Lighting the Fire Part 3
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“He’s what?” Kramer couldn’t believe her ears. She’d heard a lot of things in her time in the Alliance Navy. But this? “Shi! When did they start doin’ this? This was not happening when we left!”
She glanced around the bridge at her crew. Connelly looked as shocked as she, but the man was thinking past it.
“We should get ourselves checked out, just in case,” he said.
That’s my XO, still thinking while his shit-brained Captain’s still picking up the pieces. That’s why he’s my XO.
“Yes,” Kramer replied immediately, pulling herself together. She’d never been so flustered. “I’m sure we’re clean, else they’d’ve already fragged us out of the sky. But, yes, we’ll both get checked.”
She saw Chen looking at all of them.
“You don’t think they’ve been….using us all along to chase down Resistance members, do you?” he asked, saying what no one wanted to mention.
From the mouths of babes…. Kramer drew breath to deny it, but her XO beat her to it.
“Sometimes a conspiracy theory isn’t so farfetched,” he said, looking at her. Not likely, his look said. Then he shook his head and turned to the kid. “No, Chen. I don’t think that’s the case. The Captain’s right—they’d have already shot us down or taken captive more of the people we’ve had contact with if that was true. But we’ll check ourselves out. Better safe than sorry.”
“You heard the man,” Kramer said, collected and able to think again. She grabbed the comm and put it on ship-wide. “All ex-military members of the crew need to report to medical ASAP.” She cradled the handset and jerked her head at Connolly. “Brief the doc on what he’s looking for. Chen, get to work scrambling our signal and getting us under an alternate ID. We need to ditch our tail, the bastards.”
With Chen gainfully occupied and Connelly likewise off the bridge, she turned to her remaining crewmember.
“Earhart. You got any more good news for me?”
“Our contact, Carter? He’s been on his feet for a couple of weeks from what I can gather. Breaking Li has pushed his timetable up, so he’ll be able to hit the rack shortly. Permission to give him access to the crew shower as well?” Nika gave her Captain a wan grin. “Poor guy looks like he could use a hot shower, a hot meal, and a warm bed. Not necessarily in that order.”
Kramer remembered him standing not ten feet from this spot on the deck, asking for assistance from her crew with the mountain dirt still clinging to him and had thought at the time he’d looked like any number of men she’d seen in this damned bloody conflict—honed to a razor’s edge by desperation and hardship, hardened by the necessity to kill, alive by dint of talent, training, and no small amount of paranoia. He’d coordinated the extraction with Harbinger and gone into hostile territory alone, coming out with his target as ordered and wresting from that target information that would save their asses from getting caught and hung.
He’d had help. Kramer knew Nika could be as ruthless and competent as the situation warranted. In truth, her pilot was looking a little tight around the edges. Whatever they’d done had been hard on her. If she wasn’t mistaken, that was blood crusting Nika’s hands. But the bulk of the work had been on his shoulders alone. Had he been a member of her crew, she’d have ordered him to stand down long ago, but Kramer knew how this sort of job worked: He’d still be at it for at least another hour, long after he’d wanted nothing more than to drop and be buried where he fell.
“Granted.” Kramer nodded. “Tell him to avail himself of any amenity the ship has to offer. Set it up for him.”
Her pilot thus dismissed, Kramer called their co-pilot to the bridge. She turned to Chen next, and started pulling up the alternate IDs Carter has brought along with their fake pinger. There should be one in the half-dozen or so they could use…
Nika left the bridge and saw that her hands were still bloody. Dried threads of the red stuff clung to her knuckles and nails. She grabbed a water bottle on the way back to the airlock and dampened her bandana with it, scrubbing her hands clean again. Or cleaner anyway, she reckoned, inspecting her hands front and back. She capped the bottle, shoved her bandana back into her hip pocket and checked the airlock. Fraiser was still in there, carefully pulling Li’s trousers over the bandage across the man’s hip. Li was still handcuffed and chained, making Fraiser’s job tougher and conscience prompted Nika to do something about it. She grabbed the requisite keys from the nearby arms locker, retrieved the water bottle from where she’d left it on the deck, and entered the airlock.
Li glared daggers at her but said nothing. He only winced as Fraiser got to work on the rough field dressing Nika had improvised on his arm.
“How’re you doin’, Li? Fraiser doin’ right by you?” Nika asked, maintaining an easy stride as if she hadn’t noticed Li’s expression.
