Starflight (Starflight, #1)(30)
“Better the devil you know…”
“I’ll take my chances alone,” he decided. If nothing else, at least he would shake those Daeva.
Solara made a face that said, It’s your funeral, then lay back with both hands folded behind her head. “So what did you do?” she asked. “And don’t give me that crank about being innocent, because I don’t buy it.”
Doran pointed at her gloved knuckles. “What did you do?”
As usual, that question put her on edge. “None of your business.”
“In that case,” he said with a sardonic grin, “I’m innocent.”
She blew out a frustrated breath and flopped onto her side, facing the wall.
Even though she didn’t believe him, Doran had told the truth. He’d always kept his nose clean for the benefit of the Spaulding shareholders. He couldn’t count the number of invitations he’d turned down for wild weekends with his friends at the red-light cities, where a few hundred credits would buy enough debauchery to last a lifetime. And that wasn’t even illegal. Plus he’d graduated with honors from the most prestigious academy in Texas—all while balancing varsity football and an internship at his father’s company.
The indictment had to be a mistake.
“Why Obsidian?” Solara asked. “That’s not where fugitives go to lie low.”
Again, he had to admit she was right. The Obsidian Beaches drew more tourists than Planet Disney. But that was where his father had planted the ship, and unless Doran managed to reach him and make other arrangements, it would have to work. “I don’t know all the details, but this job is top priority. My father said he didn’t trust anyone else to handle it.”
Solara rolled over to face him. “That sounds cryptic.”
“Not really,” he said. “Part of my internship was to visit new planets and bring back ore samples for research. The company kept those missions quiet to discourage competition.”
“But the timing is suspicious, don’t you think? How do you know this secret job isn’t related to your indictment?”
“Because my father wouldn’t do that to me,” he told her. “Plus there’s no reason to do anything shady when we already control the League’s fuel supply.”
“Successful people can be greedy. They always want more.”
The hypocrisy of that statement shocked a chuckle out of him. “You’re wearing a necklace literally made from my stolen money, and you’re lecturing me about greed?”
She sat up so fast he thought she might charge him. He flinched back, but she stayed in bed and brought both hands behind her neck to untie the leather cord.
“Here,” she said, thrusting the necklace at him. “It’s all yours.”
He took the fuel chips before she changed her mind. “This doesn’t make us even,” he said while stuffing them in his pocket.
“Oh, we’ll never be even.” Her eyes glinted with something wicked. “But that won’t stop me from trying.” Lounging back against her pillow, she ordered, “Bring me a cup of tea.”
“Excuse me?”
“Tea,” she repeated. “Now.”
“Get your own damned tea.”
“Doran,” she warned, “on a regular day, I want to push you in front of a bullet tram. But today I was robbed of spiced berries and then handed a suicide pill. So don’t test me.”
Clenching his jaw, he told her, “Fine. You want tea? I’ll make it extra special for you.”
He stormed to the galley and rummaged in the cabinets until he found a tea bag. He’d never brewed tea before, but he understood the basic concept: fill a cup with hot water and dunk the bag in it a few times. He returned to their room ten minutes later, tin mug in hand.
“Drink it,” he said, then leaned down and added, “I dare you.”
The tea wasn’t contaminated, but she didn’t need to know that.
She handed back the mug while her face turned red with rage. If steam had poured from her ears, it wouldn’t have surprised him. “I can’t wait until you’re gone,” she ground out.
“Well then,” Doran said. “We do have something in common.”
Doran spent the next couple of days avoiding everything on two legs, which wasn’t easy when his least favorite pair was regularly stretched out on the bed above him.
Right now Solara was sleeping facedown with her limbs sprawled across the mattress and one bare foot hanging off the edge. She mumbled something in her sleep and punched through the blanket, then drifted off again with her fist dangling above Doran’s head.
As if a double bed weren’t enough, she had to invade his floor space, too?
He frowned at her gloves, wondering if she ever took the blasted things off. Knowing her, she probably wore them in the shower. Whatever she’d done must’ve been heinous if she refused to let anyone see her conviction codes. And if that was the case, he’d made the right call by terminating their contract. He wished he’d caught a better look at her tattoos on the Zenith because the curiosity was killing him.
After today, it won’t matter, he reminded himself. I’ll never see her again.
Good riddance.
He ignored the sudden heaviness in his stomach and cleared his pallet from the floor. With any luck, he’d sleep on a real bed tonight—in a room all to himself. Maybe with an adjoining bathroom and unlimited shower privileges. Funny how, a week ago, he never would’ve considered bathing a luxury. Now he’d trade all the champagne in the quadrant for one long, steamy shower.