Fontanas Trouble (10 page)

A mind reader as well as smart.
“And that disrupter you have pointed at me might not be real,” she said.

He shifted the weapon and fired a
shot at the wall to her left.

Okay,” Fontana said. “It’s real.”
She sighed and tore open the package. The brown wrapper floated to the floor as
she shook out the full-length raincoat in front of her.

“Damn,” she murmured. A mental
picture flashed of Brent racing down the alley outside of Spacer Jack’s,
coattails flapping against his legs. Ridiculous laughter bubbled up. She’d been
foolish not to open the package before leaving.

Fontana looked at the man
pointing the weapon at her. “I’m supposed to wear this?”

Pete looked up. “What is it?”

“A London Fog trench coat.”

He screwed his face up in
distaste and went back to the contents of the duffel.

“Pete doesn’t like it,” the man
with the weapon said.

“Of course not,” Fontana said,
and thought she would laugh herself silly.

Chapter Thirteen

Fontana cast a glance over her
shoulder at the man pointing the nerve disrupter at her, then stepped out the
back door of the pet shop into the alley. He slammed the door shut behind her,
and the lock clicked into place. Pete and his buddy thought she’d lost her
mind, but she’d finally collected herself well enough to appeal to their sense
of fairness one last time—she’d figured it was useless, but the situation was
so ridiculous, she couldn’t discount the possibility they might have a
conscience after all. She ran her gaze down the front of the trench coat, which
was buttoned to her neck. They didn’t have a conscience.

As it turned out, they were the
owners of the pet store. In retrospect, that fact was the one thing that did
make sense. She’d wondered who would own a pet shop on the fantasy resort, and
she’d found out: two very bad businessmen who liked wearing women’s clothing.
Why they didn’t have the resort make clothes for them, she couldn’t fathom. It
wasn’t like her clothes would fit either man, though the smaller man would look
pretty funny squeezed into her underwear.

The idea still had her fighting
laughter, as much because of the ridiculousness of the situation as to ward off
the pain. The last thing she wanted to think about was Brent. But here she was,
wearing the coat she’d stolen when he’d streaked through Spacer Jack’s. Hell,
she was even in an alley. Fontana cast a dubious glance at the door behind her.
The way her luck was going, shock troopers could blow the door any minute. She
snorted. Dammit, the fantasy resort had her spooked. Was every guest’s
experience as strange as hers? She glanced both ways down the alley, then
headed to the right toward the spaceport.

Half an hour later, Fontana stood
on the promenade outside a café and shook hands with Rodin, captain of the
Stardust
Cruiser
. He’d agreed to take her as far as Xrakor in exchange for two
thousand credits. They would leave dock in forty-five minutes. His eyes shifted
past her, then widened. Fontana turned. Two men approached. One man, dressed in
a white turtleneck, black jacket, and pants, was clearly some sort of security
officer. The other man was average-looking, in a flowery, short-sleeved shirt
and shorts.

“Who’s on your ass?” Rodin
hissed.

“Stephaney,” Fontana murmured.

“Who?”

Rodin’s demand was cut off by the
man wearing shorts. “See,” he said in a shrill voice as they stopped in front
of her. “She’s so brazen, she’s even
wearing
the coat!”

Fontana blinked.

“I want my coat,” he snapped.

“Hold on, sir,” the security
officer said, his gaze on her. “I’m Carson Wang, resort security.”

“Resort security?” Fontana
mimicked like a stupid mynah bird. He couldn’t be serious.

He held up a gold badge embossed
with a hologram. The hologram in the badge pictured his head, rotating from a
front view to a profile view. Stats scrolled in tiny letters too small for her
to read in one bottom corner as a full-body picture rotated through a full 360
degrees in the other corner.

“A rent-a-cop?” Fontana shifted
her attention to his face. “A rent-a-cop tracked me down over a coat?” She
looked at the other man. “You’re the owner?” This was even more ridiculous than
clothing thieves in a pet store. “Why not just have the resort wardrobe center
make you another one?”

He looked exasperated. “The coat
is handmade from Earth. I want it back.”

“I’m sorry,” Carson said, “but
you can’t leave until we resolve this.”

“Just give us the coat.” The
owner grabbed her sleeve.

