Starflight (Starflight, #1)(20)
Once his eyes adjusted to the brightness, he scanned the control panel until he found a red bull’s-eye with the acronym SLATS stenciled above it—Solar League Auto Tracking System. He pulled his way closer and dipped his finger into the circular depression where the tracker belonged. The port was empty, just as Solara had said.
“Damn it,” he whispered.
Leave it to her to book them on a ship full of fugitives.
As much as he hated it, she was right. Revealing his identity to this crew was as smart as sticking his arm in an ore grinder. Just like the others, they’d hear the name Spaulding and see easy credits. His dad loved him enough to pay the ransom, but Doran wouldn’t put either of them through that hell again.
Never again.
Somehow he would have to let his father know he was safe, then lie low until the next outpost. His dad would send a private shuttle, maybe even pilot it himself to make sure everything was all right. That was what he’d done last year—walked right out of a shareholders meeting to fetch Doran from spring break during a mutated flu pandemic. Any other man would have sent an assistant. Not Richard Spaulding. He might be ruthless when it came to business, never hesitating to slash thousands of jobs to raise profits, but he believed in putting his son first. And unlike most men of his stature, he backed it up with action.
In a sudden flood of relief, Doran remembered it was his father who’d sent him to Obsidian, for a job that was classified, not illegal. His vacation with Ava had been a ruse to throw off the competition. Once they arrived at the beach, he was supposed to send her home and retrieve a private ship, then continue to a set of coordinates and await further instructions. Now that the original plan had changed, maybe he and his father could travel there together.
Doran blew out a breath. Everything would be all right.
In the meantime, he’d have to play the part of Solara’s manservant. The idea made his jaw clench. What were the odds of them sharing a bedroom for the next few days without killing each other?
About as likely as him admiring her toes ever again.
After closing the pilothouse door, he followed the sounds of fists against steel to the impromptu holding cell he’d created on the bottom floor. He released his prisoner with a warning: “Try anything and I’ll shove you in the garbage chute, where you belong.”
The little rat drifted into the open, shooting daggers with her eyes while her hair snaked out in all directions. Her nostrils flared as she heaved a furious breath. Now that she’d dropped the whole innocent act, she reminded him of Medusa. Which fit her true nature a whole lot better. “Well?” she forced through her teeth. “Believe me now?”
He refused to acknowledge the question, instead turning and launching himself toward the stairs. “I’d estimate we’re at least two days from the nearest outpost. If we’re going to coexist until then, we need to establish some ground rules.”
She smirked and followed. “I’ll take that as a yes.”
“Rule number one, I’ll keep the stunner,” he said, holding out his palm. The weapon might come in handy if the crew discovered his identity.
“No way.” She pressed a protective hand to her side pocket. “How do I know you won’t use it on me?”
“Because unlike you, I’m not a lowlife convict.” When she hesitated, he told her, “This is nonnegotiable.”
“Fine. It only has one use left anyway.” She tossed the button-like device into the air between them. “Rule number two,” Solara said. “We’re not sleeping together.”
A snort of derision tore from his throat. “As if I’d share a bed with you.”
“Then enjoy the floor.”
“Why shouldn’t you take the floor?”
She flashed a dimple at him. “Because I’m not the one at risk for ransom.”
Anger flushed his skin. He couldn’t believe he’d ever thought she had an honest face. “You’re a real masterpiece, aren’t you? How many of my credits did you steal at that outpost?”
“Hey, at least I didn’t leave you stranded there—like you tried to do to me.”
“Clearly you would’ve been fine.”
“If that’s what you think, then clearly you’re a pampered horse’s ass!”
“You don’t know anyth—”
A distant throat clearing interrupted their argument, and Doran turned to find Captain Rossi making his way toward them in the spry movements of a man accustomed to zero gravity, twice as quick in the air than on his feet. Doran studied the captain for any sign that he’d overheard something incriminating, but the only emotion etched on his wrinkled face was annoyance.
Solara waved. “We were just coming to wake you. I fixed your gravity drive.”
Rossi’s furry gray brows jumped.
“I’ll bet you didn’t know,” Doran said to dispel suspicion, “that our Miss Brooks is a budding engineer.”
The captain turned his dark eyes on her, but he didn’t say a word. He simply stared until the silence grew awkward, then drew a sudden breath and said, “There’s not much I do know about our Miss Brooks. I think it’s time to remedy that.”
Solara paled a few shades and nodded. Judging by the twitch of her feet, she looked ready to pitch herself out the air-lock—a decision Doran fully endorsed.