…”

“No buts. Come on. She can make up a tray for Nick—if he feels like eating, and after you’ve finished, you can take it to him.”

Hesitant, Tressa glanced toward Nick’s room. Dear God, he was finally awake!

“Well?” Clint released her hand and touched her elbow lightly. “You coming?”

With a forced smile and a tense nod of consent, she allowed him to guide her toward the kitchen. The aroma of hot food and steaming coffee welcomed them as they entered.

“Good morning! And how’s my favorite lady this morning?” The warmth of Clint’s smile echoed in his voice as he peered over Kate’s shoulder. “Ummmm, bronzeberry muffins. My favorite.”

Joy bubbled in Kate’s laughter. “Oh everything’s your favorite.” Her eyes softened when she caught sight of Tressa. “Good morning, dear. How’s our Nick doing today?”

“Better, I think. At least he’s awake.”

Kate drew a deep breath. “Thank God.”

Clint plucked a bite of something hot out of a pan and popped it into his mouth. “Ummm…perfect,” he mumbled, sucking air into his mouth and rolling the fiery morsel about to cool it.

“Uh uh!” Kate good naturedly batted his hands away.

“Tell me, Katie,” he said, skillfully reaching around from the other side and snatching yet another bite, “what’s it going to take to get you to marry me?”

“Bah!” She firmly placed a lid on the pan. “A lot more than that fancy sweet-talk you and your brothers are so good at.”

“Fancy sweet talk? Me? You must have me confused with someone else?”

Kate laughed. “See what I mean? It’s second nature. You don’t even hear it anymore.”

Grinning shamelessly, he picked up a frosty pitcher of bright green juice, filled a small glass then turned and guided Tressa to a large round table. “Here, have a seat,” he said, setting the glass before her. “You ever tasted kuavo juice?”

“I’ve never even heard of it.”

Clint grinned. “Wait ’til you try it.”

Tressa watched Clint return to Kate’s side at the cook center. From there her gaze wandered. The kitchen could only be described as light and airy. Floor-to-ceiling windows flanked the exterior wall and a set of double doors opened out onto a small terrace.

Tressa laughed when Clint returned, setting a plate down before her. “And just what am I supposed to do with all this?” she asked in disbelief.

“Eat it, of course.” He lifted a mug of steaming tea. “I’m going to go check on Nick. I’ll be right back”.

Past hunger, Tressa picked at her food, finding she couldn’t eat more than a few bites. The desire—no, the need to return to Nick was overpowering, the worst being that she kept hearing in her mind his husky plea for her to remain at his side.

“Not hungry?”

Tressa looked up to meet Kate’s perceptive eyes. “I’m sorry, It’s not your cooking, Kate. The food’s wonderful. It’s just—”

“I understand, honey.” Grabbing a towel, Kate wiped her hands, reached for a cup, filled it, and joined Tressa at the table. “He’ll come out of this,” she said, settling into a chair.

“I know. It’s just that…it’s so hard to see him like this.” Tressa blinked back tears at the memory of Nick, once so proud and strong, now lying helpless and dependent.

“It’s hard on us all,” Kate said. “Especially Max. But Dr. Adams said he was lucky. It could have been much worse.”

Tressa took a shuddering deep breath and nodded.

Kate sipped her coffee slowly, assessing Tressa over the rim of her cup. “Have you fallen in love with him?’ she asked.

“What?”

Kate smiled knowingly. “You’ve fallen in love, haven’t you?”

With a sigh, Tressa looked away. “To be perfectly honest,” she said with quiet emphasis, “he’s driving me crazy. In my entire life, I’ve never known such bizarre feelings as I have during these last three and a half weeks.”

For a long moment Kate said nothing. She simply studied Tressa. “You may very well be the best thing that’s ever happened to him.” Kate hesitated, as if weighing her next words. “May I humbly offer a little word in his behalf?”

Tressa’s gaze leveled on Kate’s smiling eyes. “Yes, of course.”

“Honey, I know Nick has a tendency to be rough around the edges at times, but I assure you that beneath that protective façade lies a very tender heart.”

Tressa smiled, a warm rush of heat flooding her cheeks. “I already guessed that.” After all, she thought, anyone who would rescue a defenseless kitten from mistreatment in a rugged port bar couldn’t be all that bad. And wasn’t he, at this very moment, lying injured in her defense? She loved his courage, his kindness, and yes…even his rough edges.

“Right now,” Kate continued, “what he needs is lots of rest and…” her eyes twinkled with merriment, “a good dose of TLC. But the one thing you must remember is, each day he’ll be a little better than the day before. If you forget that,” she said, shaking her head in mock concern, “you’ll end up with more trouble on your hands than you’ll know what to do with.”

“I am sure you are right,” Tressa said wholeheartedly.

“Well, if it means anything,” Clint said, striding through the door, ”Nick’s cranky as all hell.”

“That’s a good sign,” Tressa said, gathering the dishes from the table.

“Yes.” With a wink, Kate rose to her feet. “A very good sign.”

“He asked about you, Sunshine,” Clint murmured silkily, for her ears only.

Tressa nearly dropped her plate. “Oh yeah?” she replied, hiding her discomposure behind a cheerful pose.

“Um-hmm. Said something about wanting to see you. But I’d give him a few moments first.”

“That’s fine. I’ll wait to take him his breakfast.”

Clint seemed amused.

Stars! Had Nick told him? Her breath caught at the thought. Nevertheless, with a feigned air of composure Tressa took the dishes to the sink, poured Clint a cup of coffee and returned to the table. “So, besides cranky, how’s he doing?”

Clint shrugged. “Actually better than I’d expected. I know one thing: that stuff you’ve been putting on him has already taken a lot of the swelling down.”

Tressa nodded. “The next thing we’ll notice is that the bruises are fading faster than expected.”

“Well, you’ve made a believer out of me,” he said, blowing steam from his mug.

After a moment of silence, Tressa cleared her throat. “Clint, could you tell me a little more about your experience with your Creohen friend? I mean…”

Clint set down his cup. “If you’re looking for answers, Tressa, I’m hardly an expert.”

“Not just answers, Clint. I need to talk to someone who can help me understand what’s happening to me,” she said softly.

He stared at her in thoughtful silence. She’d nearly given up all hope of a reply when he finally nodded.

“All right. I’ll tell you what I know. But there are some things you’ll have to find the answers for yourself. And some things only Nick can answer.”

Tressa nodded in agreement.

“So…do you have some specific questions in mind?”

Ignoring a wave of apprehension, the main question she’d been wondering about tumbled through her lips. “First of all, can—I mean, is Nick capable of reading my mind?”

Tressa watched his eyes light up with laughter. “No honey, you’re safe there. You’re the one with the abilities.”

Trying not to show her relief, she moved on to her next question. “And what about this bonding thing? Why did you say that I’ve bonded with him?”

Clint’s cup was raised halfway to his mouth when he hesitated. “Because bonding is the only way you could have sensed Nick’s emotions as you did. It’s that simple.”

“I don’t understand.”

He set his coffee down. “You see, Tressa, Creohens don’t go around empathically reading just anyone’s emotions. It’s not even a matter of ethics. It’s virtually impossible. Example: Are you sensing my emotions right now?”

“Of course not.”

“How ‘bout now?” He deliberately gave Tressa a look of scorching intent.

Tressa forced a demure smile. “It’s pretty obvious, Clint.”

He shook his head slowly, “No. That’s just it. What you see in my eyes may not be the same as what I’m feeling inside.” He grinned. “Try it again. This time close your eyes and concentrate.”

“This is crazy,” she muttered, embarrassed as she closed her eyes.

A moment of silence passed. “Well? Anything?”

“No,” she said flatly.

Clint chuckled. “And I was sending you some intense vibes. But I’ll bet you don’t even have to try with Nick, do you?”

She lowered her gaze.

“As I said before, you’ve bonded with him.”

“I still don’t understand.”

“I can’t believe no one has talked to you about this.”

“There didn’t seem to be a need since I tested negative.”

“Yeah… well obviously the tests were wrong.”

“It would seem so.”

“All I know is that there are different chemicals released into your system as a result of your emotions,” Clint added. “Supposedly the particular chemical released into your system when you’re…” he paused long enough to struggle with a grin, “when you’re in love has a direct reaction on a Creohen’s ability to sense the emotions of the person she or he is in love with.”

“In love?” Tressa laughed. “I don’t think so. Nor would Nick return the feelings even if I were.”