Fontana yanked free. “I can’t.”

“You see.” His voice rose. “She
thinks that because she’s young and pretty, she can get away with theft.”

She looked at the security
officer. “What’s going on? Why chase me down for a coat?” And how had they
found her?

“The coat is valued at twelve
thousand credits,” Carson said. “That makes this larceny.”

“Larceny?” she repeated, once
again feeling like a damn mynah bird. “You must be kidding!”

Carson pulled a stick from his
back pocket and unrolled its screen to the size of a makeup mirror. It lit up,
showing an insurance appraisal for one London Fog raincoat, with genuine lambs
wool liner, worth twelve thousand credits.

Twelve thousand credits was more
than she made in a year. “I suppose you’ll arrest me if I don’t return the
coat?”

His brows furrowed in surprise,
and she couldn’t blame him. She was wearing the coat. Why not just hand it
over?

Fontana couldn’t help herself and
asked, “What’s the jail time for nudity in a public place?”

His frown deepened.

She glanced over her shoulder at
Rodin. He was gone. Goddamn him. She was betting he’d moved up his departure
time to
now
. Fontana faced the men.

The owner of the coat glowered.
Whether she gave them the coat or not, Carson would arrest her. If she ran, he
would have her description plastered across every law enforcement and
communication device on the space station in sixty seconds. If she stripped off
the coat, he wouldn’t need to get her picture on the wire. The riot that would
follow her would tell him exactly where she was. Still, she might get lost in
the uproar.

Fontana shrugged. Slowly, she
unbuttoned the bottom buttons hip high, then did the same from the neck down.
Careful to keep the coat closed, she started to unbutton the last button. What
would Brent think about the fact she was about to run naked through Sagitariun?
Suspicion flickered in Carson’s eyes. Fontana flashed a smile, then stripped
off the coat and threw it at him. The coat owner screamed like a woman. Carson
blinked; then his eyes narrowed in the instant before she whirled.

Fontana sprinted down the
boardwalk. A group of men halted outside a café and jostled into one another in
an effort to get a better look as she streaked past. Fontana glanced over her
shoulder. The men had moved toward the center of the walkway to better see her.
Several other small clusters of gawkers stood sprinkled across the path, still
as stone. Carson wasn’t giving chase. A loud catcall drew her attention ahead.
Two young men and a woman leered as she approached. Fontana veered right onto a
narrow street.

If Carson had called ahead to
have her intercepted on the promenade, she needed to stay off the main
boardwalk. Her first priority was to find some clothes. Would she have better
luck sneaking into a private quarter on the habitat deck? Maybe she could find
something that would offer enough of a disguise to get her to the docks without
being noticed.

Someone had gone to a lot of
trouble to keep her from leaving Sagitariun. Was that someone Stephaney, and
was she trying to keep Fontana from being there when Jenny arrived home on
Earth? Was there more to what had happened with the Track Cartel than what
Fontana already knew? A large arm shot out of a small, open storefront door and
seized her. Fontana grabbed the arm as she was dragged inside. They went down,
him on top of her. Fontana drew her fisted hand back to strike the side of his
head.

“Fawn.”

She froze at the sound of the
familiar male voice, and Brent’s face snapped into focus only centimeters from
her face. He grinned.

“What are you doing here?” she
demanded.

“I could ask you the same thing.”
He lifted a brow. “Running naked in public? How’d you manage that?”

“That damn coat,” she muttered.

Amusement flickered in his eyes;
then he jerked his head up when shouts rose in the lane outside the shop. The
sound of feet pounding on the ground echoed on the walkway. His arms tightened
around her, and he heaved, rolling them to the side and out of view of the
door. He stopped the roll, still on top of her. They remained motionless as
half a dozen men sped past the shop.

Brent looked at her. “For you?”

Fontana shoved at his chest. “Get
off me.”

He undulated his hips against
hers. “I like this.”

He was an actor playing a part,
but the knowledge –- along with the awareness of his chest pressed against her
naked breasts and his growing erection—only deepened the pain.

“How did you find me?”

“Ahmed told me you’d checked out
of the hotel. I figured you’d be at the spaceport.” He grinned. “I could see
you from above, a quarter of the way around the alley, streaking like a
jaybird.”