“Christ, Nika, you carved him up like a turkey. Hadda put sixteen stitches in that hip of his. And his arm ain’t lookin’ like it’s gonna avoid getting’ any, either. What the hell were you thinkin’?”
“I’m thinkin’ of getting Li out of those cuffs, if you’d just step aside a blessed minute and let me do it,” Nika snorted. Fraiser might be a callow kid compared to her, but he was a pro when it came to his patients.
“Gimme the keys,” he said, thrusting out a hand for them. He caught them neatly when she tossed them and got busy with the cuffs. A click, a clatter, a crash of the chain, and Li stood rubbing his wrists, finally freed of his bonds. Fraiser tossed the keys back and Nika shoved them into her pocket.
“Hard-nosed bitch,” Fraiser groused, continuing his work on Li’s arm. “Get a chair for him or something, willya?”
“I brought water,” she held up the bottle and shook it. Li looked up sharply at the sloshing sound. “Will that do?”
“Sure. It shouldn’t hurt him. Drink it slow, you’ll sick it up otherwise,” Fraiser added to his patient as he threaded another suture onto his needle.
Nika unscrewed the cap and held out the water bottle.
“Bitch.” Li took the bottle from her and threw it back in her face before she could duck. “I was cooperating with you! I didn’t lie. I told you the truth. I’d told the Feds nothing. I had the intel on everything and I was ready to give it up! You didn’t have to fuckin’ cut me to get me to talk!”
Nika rescued the bottle from the deck and capped it, dripping from her dousing. She straightened, calmly gave the bottle to Fraiser, and exited the airlock without a word. Carter was leaning against the bulkhead outside, examining his booted toes.
Shit. How much of that did he see?
“Can I go in?” Carter tilted his head toward the airlock. If he noticed the water dripping off her onto the deck, he gave no sign of it and Nika was grateful for it.
“Knock yourself out. Fraiser’s got a bark on him, but he doesn’t bite. He shouldn’t get in your way. What are you going to do?”
Carter quirked a humorless grin at her and held up a slim data book.
“Talk.”
He moved for the door and she stepped aside to let him pass. She got a nod from him as he went through. Regret hit her then, bone-deep and bitter, and she paused a moment against the bulkhead. The corridor was empty. She was alone. No one would see the tears prickling beneath her eyelashes or see her wipe them away. Inside the airlock was a man she’d cut up on another man’s orders, being tended by yet a third who had seen too many legitimate wounds to believe Li had come by his honestly. There would be no hiding what she’d done. At the time it had been deemed necessary, and though she could play the game with the best of them . . . Despite what Li or Fraiser believed, she’d taken no pleasure in it. It dishonored her steel, it sullied her character, and it bit at her soul. Breathing deeply to quell her self-recrimination, Nika grit her teeth and pushed off the bulkhead. Carter would need a few things if he was going to hit the crew shower later. She reckoned she had something that didn’t smell too girly for him to use.
Two hours later, Mike shut down his recorder and closed up his data book. Li had given him solid intel all the way and as he stowed his equipment, Mike was already thinking of the possibilities Li had given the Independents. Hell, he was no intel analyst and he was brain-fried to boot. Let the desk spooks figure it out. Mike’s job here was done.
“What happens now?” Li wanted to know, looking up from the deck as Mike rose.
“Whatever the Captain decides.” Mike didn’t miss Li glancing at the outer airlock door. He knew what the man had to be thinking. Sighing at Li’s paranoia and yet unable to condemn him for it, Mike opened a line to the bridge via the wall comm and requested an escort to take their guest to suitable quarters. Kramer acknowledged immediately, and two shakes later Li was hustled out of there toward what Mike hoped was a soft bed somewhere quiet.
The airlock stood empty and Mike lingered in it, letting the events of the past twenty-four hours fall away. Memories clung tenaciously, goaded by his conscience. It was an old pain, and he was used to it and not for the first time Mike wondered if there would come a day when his conscience would finally fall silent. He knew what would be left of him when that happened and Mike sent up a quick prayer to stave it off.
Just a little while longer. Please, just a little.
He wasn’t surprised to see the pilot waiting for him when he stepped outside. Mike swept a look down the length and breadth of her, comparing the woman he’d briefly seen before going into the airlock to the woman who waited for him now. Li’s reprisal with the water bottle had rattled her; this wasn’t her usual gig. She was holding up, though, and doing a damn good job of compartmentalizing.