“You might be surprised. Look, I don’t pretend to understand it all. Drawing from my own experience, Tressa, I can tell you it takes a willing partner. You know…the old Earth adage, it takes two to tango?”

“But…”

He flashed her a grin. “Let me put it this way; you’re more than just another woman passing through his life.”

“You mean another consignment passing through his life, don’t you?” Tressa looked away, suddenly embarrassed.

A moment passed before he spoke again. “By the way, how much Creohen blood do you have in you?”

“My mother’s half Creohen.”

Clint nodded and took another sip of his coffee. “I still can’t believe no one ever told you what to expect.”

“I was tested when I was ten. I suppose since the results were negative, they figured why fill my mind with something that I don’t need to know? And up until now,” she added on a softer note, “I’ve never had anything like this happen.”

“Yeah, well like I say, the tests were wrong.” He flashed that familiar Banner grin again. “And leave it to a Banner to be the catalyst to trigger it.”

Tressa glanced down at her lap. “They say it all started with the mines on Terra Three.”

Clint nodded. “The Creoh mines. ‘The mineral from outer space!’ he recited in his best announcer’s voice. “Guaranteed to stretch your memory, boost your vitality, and increase your longevity. Hell, they probably even claimed it would enhance your…” With a grin, his voice trailed off. And Tressa was sure she didn’t want to hear what he’d chosen not to say.

“Its popularity,” he went on, “was short-lived when they discovered its irreversible side effects.”

“The empathic abilities,” Tressa offered.

Clint nodded. “When they finally figured it out, they realized that even breathing the damn dust was harmful, and the mind-altering effect was almost always passed on to the offspring. Geez…what we do in the name of science,”

“Even grandchildren, like myself, can inherit the disability.”

Clint leaned back, stretching out his long legs. “Yeah, it would seem so.”

A long moment of contemplation passed.

Smiling at the memory, Tressa commented, “No wonder Grandpa always read me like a computer chip.” She inhaled sharply and rose from her seat. “Well, before Kate gets Nick’s tray ready I suppose I should go see if he even feels like eating. Clint, thank you. Thank you for talking with me and answering at least some of my questions.”

Clint straightened. “Well, I don’t know how much help I was, but you’re welcome.

“Uh Tressa,” he said as she turned for the door. “Why don’t I go see if he’s ready to have visitors? He was damn mad when I left him.”

“Mad? About what?”

Clint’s mouth quirked. “Because I refused to help him get up.”

A soft gasp escaped her. “The MedTech said he wasn’t to get up for at least two days.”

Clint was outright grinning. “Yep, that’s what I told him.”

“It’s not funny, Clint. He could undo all the good—”

“Well you gotta admit it is a good sign.”

“Nevertheless, I’m going to check on him.”

“Better give him a minute to—”

“Don’t worry,” she tossed over her shoulder. “I can handle him.”

“Suit yourself, he murmured, beneath his breath. “If anyone can handle Nick, it would be you.”

Tressa was halfway there when the reverberating clang echoed into the hallway. “I’m not pissin’ in this, damn it!”

With a deep breath, she braced herself and entered the room.

Nick was sitting upright in bed, several pillows propped behind him.

Who the hell took my damn pants?” he demanded, scowling with cold fury and making no effort at being polite.

Tressa crossed the room with her usual quiet composure, retrieving the makeshift urinal from the floor. “Count your blessings I’m bringing this back to you.” She said quietly. “When you discover you can’t quite make out of bed, you’ll be glad this isn’t still sitting where you threw it.”

“I said I’m not pi…using that!”

“And off-hand, I’d say your options seem rather—limited.” She placed the receptacle within easy reach, and then moved to the door. “I’m going to take a quick shower and change clothes. Kate will be putting a tray together for you,” she added cheerfully, “I’ll be back in a little while with your breakfast.”

Muttering a string of muffled curses, Nick despondently cast his gaze toward the window.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

Nick was dozing when Tressa entered the room. Determined not to be bedridden, he’d made the trip to and from the adjoining lav, gritting his teeth every inch of the way, every muscle in his body screaming in protest.

The faint rustle of Tressa’s gown and the soft clinking of dishes roused him as she quietly crossed the room to set down the tray. He grinned to himself, tempted to keep his eyes closed and let her think he was asleep. But an involuntary sigh escaped as a gentle palm checked for fever, and then brushed back a stray lock of hair. Slowly opening his eyes, he blinked and focused his gaze. Tressa. Her name echoed wistfully through his mind.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to wake you.”

“You didn’t. I was just resting.” He looked her over approvingly. She was a vision of femininity. The teal gown she wore caressed her body, outlining every detail from the swell of her breast to the curve of her hip. Her dark hair fell about her shoulders, auburn highlights shimmering like polished mahogany.

Nick knew what it meant to touch Tressa’s hair, knew its silky texture. Drunk or not, he vividly remembered the feel of that glossy lock slipping through his fingers, remembered its soft fragrance filling his already over-loaded senses. Oh yes, with graphic clarity, he recalled his all-consuming drive to have her that night—the need to brand her as his own.

Even now, the desire was strong, but different than before. No longer was it the detached lust he’d always experienced with women. No, Tressa had become more than just a sexual attraction. More than just another conquest. She’d changed.

Or had he?

“Don’t look at me like that,” Her blush had deepened beneath his prolonged perusal.

Nick feigned innocence with widened eyes and a sharp intake of breath. “Like what?”

“You know very well like what!”

A crooked smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. “Sorry, I just can’t help myself. You’re exceptionally beautiful this morning, Irish.”

Tressa gave a short laugh. “Kate warned me about you.”

“She did, huh?”

“She most certainly did. She said to beware of that silver tongue of yours. As if I didn’t already know.”

“Silver tongue?” he repeated slowly, frowning in mock wonder. “Why the devil would she say that?”

Tressa laughed. “I wonder.”

“I like the gown,” he said, giving her a slow once over.

“Thank you. Delta sent it back with your father. I think it might be your sister’s.”

“Ahh… Well it looks good on you.” He carefully shifted positions, grimacing as a bolt of pain ripped through him. Tressa’s smile quickly faded, replaced by a cloud of concern.

“Are you all right?”

A grunt was his only response.

A moment passed before Tressa spoke again. “I can’t believe what’s happened. And it’s all because of me, isn’t it?”

Nick shook his head and lied. “It was just an old acquaintance with a score to settle.

Her gaze roamed his face, as if seeking the truth. “I believe it was more than that, Nick,” she said, reaching for the hand that wasn’t bandaged firmly to his side. “Here, let me see how your wrists are doing.”

With a frown of concentration, she carefully began unfastening the med strip. “I put Acuel on them,” she said. “Twice. There should be a marked improvement, even this soon.”

Nick gloried in the attention, welcoming the physical contact as Tressa freed his wrist of the cumbersome binding. As her gentle fingers slid over his hand, turning it over in thorough inspection, the simple warmth of her touch seemed to fill him with a curious lassitude.

“Just as I thought, those lash burns aren’t nearly as angry.” Satisfaction pursed her lips as she focused her gaze on his reddened wrist. “Now if the rest of you heals this quickly, you’ll be back on your feet in no time.”

“Good,” he said quietly. “’Cause I’ve got things to do.”

“I’ll need to put more salve on, of course,” Tressa rattled on, not noticing the silken thread of promise in his tone—too pleased with the results to question his meaning. Her gaze shifted back to his face. “But first you must eat.”

“Only under one condition,” he said flashing her a half smile.

“Condition?”

“Yes. That you’ll stay and keep me company.”

Tressa’s brows drew together as if seriously considering a major verdict. “Deal. But only if you’ll allow me to continue treating your injuries with Acuel.” As a slow grin began to spread across Nick’s face, Tressa discerned his thoughts and quickly added, “without intimidation or harassment.”

“Intimidation? Harassment? Me?” His deep voice simmered with barely checked humor. “I’m as weak as a newborn babe.”

“Uh-huh. Just as long as we understand the rules, Nick.”

He secretly embraced the anticipation. It would be sweet hell, but he could keep his mouth shut and lie there in complete submission to her touch. Oh yes, he could do that.

An hour later his belly was full and the warmth of Tressa’s touch still lingered. Reclining against a soft mound of pillows, he watched her gather up her supplies.

He was still trying to decide if she’d purposely tormented him or was just being agonizingly thorough. She hadn’t missed a single damn spot, and the sensual pleasure he’d so warmly anticipated quickly became a living hell.