“I’ve got a transport to catch,”
she said.

“Not until you tell me why you’re
leaving—and without saying good-bye.”

“There’s no need to pretend
anymore. I know you’re part of my fantasy.”

He frowned. “We’ve been through
this. I’m—”

She shook her head. “Don’t.”

“What’s going on, Fawn? Why leave
without saying good-bye?”

The question reached his eyes and
twisted the knife deeper into her heart. He was good. Real good. How had the
resort’s scenario algorithm known she would chase him through Spacer Jack’s?
Computers weren’t gods. They could no more predict she’d grab that raincoat
than they could predict she’d be waylaid by two of the strangest criminals
she’d ever encountered and be forced to wear nothing but the raincoat she’d
stolen. They couldn’t possibly know she would duck into that shop. Could they?
Quantum
computing of infinite scenarios simultaneously
. The meaningless words came
back from a briefing she’d attended once, gods knew when. Fontana shook off the
thought.

She had to get out of here.
First, she needed clothes. No, first she had to get Brent off her before the
feel of his erection pressing on her stomach became too much and she fucked him
right there.

“Get up,” she said. “I have
somewhere to be.”

It seemed he would refuse, and an
odd sense of elation surfaced. But finally he pushed off her and pulled her to
her feet. The pain returned, this time like a dull knife sawing its way through
her heart.

Fontana registered shelves filled
with computer components right before Brent pushed her into a small alcove. Her
back made contact with the wall, and she was struck by the reversal of their
roles. When she’d dragged him out of Spacer Jack’s, it had been she who’d
backed him up against the wall. He’d had someplace to be just as she did now.

“It’s been nice,” she began, her
mouth a bare centimeter from his chest.

He grasped her chin and tilted
her face up. “And it’s about to get a lot nicer.”

Chapter
Fourteen

Brent’s face lowered toward hers.

Fontana tried to lean away from
him but was stopped by the wall as his mouth covered hers. Pain rammed through
her. She had to get off Sagitariun, had to be anywhere but where he was. He
thrust his tongue past her lips. Desire steamrolled over the rational thought
that Brent was just playing a role. Fontana sucked him deep. He kissed her
back, crushed her against the wall, then released her. Her head reeled.

He began unbuttoning his shirt.
“We’ll start with this.”

“Brent—”

“Hush,” he ordered, and shrugged
out of the shirt.

Fontana came face-to-face with
the bare expanse of his chest. She couldn’t—wouldn’t—give in to the desire to
plow her hands through the downy hair that covered the muscled flesh. He swung
the shirt around her and nodded for her to put her arms inside the sleeves. She
blinked, then realized he was dressing her. Her heart pounded, and she hated
the disappointment that washed over her. She shoved her arms into the sleeves
and deftly buttoned the shirt.

When she was finished, he placed
his hands on her shoulders. “Where are you going?”

Fontana hesitated, then
remembered this was a play. “Your cover’s blown.”

He grinned. “We knew that when I
ran naked through Spacer Jack’s.”

“No. Your cover in
my
fantasy. I discovered the truth.” He frowned, and she added, “The strategy was
a stroke of genius. Convince me I’m involved in your fantasy, when the fantasy
is really mine. You completely threw me off the scent.”

“Fawn—”

“Please,” she said. “Don’t.”

He hesitated. “All right. But why
run? It looked to me like you were enjoying yourself.”

“Something came up,” she said.

His gaze sharpened, and she
realized she’d blurted a too-ready answer.

“What transport are you on?” he
asked.

“The one I was about to board
when security stopped me.”

“I’m surprised the captain didn’t
offer you his shirt when you returned the coat.”

“Not everyone is as giving as
you,” she replied.

A corner of his mouth twitched.
“I am a giving sort of guy, aren’t I? But your explanation doesn’t account for
why you were naked under the trench coat. What happened to your clothes?”

Fontana recalled the pet-store
thieves. “You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”

“Not believe you? Never. Still
want to get off Sagitariun?”

“Duty calls,” she replied.

“Okay, let’s go.”

She grasped his arm. “What have
you got in mind?”

“Getting you a ship.”

“How do you propose to do that?”

“The brotherhood.”