“Get what you need?” she asked him.
He kept his tone light when he closed up the airlock and leaned against the hatch.
“More than, actually. What the hell did you say to him?” He ran a hand through his hair and gauged her reaction. “He sang like the proverbial fat lady at final curtain.”
“I just told him that I liked cutting on guys, that I thought they were all liars.” She shrugged nonchalantly and gave him a wickedly amused smile that didn’t quite touch her eyes. “And that it makes me hot and bothered.”
His gaze on her was intent. “If you ever decide to switch careers, look me up.” Mike put out a hand. “You’ve shaved a day off my timetable. Thank you.”
“Glad I could help,” she replied quietly. “Maybe you should use the extra day to catch a little downtime. Looks like you could use it, Michael Carter.”
Her grip was confident when she shook his hand. She might not be an intelligence agent, but she’d handled herself like a pro. Still, her eyes were shuttered, hinting at the hurt the job had dealt her. War was hell, Mike knew, but sometimes you caught a break and the right person stepped in at the right time. Hard on the heels of that realization came another. He wanted her. He wanted, intensely, to ease the emotional toll of the day—hers and his own. Would she be offended if she knew?
“I’ll call it in.” Mike went still, his eyes never leaving hers. “As for when and where…I believe the lady chooses, Nika Earhart.”
When his body language shifted, Nika instinctively went still, reacting to the sudden sense of awareness that arced between them. That hadn’t been quite what she meant. She'd been offering a place to rest, a hot shower, and some real food. But his words sent heat scorching through her. He was a good-looking man, with a smile--when he managed one--that made her stomach flutter. And ... he understood. She could see it in his eyes. There was no pity, just comprehension. And the open-ended offer. Yes. As simply as that, with nothing more than a softening of her gaze and a faint easing of her expression to a gentle half-smile, she gave him her answer. As her hand slipped out of his, she merely nodded to him.
"Go make your calls," she said quietly.
It took her no more than five minutes to retrieve the small backpack she'd prepped earlier with shower items, sling it to her shoulder and go aft to his cubby. Leaning on the bulkhead, she asked in a voice pitched not to carry, “Use a little company?”
“‘Use’? Not quite the word I’d’a chosen,” he said, flicking a glance at her as he shut everything down. He stood and eyed the corridor they were in. “The hallway’s not what I’d’a chosen, neither. You got a twenty in mind, cherie?”
His words warmed her and Nika offered him a slow, somehow sweet, smile. “Thanks,” she said softly. “Seems like most would find it pretty damn appropriate. C’mon.” She jerked her head sideways, toward the far end of the corridor.
Mike studied her from behind as she led the way. He’d noticed earlier that she was an attractive woman—slender, willowy, a bit taller than average. What had caught his attention most, however, was that braid hanging down her back. Doubled up under itself, it still hung halfway to her waist and now that he had time to contemplate it, he was looking forward to running his hands through that mass of blond hair . . . Long hair on a woman was a huge turn-on, and so few women kept it that way in the Resistance. Not practical at all. Nope.
Nika gestured for him to precede her into the room, glancing down the corridor to be sure it was clear. There was no one around, thank God. Shyla frowned on this behavior on board. She followed him into the small space, closing the door tightly behind her and leaning on it. “Got you permission to use the crew shower. Thought the hot water’d be a good way to relax. But it seems like you got something better in mind,” she said with that faint half-smile again.
It was tight in the crew head. Carter bracketed her with a hand on either side and leaned in. She could feel the heat rising off him and her skin started to prickle deliciously. His eyes were steady on hers as he murmured, “Last chance to back out.”
Hell, no.
She let the backpack containing towels and shower supplies slide off her arm and grabbed him by the hips, pulling him closer into the curve of her body. His hands were on her then, roaming up her back, down her sides, over her ribs as he nuzzled her neck, inhaling her scent. She nipped his ear.
“You gonna take all day, cherie?” she teased lightly, her lips quirking into a grin.
He chuckled, low and throaty. “For a woman to a man, the word is ‘cher’. It means ‘my dear.’” His cheek skimmed down hers for a delicate lick at the base of her neck, and he breathed in that honey-smooth accent, “If you got a feast in front of you, why rush it?”