“Am I hurting you?” she’d asked. He nearly groaned at the memory. Hurt him? Hell, she was killing him. But pain had nothing to do with it, for Tressa had meticulously pretreated every scratch and scrape on his heated body. But other than an occasional gasp he’d remained true to his word and had kept quiet. He hadn’t made one improper comment—not one. Not to say there hadn’t been several on the tip of his tongue.

No, to his horror, it was his body’s own predicable reaction that had him fighting a losing battle. The only thing that helped was envisioning Loring standing right behind her. And even that wasn’t a total cure. Dealing with it was bad enough, but it was humiliating knowing that he was too damn weak to even follow. He was as harmless as a babe and she knew it.

“You try and get some rest now, okay.” With that, Tressa turned for the door, the scent of wildflowers still lingering in the air. Closing his eyes, he wondered at the strange feelings this woman instilled in him—stunned by how important she had suddenly become.

Over the next two days, Tressa faithfully continued the ritual of Acuel treatments and, with each passing day Nick became stronger, the bruises less noticeable.

It was time to get out of bed.

A dull ache rewarded his efforts as he swung his legs over the edge. It took fewer muttered curses this time to get to his feet, and his responses were quicker. It was a vast improvement over the sharp surge of agony he’d experienced in the beginning.

The image of Kendyl cut across his mind as he made his way to the window. Even here Tressa wasn’t safe. Recalling Kendyl’s promise to find her, he knew it would only be a matter of time.

It wouldn’t surprise him if Kendyl already had the place staked out. And all it would take was one slipup. The thought of Tressa at Kendyl’s mercy sent a surge of fury through him.

A sharp knock roused him from his thoughts. “Feeling better?” Clint asked, poking his head in.

“Come ’ere.”

Clint stepped inside. “What?”

“Close the door.”

He closed the door and came forward. “What’s going on?”

Nick turned away from the bank of windows. “Has anyone contacted Loring yet?”

“You kidding? We saved that one for you.”

“That’s fine, I’ll get a message-torp off to him this afternoon.” Nick’s expression clouded. “Tressa can’t stay here any longer. Kendyl won’t quit ’til he has her.”

“And you have a better idea?”

“Yeah, I do. Zeke’s coming back with Dad this afternoon, isn’t he?”

“Far as I know. Why?”

Nick’s jaw tightened. “I want Tressa outta here. Today.”

Clint’s eyes were beginning to sparkle with suppressed humor. “Today, huh?”

Nick eased into a nearby chair. “And I want Zeke to take her.”

Clint was barely concealing his amusement now. “And just what do you plan to tell her to get her to leave with him?”

Nick’s eyes narrowed. “Just get her in here. I’ll worry about the rest. Have her bring me a cup of coffee or something.”

Clint shook his head. “I’ll get her in here, but don’t hold your breath on her agreeing to leave.”

Oh she’d leave all right, Nick thought. She’ll gladly leave by the time he’s finished.

After Clint left the room, Nick dressed in a hurry, nearly draining every ounce of his strength just getting into his clothes. There had been one other occasion that stood out in his memory, when he’d thrown on his clothes in even less time. He was twenty at the time, and Dawson had walked in on him and Jeannie. Nick almost smiled at the memory of himself hopping first on one foot, and then the other, trying to jerk on his pants and chase after Dawson all at once. Poor Jeannie; she was a new-hire at the time, and it had taken some fast-talking on Nick’s part to convince the prudish head butler not to fire her on the spot.

Nick’s thoughts were jerked back to the present as he ran a hand across his stubble-roughened cheek. He glanced at himself in the mirror and shrugged dismissively at the menacing reflection staring back. The more hostile his appearance, the better, he decided grimily.

Quickly finger-combing his hair, he’d barely made it to the window to strike a nonchalant pose when a soft knock came at the door. A hasty glance at the clock told him that hardly five minutes had passed. “Come in.”

“Oh my, you’re up and dressed.”

As if he’d been standing there forever, Nick turned from the window to face her. ”Yeah.”

“I brought you something to eat,” she said cheerfully.

He watched her cross the room, denying the comfort her nearness gave him.

“I stole one of those delicious pastries from the kitchen to go with your coffee,” she chattered on.

“Just set it down on the table,” he said, unable to stop himself from looking her over—from filling his senses with the sight, sound and scent of her.

Yesterday Clint had told him about her empathic abilities, referring to his own experience in trying to explain the phenomenon. If Tressa was capable of reading emotions as Clint had suggested, he wondered if she could sense the rapid beating of his heart. Did she know that she was the cause? And did she know her sweet scent was driving him slowly out of his mind?

The thought was so absurd; he wanted to laugh out loud. Nick Banner beguiled by the lingering scent of wildflowers, seduced by a strong-willed, tenderhearted little—his thoughts suddenly stilled, recalling how this little angel had seduced a guard from his post. Oh, yes, Clint had told him about that, too. Every detail. He’d been meaning to say something to her but had put it off, not wanting to spoil the sweet rapport he’d so enjoyed while recovering.

Mixed feelings surged through him when he first heard the story. First shock, then anger— that she’d deliberately put her life in jeopardy. And that she had done so against explicit orders to stay put. He couldn’t believe she hadn’t learned anything from her encounter with the Ripper; an experience that could have been avoided if she’d followed orders and left things alone in the cockpit. Next came rage. That one went deep. Deeper than he wanted to admit, and it was founded solely on the fact that she’d been in another man’s arms, not counting the fact that the bastard had ripped her clothing in his rush to have her. Finally came compassion and tenderness for what she had gone through and that she’d taken the risk for him.

With a heavy sigh of resignation, Nick knew what he had to do, like it or not. With a silent curse, he gathered his strength and determination, knowing her strong will and stubborn belief that she could call the shots, made a perfect target for starting an argument. And that was the main objective here, he reluctantly reminded himself. “I’ve been meaning to thank you,” he began quite harmlessly.

Tressa turned to face him, “For what?”

“Everything. The all-night vigil that first night. The special care since then. The—”

“I did no more than anyone else,” she protested softly.

“Oh, I’d say you did a little more. I understand you were quite the heroine the other day.”

“Heroine?” Tressa paused. “Oh…that.”

“Yeah. That.” Nick stepped closer. “You have a hard time learning lessons, don’t you, Irish?”

“What do you mean?”

Nick used the unsettling image of Tressa in another man’s arms to fuel his anger and keep him on track. “Didn’t you learn anything from your experience with the Ripper? What the devil were you doing comin’ on to some renegade who’d just as soon toss you to the ground as look at you?”

Tressa rolled her eyes. “Please don’t tell me I have to hear it from you too. I’ve already heard enough from the rest of your family to last a lifetime. If you’d just let me explain, maybe—”

“I’m not interested in your excuses. Whatever they were, they don’t justify anything. You were given orders and once again you chose to ignore them. But that’s only half of it. You not only put your own life at risk, this time you put everyone else at risk right along with you.”

Every curve in Tressa’s body spoke defiance. Her voice rang with indignation. “I don’t believe this! You’re mad at me for helping them rescue you?”

“Hell yes, I’m mad.”

Sudden anger lit her eyes. “For your information, Nick Banner, I had your location pinpointed long before they even arrived in the area. And as for distracting the guard—”

Curses burst from his mouth. “Did you even stop to think what could have happened if you hadn’t been able to get away from him? And what about Marc? What if he’d been discovered? Did you think about that, Tressa? What if someone had taken him down before he had a chance to rescue you?”

“Rescue me?” her voice rose with outrage. “I’ll have youknowIhadeverythingundercontrollong before—”

“Not only did you put Marc in danger,” he interrupted, “you reduced the strength of the rescue party. You made them all the more vulnerable.”

“I—I never asked Marc to rescue me,” she stammered, anger vibrating in her voice, reddening her cheeks. “I didn’t even know Marc was there.”

But Tressa’s rising voice seemed to fade into the background of Nick’s awareness. This wasn’t what he wanted. He ached to draw her into his arms, to kiss away the tears that were welling in her eyes. To tell her he really wasn’t angry with her—frustrated, yes, but not angry. On the contrary, he was flattered beyond words. Of all the women that have come and gone, Nick couldn’t think of one who would have risked her life for him once, let alone twice.

She was staring at him, waiting for his reply to her last heated retort, which he hadn’t heard. But he wouldn’t back down now. Couldn’t. And he desperately hoped that her present state of anger and confusion prevented her from sensing his feelings of regret.