* * * *

Half an hour later, dressed in
the pants and shirt Brent had bought for her, Fontana sat beside him in a tiny
tavern with Swayne Jgferhan, engineer/captain of the
Dawn Rising
. Brent
draped an arm over her chair and sipped his Langon ale. He hadn’t been kidding
when he said brotherhood. Swayne knew Chief Engineer Jason Ryder, who knew
Markeson, who knew Sikes Callahan, the captain of a ship Brent had tinkered
with five years ago. The distant association bonded the men with a glue that
rivaled the cartel, a glue that had gotten her a spot on the
Dawn Rising
.

“How many credits?” Fontana
asked.

Swayne lifted his mug of ale to
his lips and looked at her over the brim as he took a long gulp. His forearm
bulged to the size of a ham hock, and Fontana wondered if it wouldn’t pop right
off his massive arm.

“Never mind the credits, Fawn,”
Brent said.

She kept her gaze locked with
Swayne’s. “This is a pretty big risk. If customs finds out you took on an
unregistered passenger, you’ll end up in the brig.”

Swayne flicked Brent a
she
must be kidding
look and set his mug back on the table.

Brent gave her a squeeze.
“Customs only knows what the engineers tell them.”

The words were spoken with a
casual arrogance that she couldn’t dismiss. He was telling the truth. Did
engineers rule the galaxy?

“You going?” Swayne asked Brent.

“I—”

“There!”

Fontana jerked her head in the
direction of the high-pitched male voice.

“It’s the owner of the coat,” she
hissed. “What does he want? He got his coat back.”

“The reason you need off
Sagitariun?” Swayne asked Brent.

“Yep,” Brent said, and Fontana
wanted to throttle him.

“Docking bay twelve,” Swayne
said. “Ten minutes. Cory’s theory is the key.” He finished his ale in one huge
gulp, then rose and headed for the door.

The coat owner’s eyes widened,
and Fontana thought the man would crumble. He melted into the wall as Swayne
lumbered past.

Brent grasped her hand. “Come
on.” He pulled her toward the kitchen.

They reached the kitchen door
just as the coat owner shouted, “Stop, thief!”

She and Brent raced through the
small kitchen and burst out the back door into an alley.

“Déjà vu,” Fontana said.

Brent flashed a brilliant smile.
“Too bad we can’t finish what we started. Maybe later.” He pointed at a slight
angle along the alley up ahead. “That’s where we’re going.”

The alley sloped up on its way
around the station. The boardwalk appeared about a quarter of the way up. He
started at a run. They reached the boardwalk, and Brent turned right, dragging
her with him.

“Do you know where you’re going?”
she asked.

“Docking bay twelve,” he replied.

“How do you know where that is?”

“I’m an engineer; I can see the
layout in my head.”

Shouts went up behind them.
Fontana glanced back. Carson had exited from the alley. She faced forward and
pumped her legs faster. Brent pulled her down another arounder alley where
everyone could see them; then they twisted and turned through half a dozen
streets until even she wasn’t sure where they were anymore. When they emerged
back on the walkway, she saw the designation for docking bay twelve. Brent
pushed her ahead of him into the bay, then glanced back as he followed.

“There’s a crowd five bays down,”
he said.

“Dammit,” Fontana cursed.

They pounded down the corridor to
the large, round bay door. Brent stopped in front of the keypad and keyed in a
series of numbers. The door disengaged, and a hiss followed as the steel rolled
into the wall.

”What’s Cory’s theory?” Fontana
asked.

He grinned. “Cory Matheson, a
giant among engineers.”

“Did he build the super-warp
drive?”

“No. He created the formula for
how much beer a man could drink in order to stay drunk for a week without
causing liver damage.”

Fontana blinked. “That’s Cory’s
theory?”

“Pi over two liters, per ten
kilos of body mass, per hour for three hours.”

Fontana snorted. Brent urged her
through the door. She stepped over the small section of wall. Brent followed,
and she faced him.

“You’d better head back; my
fantasy is over.”

He punched in another series of
numbers. The door slid closed, and he turned to her. “Not a chance.”

“Brent—”

“Don’t tell me your fantasy is
for me to leave now?”

She stared. The man had balls.