He wanted time to merely breathe her in? It gave Nika an entrancing moment to ponder what this man might be like as a lover when they had someplace other than a cramped head to indulge themselves. That and the fact that he didn’t like the idea that he was using her? Yeah... she could grow to really like him. She buried her face in the curve of his neck and let herself relax to stroke his lower back. Then he kissed her, a soft tender kiss that exploded into blinding heat and there were no more words, no more capacity for thought. Clothes were a momentary impediment quickly dealt with. When they were finally skin to skin, she muffled a soft sigh against his shoulder. Their hands were everywhere at once; hard and fast seemed the likeliest outcome.
Then he slowed down, seizing the moment to undo her braid. He said nothing as he did it, spreading the silky strands to slide through his fingers, marveling at the weight and texture of it. It had been a long time since he’d enjoyed the pleasure of stroking a woman’s hair and the feel of it in his hands made her real to him—not just a means to satiate a need, but a living breathing woman offering both of them peace and comfort in the short time allowed them.
Nika tipped her head back and let him enjoy his guilty pleasure—the gentle pull of a man’s hands in her long hair always gave her a lush sense of decadence. She felt a small pang of regret, knowing that these few stolen minutes of passion were all she’d share with him; he had depths she’d have liked to plumb. When he tilted her chin to kiss her, the urgency reigned once more.
Their lovemaking was punctuated by soft murmurs and whispers, muffled by necessity against a shoulder or arm. At some point, she had the presence of mind to push him back to turn on the shower, both to heat the water (and the room), but also to better mask the sounds they made when one or the other bumped the door or bulkhead in the tiny confines of the room.
He took his cue from her response, and though he wasn’t rough with her, he was thorough. For the first time in weeks, maybe months, he’d left the real world at the door and stolen some time to reaffirm what remained of his humanity, salvaging a piece of his soul with this woman, this soldier, who’d flown into hell for him. When it was over, he cradled her in the curve of his body, pressed to her back as the hot water poured over them both. He bowed his head and kissed her temple gently, exhausted but renewed. She turned into his kiss and he held her, reluctant to give up the peace they’d found together.
“You gonna be okay?” Mike asked quietly when they finally let go. “I was afraid you might swoon on me there, cherie,” he teased with a faint smile, holding duty at bay a few seconds longer.
“Not entirely sure your fear was invalid,” Nika replied with a soft laugh as they slipped apart. She tipped her head back into the spray, letting the water push her hair down—it was a mess from his hands going through it and it would be a pain in the ass to comb out, but she wouldn’t have traded those sensual moments for anything. “But that was just about the nicest way to end a day I’ve had in a long while,” she murmured, cupping his face in her hands.
“You’re welcome.” Mike smoothed her hair back and kissed her forehead—an oddly chaste gesture after the carnal action they’d engaged in. “And thank you.”
Nika smiled gently and closed her eyes. They stood there for a moment with her forehead against his lips. “No,” she replied softly, pulling away to look at him. “Thank you. This wasn’t what I meant when I said you needed downtime. But sometimes a moment’s respite is all we get to renew the spirit.” Her education showed through her vocabulary, despite her effort to hide it, and she saw something shift behind his eyes when he caught it.
“Si Deus volo, cherie.” He tilted her chin upward for one last kiss and stepped back. “You're right. It is.”
Mike quit the shower and dried off briskly, donning his clothing and strapping his emotional armor back in place. “Respite,” she’d said. It was an apt word, and it never meant ‘forever.’ He didn’t waste Nika’s time with whispered trifles or promises both knew he couldn’t keep. Mike had learned long ago that war was a brutal business and had little room in it for sentiment. He simply checked to see if the coast was clear and left her the luxury of the shower and a quick exit, but her words stayed with him, lightening the burden of duty when he took it up again.
“The package is on schedule. Should get to you as planned,” Mike said, back in his cubby and winding up his report via secured ’wave to Winfield.
“Tell me about the squealers.”
“It’s a tracker. Pings like a pulse beacon. Explains how the Feds always found us when we took prisoners.”
“Send it over and I’ll get our tech-heads on it. Let them figure it out.”
“Will do.”
Silence. Then Winfield cleared his throat:
“You look like shit, Mike.”
“Thank you, sir.”
Winfield barked a laugh.
“I reckon you feel a whole lot shittier than you look.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Disappear for a while. Get back to me in seven. I’ll put you to work then.”
The screen went black.
A minute later, Mike was dead asleep in his chair, with his legs crossed and propped on the console. He didn’t wake when one of the crew threw a blanket over him, and he slept on til the Harbinger made the rendezvous six hours later.