Leaning forward, he purposefully lowered his voice to a steely tone, and through gritted teeth added, “If you ever…try anything as foolhardy as that again, while in my custody—”

“Custody? Custody? Of all the—”

“I will personally see that you regret it.”

Tressa glared at him. “You wouldn’t dare. My father would—”

“Don’t bet on it, Tressa. We have a big problem here. You see, it’s my duty to keep you safe, and I can’t even trust you to follow a simple order.”

“Duty?” she cried.

“Pack your things and be ready to go. When Zeke gets back, you’re outta here.”

“I see,” she said, her voice suddenly controlled. “In other words, I’m to lock myself in my room and stay there until your next order. Is that it?”

“If that’s what it takes? Yes.”

“Fine,” she said. He watched her throat work as if holding tears in check. “I won’t be of any further trouble for either you or your family,” she added with cool finality.

Nick’s eyes narrowed suspiciously. “And just what the devil’s that supposed to mean?”

Tressa turned for the door. “Why don’t you figure it out, Nick. You seem to have all the answers.”

“Tressa!”

But she was gone. Clint stood in the open doorway, grinning. “Don’t tell me. Let me guess. It was something you said. Right?”

** *

The door hissed shut behind Tressa as she entered her room. Clasping her palm to her mouth, she leaned back in stunned silence. I won’t cry, she vowed silently, swiping at a determined tear. He wants me gone? Fine. I’ll go—but I’ll be damned if it will be on his terms.

Since Max had also brought TiMar with him when he returned, the little cat was curled upon the bed, fast asleep when she entered. Delighted with her sudden appearance, TiMar leapt from the bed and padded up to her, loudly voicing his pleasure. “Oh TiMar…” Her voice broke, and the name ended in a tiny sob as she nuzzled her face against his luxurious coat. “I’m going to miss you so much.”

Tressa swallowed convulsively, overcome with sadness and bittersweet memories. She was crushed by Nick’s sudden hostility.

Not just hostility, it was Rejection.

With the heel of her palm she swiped angrily at another tear. “Consider your self officially relieved or your duty, Nick Banner. I’m outta here. I’m going home.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

Tressa stirred, reality shielded behind a thick blanket of mental fog. Slowly opening her eyes, she begged her beleaguered brain to function and gazed languidly about the room.

She should have been alarmed when her eyes rested on a large, round viewport. Yet oddly she wasn’t. She simply stared at it.

Concentrate on one thing at a time.

Closing her eyes, she began honing-in on the unmistakable hiss of ventilation and the hum of the drive system. Recognizing the sounds for what they were should have brought her upright.

It didn’t.

Strange, but she didn’t even care. Funny, how perfectly relaxed she felt just lying there with fog for memory, and details not quite registering.

Tressa slowly pulled herself into a sitting position, struggling to remember. Remember what…? She frowned as fragments surfaced briefly only to vanish again.

The sound of an electronic door drew her benumbed attention. Raising her sights, she watched as a man entered the room carrying carafe of something and a mug.

“I see you’re awake.”

His voice sounded distant and hollow as he spoke.

“I figured you might be coming out of it about now.”

Following his movements through dulled eyes, Tressa simply lay there. Something in the back of her mind said he looked familiar—that she should be afraid—and yet—

“I trust the accommodations are satisfactory?”

Even in her languid state she heard the mockery in his tone. Instinct—tranquilized as it was—said she didn’t like him, yet oddly she felt no fear. At last she made an effort to sit up.

“I want you to know,” he went on, “you’ve got the best cabin on board.” He turned and smiled. “Mine.”

No alarm was triggered with that tidbit of news either. Tressa vacantly watched as he set down the carafe.

“So, how are we feeling? Kind of fuzzy?”

Still she offered no response, having neither the strength nor the inclination to do so.

“Well, that’s to be expected. I brought you a special brew.” He turned away and began pouring something into a cup. Setting down the carafe, he came to her side. “This will help clear your head from the effects of the drug they used.”

Drugs? They’d used drugs? Even that was no more than a dull realization.

“Here, drink this.”

Tressa pulled back, avoiding his outstretched hand. She felt so…strange. In the far reaches of her mind she knew she should be terrified, yet her body wasn’t cooperating.

“Drink it, Tressa.” His tone had turned harsh.

She didn’t like him. “Nooo.” She turned her head away, her voice sounding distant and hollow—just like his.

Suddenly she was jerked to her feet, swaying with weakness and fighting for balance as he yanked her up against his body. “I said, drink it.” Placing his hand at the back of her head, he pressed the cup to her lips, forcing her mouth open. “I want you fully awake, sweetheart,” she heard him say as the liquid entered her mouth.

Tressa struggled, half choking, half gulping to keep up with the flow.

“Atta girl,” he murmured, releasing her and allowing her to sink back down onto the bunk.

Tressa blinked lazily, watching with passive interest as he pulled up a chair, flipped it around and straddled it backwards. “That’ll clear the cobwebs from your brain,” he said with a brisk nod.

Minutes passed before shards of memory surfaced, teasing her mind and then disappearing again. Tressa frowned, struggling to remember as the fog slowly began dissipating.

She remembered slipping out of the Banner condo, lulling them all into believing she was napping. She vaguely remembered taking the endless metal stairs instead of the lift.

A man… Yes…yes, there was a man standing near the end of the corridor. She remembered sensing danger, slowing her steps. Then the stranger burst into action, chasing her, grabbing her by the hair and stilling her screams with a grimy hand clapped over her mouth. Next she was hit hard and after than…nothing.

Tressa scooted back on the bunk, putting as much distance as possible between the man sitting before her and herself. Through narrowed eyes she studied him as reality seeped back by degrees. He looked so familiar. Her eyes moved over his face, noting his high cheekbones, his steely gaze, his arrogant expression.

She took in his features, noticing his short trimmed beard, his dark shoulder-length hair, swept back and tied. Emanating wealth, the man was smooth but in a sinister way. Even her half-drugged mind recognized that aspect about him. He wasn’t exactly handsome, but he was a long way from ugly, and he smelled of expensive cologne.

Tressa would never have allowed her gaze to wander so brazenly over his body had she not been so groggy. And wander it did, taking in every detail from his soft gray shirt, to his crisp black trousers to his shiny—

“Like what you see?”

This time his voice jolted a memory and she inhaled sharply as recognition set in. She had only caught a glimpse of him from her hiding place beneath the bunk, but now his voice was registering. He was the same man who’d forced his way onboard the Victorious, the same man who’d hurt Nick and stolen the cargo from his hold!

Tressa scrambled to her feet, swaying against the remaining effects of the drug, her legs nearly buckling beneath her. “You!” she cried, fighting her weakness with sheer boldness.

Rising to tower above her, Kendyl stood, too, his amusement unmasked. “Ahh, so you know me, do you?” Sweeping away the chair, he removed the barrier between them.

Her heart pounding with terror, Tressa edged away from him. “Where am I?”

Kendyl’s gaze calmly followed her every movement. “You’re on board my ship.”

Looking for something to use as a weapon, her eyes darted frantically about the room. The fog was receding quickly now.

“Bastard! When Nick catches up with you you’re not going to be worth—”

“Banner?” Kendyl’s laughter was harsh. “Your hero’s dead, Tressa. I killed him myself.”

Silence enveloped the room as Tressa’s liquid browns clashed defiantly with his pale blues. “You’re lying! I don’t believe you.”

He wagged his head slowly from side to side, watching her reaction. “I slipped a knife into him. Right here.” He touched the place over her pounding heart.

Tressa batted his hand away, jerking back in response to both his touch and his words.

“And this time,” he continued coldly, “I didn’t withdraw it until he stopped breathing.”

“I don’t believe you. It’s not true.” Dear God it’s not true!

“Ahh, but it is true.”

His calm composure frightened her. Stunned into momentary silence, Tressa digested his claim.

“I cornered the fool while he was looking for you,” he added on a chuckle.

With that one Kendyl broke through her fragile control—nearly dropping her to the floor. Noooo… Nothing could have brought her more pain, more despair than that last statement.

“Why?” she whispered, unable to stem the flow of tears.

“Why?” he echoed. “Revenge, darling. Sweet, sweet revenge.” Kendyl drew close, filling her nostrils with his scent. “You see, Banner took something from me,” he said, grasping her chin harshly. “Now it’s my turn to take something from him.”

Tears clouded Tressa’s vision. She hardly heard his words. It suddenly didn’t matter. Nick was dead, and nothing mattered anymore.

Releasing her, Kendyl stepped back, watching her with idle interest. “He serviced mine.” With no vestige of sympathy, his hands moved to his belt, his thumb flicking the buckle for emphasis, “Now I’ll service his.”

Revenge a small voice whispered. It was the very word that told her that Nick was still alive.

Snap out of it, Tressa! If he’s seeking revenge, Nick’s not dead.

Lifting her head, Tressa met Kendyl’s unwavering gaze. “You won’t get away with this.” Defiance coursed through her veins now. She didn’t stand a chance against this bastard, but she’d be damned if she’d give-in easily. She’d give him a fight he’d never forget! Glancing past his shoulder, she measured the distance to the door.

“There’s nowhere to run, darlin’,” he said, as if reading her mind. A soft chime suddenly sounded, and Kendyl turned to the small panel mounted on the wall. “Yes? What is it?”

“Could I have a word with you? Alone? It’s important.”

“It had better be.”

Turning to Tressa, he said, “I want those clothes off by the time I return, or I’ll take them off for you.”

Rage exploded within her. “You lay one filthy finger on me and I swear you’ll regret it.”

Kendyl crossed the cabin to stand before her, his eyes filled with amusement. “Oh yeah?” he asked in silky challenge.

Refusing to show her terror, Tressa took a haughty stance. But before she knew what he was about, Kendyl’s hand moved to her chin, holding it firmly as he lowered his head to take her mouth in a kiss that was arrogant and brutal.

“Regret it?” He shook his head. “I don’t think so.”

He must have seen it coming, for he caught Tressa’s hand in midair. Their eyes locked in open warfare. “You don’t want to play rough with me, sweetheart. I guarantee I hit a lot harder.”

Struggling vainly to free her captured wrist, Tressa finally relaxed. “You’re hurting me,” she said softly.

“I know.” An intense moment passed before he released her. “It won’t always be this way,” he said, turning for the door. “By the time we get to Steel, I guarantee you’ll be craving my touch.” With that he exited the cabin.

“Never!” she cried out. “You sicken me!” Tressa turned away, her throat burning with unshed tears. What and where was Steel, she wondered? Would she ever see home again? Her family? Would she ever see Nick again? Despair swept over her.

She was standing before the viewport when Kendyl returned a several moments later.

“You know what this is?” he asked.

Tressa turned to see a crumpled piece of paper in his hand, but said nothing.

He went on. “It’s a memo text. About you, honey. And if what it says is true, you’re worth a whole lot of credits.”

He had her attention now.

Kendyl studied her long and hard before going on. “Just exactly what were you to Banner, anyway?” he asked, reclining against the bulkhead.

“None of your business.”

He smiled knowingly. “Then maybe you’d like to explain what your relationship is to Burke Sinclair.”

No response. Tressa never even flinched.

“You do know that his real name isn’t Burke Sinclair, don’t you?”

Tressa’s eyes followed him as he crossed the room. “It’s Cord Wheeler,” he offered casually. “Can you imagine that? I wonder what your daddy would say if he knew.” Kendyl’s laugh turned harsh. “Wonder what he’d say if he knew ol’ Wheeler’s been behind this entire kidnapping scheme from the very beginning. He doesn’t love you, sweetheart. All you are is a means for him to get what he’s after. LorTech along with Wheeler Enterprises.”

Still no response

He shrugged. “Don’t believe me? Ask me how I happen to know all about the contract he convinced your daddy to give to Wheeler Enterprises. Ask me how I know he’s asked you to marry him.” Kendyl laughed. “This kidnapping farce is just a conspiracy to make him a hero. To win you over.”

Before she could respond another soft chime sounded. With a sigh of exasperation Kendyl palmed the intercom. “Now what?”

“You’d better get up here.”

“What is it this time?”

“Our sensors are picking up a shadow.”

Kendyl finally responded. “How far?”

“Right on the edge of our long-range scanners. And closing fast.”

“On my way.” Turning to Tressa, he said. “We’ll pick up this conversation when I return.”

** *

The record-breaking drive down the narrow mountain road from the Banner home did little to improve Sinclair’s mood. As agreed, he’d met with James Catlin at the spaceport, paid an exorbitant price and listened while Catlin spilled his guts.

Like it or not, Sinclair knew Tressa’s only chance was Nick Banner.

Catlin’s directions to the Banner home had been a little off. It had taken him over an hour just to find the place. Another twenty minutes was wasted while he argued with the guard posted at the front gate. The final blow, however, was being told that Nick wasn’t there. What little he’d learned from the guard, confirmed what Catlin had told him.

Tressa was missing, and the Banners were out looking for her. Well, they wouldn’t find her, Sinclair thought bleakly. According to Catlin, Tressa had left with Kendyl about three hours ago.

Within minutes he was guiding the landcraft into a parking slot at the spaceport. With Banner’s description fresh in his mind, he hopped out. “Now…to find the sonofabitch,” he muttered, heading for the terminal building.

** *

Nick leaned against a stack of freight pallets, his strength waning, and though the pain in his ribs was getting progressively worse, it was nothing compared to the pain in his heart. He’d driven her to this. In his haste to see her safe, he’d as good as told her to get out. Hell, he couldn’t even remember what all he’d said. Cursing softly, he raked a hand through his long hair. Two hours had passed since they’d discovered her missing, and God only knew where she was by now.

Nick knew well the hazards of a spaceport. His mind was alive with mental visions—of Tressa wandering into the wrong area, falling prey to some slimeball spacer—if not Kendyl himself. And there were other things that had nothing to do with Kendyl. She could get burned by the discharge of scalding vapor from the vent of a cooling ship, or run down by some robotic cargo mover. The possibilities were endless.

Zeke had taken it upon himself to check with the commercial liners first; on a hunch that maybe she’d reserved a cabin on an outbound cruiser. But…nothing.

Clint hit the local port bars, looking for anyone wearing cleat-toed boots, and shooting his mouth off. But again, nothing came of it. From there he went to spaceport control, coming up with one piece of interesting news. Kendyl’s ship, the Renegade, had left its assigned berth. To some it might have indicated that Kendyl had given up his search for Tressa. To Nick, it meant one of two things: One, he’d simply moved his ship to a more secluded or convenient spot. There were hundreds of places outside the spaceport to ditch a yacht. Or two: he’d already nabbed Tressa and was long gone.

Nick and Max had personally questioned spaceport security, along with every maintenance man in the area. But no one seemed to know anything.

Kendyl had her all right; Nick felt it in his gut. He looked up to see Marc returning to the site. “Anything?” he asked, rising to his feet.

“Nothing—at least nothing matching Renegade’s identification since yesterday.”

“And what about clearance?” Nick asked.

“Again, nothing. I even had Kala do a security check for me”, Marc added. “I figured if they were stupid enough to lift without proper clearance, port security would be crawling all over them by now.” Marc shook his head. “Nothing.”

Nick’s mind raced. Kendyl was many things but stupid wasn’t one of them. One sure way of drawing attention to yourself was to lift without going through proper clearance procedures. It was a guaranteed method of inviting a swarm of armed security officers hot on your tail.

No, Nick thought, Kendyl either hasn’t left Imperial yet, or he’s bought someone off. Nick opted for the latter theory.

“Banner? Nick Banner?”

All five of them turned as a man, searching each of their faces made his way toward them.

Nick took his time studying the outsider before finally identifying himself. “I’m Nick.”

“My name’s Burke Sinclair. I need to talk to you. It’s about Tressa.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

Nick sat in the dimly lit control room of the WindStar, the illumination from the console softening his now-hardened features. Warning indicators pulsed. Digital readouts were dangerously high, and every rule in the book was being broken.

Pushed to her limits, the WindStar vibrated around him, rattling what seemed every nut, bolt and rivet in her fuselage. Nick had long tuned-out the ever-constant racket. He also refused to listen to the repetitive monotoned lecture on the hazards of continuing at their present breakneck speed. They were off-planet hardly an hour when he’d silenced the irritant by disconnecting the audio.

With a long, tired sigh, he looked away from the monitor, massaging the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger. He was exhausted, his body demanded sleep and he ached all over, especially his ribs and left shoulder. Both were still annoyingly sore.

Gingerly rotating his upper arm, he winced as stiff muscles protested being worked. He wondered if his shoulder would ever be the same again.. The Acuel salve had helped, but its use had completely fallen to the wayside.

Six days of chasing Kendyl had passed—six days since Sinclair had confirmed his worst fears.

Having taken off across the hangar on a dead run, the Banners were on board the WindStar, had coordinates set and clearance okayed for liftoff in a record-breaking twenty minutes—four pain-filled hours behind Kendyl’s illegal departure. So far, in pushing the WindStar to her limits, they’d sliced Kendyl’s lead-time in half. Sinclair, however, trailed behind, unable to keep up with their perilous speed in his smaller yacht.

The WindStar was not only twice the size of Nick’s cargo ship, Victorious; she was more than twice as fast. Max had obtained the vessel several years back in trade for services. Originally she was a Terran MRV, a military reconnaissance vessel, decommissioned during a budget cutback. The previous owner, a wealthy earth-based businessman, had purchased the vessel and transformed her into a private pleasure yacht, a renovation that included both her drive systems along with luxurious living quarters.

Nick’s mind slid back to Tressa. Never far from his thoughts, he’d hardly slept since they’d left port. Grief, and despair tore at his guts like a double-edged knife. Guilt, in particular, rode him hard as he knew in his heart that it was his own words that had sent her running—right into Kendyl’s clutches.

When Zeke gets back, you’re outta here. It wasn’t just the guilt that leveled him. It was much more than that. It was a physical ache. A shocking need to be there for her, to draw her into his arms and kiss away the terror. To once again see her radiant smile, that intriguing dimple that never ceased to captivate him. Even more than that, it threatened his ability to even think clearly.

Bracing his elbows on the console, Nick lowered his head to his hands, thrusting his splayed fingers through his shaggy dark hair. What ungodly torture had Kendyl already subjected her to? He didn’t need an overactive imagination to envision her fate. He knew the kind of cruelty that sonofabitch was capable of.

Dear God, Steel of all places. A muscle jerked in his jaw at the very thought.

Oh, yes, he also knew what those auctions were like…knew firsthand that among the merchandise that crossed the platform were sentient beings. Sensitive, caring people like Tressa, many of whom were grabbed right off commercial vessels, or even, in some cases, snatched from their home planets.

Nick stared vacantly at the controls, reliving—seeing in his mind’s eye the time when a small band of terrified children were herded across the auction platform. They had reminded him of frightened little animals. Once sold into slavery, they were doomed to live out their short lives in the bowels of some godforsaken mine on some uncharted planet.

The memory sickened him. The jagged scar that ran across his upper back bore testimony to his impulsive but futile effort to try and stop their sale to some slimeball slaver.

In the long run he supposed mining slaves were the fortunate ones. Not only were their young lives cut short, Nick was all too aware that among the crowd were a select group of buyers who came to the auctions with special needs. Needs requiring little children and young women. Tressa Ah God, he knew the kind. Scum with desires so dark and perverse no woman would ever submit willingly. Nausea roiled and twisted in his gut at the thought of her being subjected to such treatment—at the mental vision of her being stripped, shackled and forced to stand upon a raised platform while Kendyl held out for the highest credits from a salacious crowd.

And in the meantime had Kendyl already defiled her as a means to settle some imaginary score? Rage as Nick had never known, coursed through him at the idea of Kendyl even touching Tressa.

Maybe the bulletin dispatch he’d sent out would buy her time. Maybe Kendyl would leave her alone, untouched, knowing her innocence would be worth a pretty price on the market.

There was a time when Nick could have reasonably guessed Kendyl’s reaction. No more. Seven years since their partnership had brought about too many changes—changes in both men and their ambitions.

But the one thing Nick knew for sure was that Quint Kendyl was a dead man. His eyes narrowed and the familiar muscle ticked in his left cheek at the intensity of his silent vow. And that bastard had damn well better be where he could find him too.

Inhaling sharply, he cast his eyes to the overhead controls and patted his pocket for one of his thin cigars. Damn, only one left. He bent his head and lit up, blowing a stream of smoke toward the floor.

“You ready for a break?” Zeke entered the control room, dropping into the co-pilot’s seat. “Anything happening?”

Acknowledging his friend with a quick glance, Nick reached for his coffee. “Kendyl’s still holding at two and a half hours ahead. Sinclair’s dropped to the edge of our long-range scanners. We’ll be coming up on Steel’s buoys in about three hours, and their weapons satellites shortly thereafter.”

Zeke regarded him curiously. “Since, you’re the one who’s been there before, tell me, is that security system of theirs as touchy as they say?”

“Effective’s more the word,” Nick said. “No one gets within seven thousand kilometers of the place without an invitation.”

“The ID code,” Zeke interjected.

Nick nodded and leaned back. “The system consists of a ring of warning buoys. If you advance beyond those, you’d better be prepared to pass through the Gate.”

Zeke smiled blandly. “And that’s where you present your personal invitation.”

“Or get your ass blown off.” Nick fell silent as memories came flooding back across seven long years. Often dubbed, The Ring of Fire, the ”Gate” was an orbiting ring of computerized weapons satellites. “One time there were five ships backed up…” he began, his voice distant as he relived the memory. “All coming through—one at a time. We were third in line. Everything was going fine until some renegade in front of us didn’t happen to pass inspection.” Nick paused.

“The bastard never even knew what hit him.”

Releasing a breathy whistle, Zeke shifted uncomfortably. “You ever hear why?”

Nick shook his head. “No one gives a damn on that hellhole, but I’d be willing to wager his ID wasn’t valid.”

“Obviously your ID was valid.”

“Oh yeah. Thanks to Kendyl and his connections we made it through just fine.” Nick picked up his cigar, tapping ash into the ashtray as a thought-filled moment slipped by. Steel’s security was effective. Every pirate ship had its own ID number encoded right into the hull. “Once a ship approaches the weapons satellite,” he went on, “computerized energy scanners automatically scan the ship’s hull for the code. If its there, and still valid, you’re allowed to pass. If not—”

“They’re blown to eternity,” Zeke finished.

Nick’s jaw tightened. “One way in. One way out,” he said, staring vacantly into his mug as tiny vibration ripples danced across the surface of his coffee.

Who would have ever thought that the WindStar’s hidden assets would someday be put to official use. Damn if she wasn’t a pirate ship, complete with her own ID encoded right into her fuselage. Obviously her previous owner was involved in more than legitimate dealings.

Max hadn’t discovered the WindStar’s enhanced abilities until a major maintenance inspection. The discovery had brought about hoots of laughter among the Banner boys, as well as a never-ending progression of jokes about their father secretly being a pirate.

This time, however, the scenario was real. This time no one was laughing, and if all went as planned, the WindStar would be their ticket both to and from Steel. A wave of contemptuous satisfaction swept over Nick at the thought, for it was an advantage Kendyl would not figure on.

Zeke’s voice broke the long silence. “So…how do we know the code’s still valid on this baby?”

Leaving the question dangling, Nick calmly stuck the cigar between his teeth, wincing against up-trailing smoke as he made a minor adjustment on the controls. Satisfied with the modification, he swiveled around to face Zeke again—and smiled. “We don’t. “

A moment of dead silence preceded a soft curse.

Nick grinned. “I know. Stimulating, isn’t it?”

“Hell, you always did thrive on this sort of shit.”

“And you didn’t?” Nick shot back with a low chuckle, remembering how growing up the two of them were always tempting fate on their jet bikes. “Just think of it as old times.”

“You damn well better be operating with your head. That’s all I got to say. I don’t know about you, sport, but I don’t exactly relish the idea of having precious body parts melded to shards of drifting fuselage. Damn! Pull over, I want off. ”

Nick laughed openly and reached for his coffee. “Sinclair’s going to have a little problem,” Zeke added. That wiped the grin off Nick’s face, stopping his coffee midway to his mouth. . “More than a little. You fail security exactly once. There is no second chance.” “Did you see how furious he was when you told him he wasn’t coming with us?” Zeke grinned. “I think the fool actually would have taken you on.” “Yeah?” Nick failed to see the humor. “He would’ve had his teeth knocked down his throat too.” A moment of silence passed, then, “I take it you don’t like him much.”

Knowing full well where the conversation was heading, Nick busied himself with the controls again. “I don’t trust him.”

“I see… Wouldn’t happen to have anything to do with the fact that he’s asked Tressa to marry him, now would it?”

With an air of composure, Nick took a slow draw from his cigar, releasing a lazy stream of smoke toward the vent. Finally turning toward his friend, he leveled a bland gaze on him and drawled, “Not a damned thing.”

“Ahhh… And that must be why you have us all flirting with death here? Over nothing?”

With a muttered oath, Nick rose to his feet. “Back off, Slater. I’m getting tired of repeating myself. She’s nothing to me. You got that? I’m not interested in her beyond the fact that she’s an innocent who needs rescuing. You got that?” Shoving his cigar into his mouth and grabbing his mug, he turned on his booted heel and stalked out of the control room—pushing down the mental image of Tressa’s face as he went.

“Well, she’s interested in you, sport,” Zeke called out, his voice laced with laughter.

Nick stopped in mid-stride. A heartbeat later, his boots echoed down the narrow corridor.

He was getting tired of having to defend himself every time Tressa’s name was mentioned. She was an assignment, nothing more. No different from any other high-security payload he’d taken on for the Corporation. There were plenty of other times he’d put out just as much effort to safeguard a shipment without all the hassle of explaining himself to everybody.

The galley smelled of freshly brewed coffee as he entered. Max sat at the table nursing a mug.

Setting his cup down with more force than necessary, Nick refilled it with the fresh brew. Sure, he was attracted to Tressa, he’d admit to that much. Hell, she was hot. He’d have to be blind not to notice. But interested in her…as in relationship? Commitment? No thank you. He liked his life just the way it was. Free, independent, and best of all…no commitments to anyone but himself.

Making his way to the table, he eased into a chair and flicked ash into a nearby ashtray. His motives were no different than anyone else’s. He’d noticed the way they all looked at her, grinning like idiots. Marc in particular. From what he’d heard Marc was the one who had covered Tressa with his jacket. A scowl spread across Nick’s already disgruntled features. Not that he gave a damn, but just how much had little brother seen before handing over the jacket?

“Everything’s okay up front?” Max’s deep voice interrupted Nick’s thoughts.

Glancing up, he found his father studying him with intent curiosity. “Everything’s normal, if that’s what you mean. We’ve still got every readout flashing red. The displacement spectrometer is starting to give us problems, and God only knows what the computer would be saying if I were to reconnect the audio.”

Max’s face was expressionless. “Zeke has the helm?”

A grunt was Nick’s answer as he took a sip of coffee. “Kendyl’s still holding at two and a half hours, and we’ll rendezvous with the buoys in about three…” He hesitated. “That is, of course, providing this modified space buggy doesn’t rattle all her bolts loose before we get there.”

Max grinned. “She’ll hold. Now, once we hit dirt,” he continued, “it will be up to you to call the shots. You’re the only one who knows his way around.”

“Knows his way around where?” Clint asked as he entered the galley.

The next three hours flew by as Nick retrieved a crude map he’d sketched earlier. Eventually Marc joined them, and once again they rehashed their plans as Nick went over the layout of the pirate city, Steel.

Manmade, and more than one kilometer in diameter, Steel had originally started out as a free-floating combination ferry port and refueling station. Nick had never heard exactly how it came to be taken over by pirates.

Like a sequestered island in the sea of space, Steel made a perfect harbor for selling what you didn’t need and buying what you did without all the hassle of taxes, duties and anything else that generally gets in the way of free trade. Rumor had it that Steel was owned by a huge mega corp. that used it as a means to launder its own untaxed revenue.

Bracing his weight on his palms, Max leaned over the table, “I just thought of something,” he said, a slow smile curving his mouth. “If what you’re saying is true…about Laker Metals owning Steel…” Max’s grin got broader. “Laker owes Banner Transport a rather large—and so far—uncollected barter.”

Nick’s head snapped up. “Oh yeah?” His mind spinning with possibilities, a moment passed as he stared at his father, his respect and admiration rising yet another notch for the man whose image he bore. “You realize what this means?” he asked softly.

“Yeah. It means that while you’re tracking down Kendyl, I’ll be cashing in the chits to buy our way back out.”

Zeke’s voice came over the intercom. “Buoy coming up shortly. Hang on, gentlemen; we’re about to leave hyperspace.”

Zeke was closely monitoring the controls when they entered the helm and slid into their allotted places. WindStar had command. Programmed to leave hyperspace on a predesignated coordinate, there was little else for them to do but grab their seats and watch as lights winked out on the console and others came on.

A soft chime sounded. Other than that, the only indication that they were making the jump from hyperspace was the wave of nausea each experienced.

Nick quickly scanned the readings. “Cut the power by fifty percent,” he ordered. “We’re coming in too fast.”

“Brace yourself,” Zeke replied, entering the directive. The WindStar responded with a sudden jolt, the deceleration jerking them forward. At last the vibration ceased, and the descending whine of overstressed drives resounded throughout the ship like a pain-filled howl.

“We’re being probed,” Max said, studying the controls.

“It’s okay,” Nick replied. “They’re just scanning our memory for language verification.”

Steel’s shimmering wheel-like image took up half the view screen. Cast against a midnight backdrop, sunlight flickered off its shiny solar panels.

“Message coming through now,” Zeke said as the image of Steel wavered on the screen and gave way to a scrolling message.

WARNING! WARNING! THIS IS A RESTRICTED ZONE UNAUTHORIZED SHIPS HAVE FOUR MINUTES TO VACATE BEFORE BEING FIRED UPON!

Rising from his seat, Nick crossed the helm and glided to a halt behind Zeke. Bracing his six-foot-four-inch frame on slightly spread legs, he retrieved his last cigar, bent his head and lit up. Once again, his mind briefly moved to Tressa and a much more pleasant way of spending what could very well be the final moments of his life.

WARNING! WARNING! THIS IS A RESTRICTED ZONE UNAUTHORIZED SHIPS HAVE FOUR MINUTES TO VACATE BEFORE BEING FIRED UPON!

“Now what?” Zeke asked.

“We wait.”

The silence lengthened.

The tension stretched.

“Weapons Satellite comin’ up in two minutes,” Zeke announced, his voice calm for the circumstances.

Nick lifted his sights and scanned the readouts on the overhead monitors. “Decrease power by twenty percent.”

“Power decreased twenty percent,” Max echoed.

“Steady as she goes.”

Intense silence followed as all eyes were riveted on the main screen.

“Pulse coming through now!” Max quietly stated. A fraction of a second later the WindStar shuddered as an energy pulse slowly slid down the length of her side, setting off a host of klaxons in the process and filling the cabin with a deafening hum.

Another drawn-out moment passed with no one so much as taking a breath.

At last the noise stopped and a monotoned voice announced the long awaited consent. “Vessel 831.68 Tango, cleared for docking.”

A collective sigh filled the room.

“Gentlemen,” Nick said softly. “Welcome to hell.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

Taking the lead, Nick shouldered his way through the crowd. Although Max had insisted he at least try to camouflage himself, dark aviator glasses, black leathers and a gun secured low on his thigh was about as good as it was going to get. That along with his unshaven jaw, he blended in. It was enough.

Just as he remembered, the place was a madhouse of activity. People bustled about. The docking center was teeming with longshoremen, loading and unloading cargo bays. Robotic cargo-handling equipment lifted mysterious containers from darkened holds onto freight sleds, and marketers made their way through the rabble, hocking everything from spare parts to quick sex.

But Steel wasn’t all vendors, hookers and auction arena. Nick knew from past experience that Steel also included several rather pleasant-appearing housing complexes, recreational facilities, and even a large shopping mall for its residents.

Like a private island in the sea of space, Steel was a protected oasis for pirates: a home base for their families, a place where their children could run on playgrounds, where lush plants grew in imported soil beside artificial waterfalls, and tropical trees crested beneath a crystalline-domed ceiling.

Like a gigantic wheel in space, spoke-like corridors traversed Steel’s interior, linking the centralized docking center to any number of destinations within the structure. As planned, Max took off for Laker Metals, while Nick and the others headed for the arena.

“How do you know she’s not still onboard his ship?” Marc asked, easily keeping pace with Nick’s long strides.

“She’s not.” Nick’s tone brooked no discussion as they headed for a lift-tube that would take them to the arena. Soon they entered an enormous circular stadium where a large platform stood in the center, and terraced bidding seats encompassed the perimeter.

* ** Slave auctions ran at intervals, thirty minutes apart. A quick glance at an electronic message center told them that Interval Six was about to begin and the crowd was gathering.

“We’d better find our places,” Nick said, heading for an empty section of box-seats. Zeke slid into a bidding chair and stared at the computerized equipment built into the arm. “Okay, pal, the basics I can figure out, but what’s the process on bidding with this contraption.”

“It’s like this.” Leaning closer, Nick briefly explained the process of using the keypad for placing bids. The highly efficient method was not just confidential, it was damn practical. The idea was, since there was no way of knowing who you were actually bidding against, the auction was kept reasonably peaceful.

Recalling the time he’d tried to rescue the children from their fate, Nick knew first hand what happens when things get unpeaceful. Bored-looking security guards with muscles upon their muscles weren’t just standing around for decoration.

Glancing up, Nick scanned the crowd. “I’m going to take a quick look around.” Turning to Clint, he said, “Would you find out what’s happening between Dad and Laker? We’ve got no idea what kind of credits we’re even working with here…if anything.”

“And if Tressa’s up for bid before you return?” Zeke asked.

“Start without me. I’m not taking any chances. I’m going to pull in a few markers of my own as backup, just in case.”

* **

The sign flashed: AUCTION PLATFORM STAND CLEAR!

Feeling as though her breath had just been cut off, Tressa’s legs gave way. Kendyl’s arm caught her before she fell.

Terrified didn’t even begin to describe it. Bile rose in her throat, and she was about to be sick—again. Swallowing hard, her breath came in quick, shallow gasps, and panic as she’d never known swept through her.

Kendyl nudged her forward. “Move it.” Another push emphasized his impatience.

Registration had entailed more than just filling out forms and releases. For Tressa, it meant being stripped, weighed and measured, and having her vital statistics logged with calloused proficiency.

Dazed, eyes brimming with unshed tears, she’d endured it all with rigid dignity while Kendyl busied himself with auction fees and paperwork.

Someone passed a small scanner across the front of her lower abdomen. “She’s intact,” he called out with cool indifference. “Add a thousand credits onto her base price.”

Numbly, Tressa recalled Kendyl glancing up from his work. At first a raised eyebrow was his only expression. Then the corner of his mouth tipped upward, his pale blue eyes piercing the distance between them.

How could Nick ever have been friends with someone like him, she wondered, much less partners.

“This will come off the minute you’re sold, lass.” A small numbered ID collar was clamped tightly about her neck. Sensing kindness in the man’s tone, Tressa sought his eyes for mercy, but found none. Instead, what she saw was a somewhat bored and scruffy-looking man, old enough to be her father, just doing his job.

“Here, put this on.”

She stared numbly at the flimsy one-piece garment that was shoved into her hands.

“And hurry it up. Show’s ‘bout to begin.”

Tressa vaguely recalled stepping into the filmy outfit and pulling it up over her shoulders. Pushing it into place, however, only pulled it out of place somewhere else. Ultimately, it exposed more than it concealed.

She gasped as her hands were suddenly pulled behind her back and firmly shackled.

“Well, Kendyl, my friend, whatcha got here?” someone said off to her right. The man stepped closer. “Bet ya got a fancy price on ya too, don’t ya sweetheart?”

“A hell of a lot more than you can afford, McKay.” Kendyl caught Tressa by the arm and steered her toward the exit.

The back corridor that led to the arena, was dark. Dim chem-lights, hanging from a low ceiling, cast widely spaced circles of light along the darkened passageway. Though she carried herself as royalty, Tressa was terrified. The sights, the sounds, and the stench assaulted her senses from all angles.

“Keep moving!” A hard shove between her shoulder blades threatened to drop her. Tressa tripped, only to be caught by strong hands and pushed on. They were getting closer. The fanfare of loud music, the uproar of the crowd were all punctuated by shouts from impatient buyers waiting for the auction to begin.

Blinking back tears, she refused to cry. She’d done enough of that already over the last six days. Little good it had done. Kendyl was a man of no compassion. The only thing she could be thankful for was that he had yet to touch her, despite his lewd suggestions of rape and revenge in the very beginning.

The interplanetary bulletin he was clutching when he’d reentered the cabin that first day was the only clue of his sudden change of heart. He’d interrogated her ruthlessly about her relationship with Nick. Refusing to believe that Nick had never had her sexually, Kendyl’s questions had turned crude and humiliating. It was strange how he’d seemed both angry and pleased with her answers—disbelieving yet elated at the same time. But eventually she was moved from his cabin to one of her own, where she spent the remainder of the trip, unmolested.

“Greetings, and welcome to Slave Interval Six!” The voice of the auctioneer boomed out over the arena, echoing back into the darkened corridor. “Need help with that special task? We’ve got just what you’re looking for. And if its pleasure you want, you’re going to like what we have coming up. Guaranteed.”

“Interval Seven, by the way, will be focusing on mining equipment, everything from the latest in force drills to horizontal boring augers, so stick around!

And now…what do you say we get this show rolling?”

The crowd roared and the doors opened briefly to admit the first two people in line.

Nausea swept over Tressa at the glimpse she received of the lusty crowd. Laser lights flashed wildly back and forth over their heads. Once again she turned to Kendyl, trembling, eyes bleak.

“No Tressa. You’ve already thrown-up twice,” he said, as though reading her mind. ‘There’s nothing left in you. Now move it!” He nudged her forward, closing the gap in the lineup of human merchandise.

Never had she felt so hopeless. Even if she could escape, where would she run? And rescue was out of the question. No one knew where she was. Besides, who would rescue her? Nick certainly wouldn’t. He’d made it perfectly clear he wanted her out of his life. In fact, the bastard was probably still celebrating.

Were you expecting more? Hoping that just maybe he’d be filled with undying gratitude for your part in the rescue? For those long hours at his bedside, mopping the sweat from his fevered brow, tending to his wounds, even suffering his agony along with him? You weren’t hoping for some sort of... c o mm it me nt, were you? The small voice in her head laughed. From Nick Banner?

Stiffening at the memory of his rejection, Tressa vowed she was far from defeated. Her body might be sold, but they’d never own her spirit. Never.

The doors opened. The line moved forward and two more people were ushered through. Again, the auctioneer’s voice thundered into the back ranks as he announced the next items coming up.

Kendyl nudged her forward. Things were moving quickly.

“Look at me.” A firm grip on her jaw forced her head around.

Blinking back tears. Tressa stood, frozen in place, as Kendyl’s icy gaze moved over her in critical scrutiny.

Ever so slowly his mouth curved into a chilling smile. “That’s right, honey. You just keep that lower lip trembling. It’ll drive ’em nuts. Now, when you get out there,” he continued, “you do nothing but stand there or you’ll regret it. You hear me?”

Tressa simply stared at him, and before she knew it the doors opened again. The strobe lights flashed and the auctioneer began his spiel.

“Ahh….Next, we have the epitome of perfection. Imagine this warming your bed at night.”

Suddenly blood-stirring music began to flood the accoustic system—the pounding primitive beat warming up an already agitated crowd. Tressa swallowed a cry of sheer terror as a guard grabbed her by the arm, propelling her through the set of double doors and up a flight of metal stairs.

The crowd’s reaction was loud and lusty as brazen suggestions were shouted out.

Her stomach revolted and once again she choked down the nausea, shivering as trickles of sweat inched their way down her back and between her breasts.

Pleading words of mercy died in her throat as she was ushered across the platform. There would be no mercy from this crowd, no compassion, no pity—only the vilest of intentions.

“And by the way,” the auctioneer continued, “this little package has never been opened, my friends. A rare find here at the arena.!”

Tressa’s knees weakened as once again the crowd was incited, reacting loudly with even more whistles and hungry calls.

“She’s a bargain at a base of twenty thousand credits. Now, do I hear an opening bid?”

The bidding began. “I’ve got twenty thousand. Do I hear another?”

“Twenty-one, five! Who will give me twenty-two…twenty-two…

“Twenty-two! Do I hear twenty-two, five…five…five!”

“Ah we have twenty-two five!…”

Finding a sliver of strength, Tressa hung on. Lifting her chin in defiance, she turned her gaze into the crowd, nailing those with whom her eyes touched and challenging each one with a glare that blatantly told them they might buy her but they’d never own her.

“Twenty-four…four…”

Nick…?

The noise. The frenzied crowd, the auctioneer’s impetuous voice suddenly faded from Tressa’s awareness.

Nick!

Time seemed to stop as she lifted her sights against the blinding lights and rows of grizzled faces.

He’s here! A chill streaked down her back at the sudden awareness.