Ricochet (3 page)

Hot anger jumped into her cheeks. “Without control, there is chaos. Besides, I’m a Lingorian and proud of it. We’re a race who cherishes pride, schedules and steely control over every aspect of life.”

“And why do I care?”

“I’m trying to tell you why I am the way I am.”

“Nope.” He shook his head, boredom clear in his expression. “You’re that way from something else. National pride has nothing to do with it. Hell, back in the day, I was from Earth, but that’s not why I love money, fast women and faster ships.”

“I’m surprised you haven’t been killed by someone before now. Asshole.” She glanced quickly away and pretended an interest in the display on her datapad. There was no other choice than to be in control; otherwise, she’d be forced to reckon with the voices in her head telling her she wasn’t good enough, would never be good enough. No way was she going to let Stratton know that. “How long are you planning to cruise at this pace? We’re supposed to reach the moon Aga no later than 1300 hours tomorrow. You keep this crawl, and we’ll finish in the back of the pack. That scenario is not on my agenda.”

“Is that a problem,
kita
?”

The man never stopped! Her chest burned with irritation. “Yes, since the point of any race is to finish first.” Unable to help it, she turned and regarded him again. Despite his lack of manners or decency, the man intrigued her. He held a lifetime of secrets in those deep brown eyes. The trick was to get him to share. “Why do you keep calling me
kita
? What does it mean?”

“On the last planet I lived on, it’s used as a derogatory term meaning spoiled or privileged.” Stratton shrugged, and the gesture caused the slick suit to pull tightly across his impressive shoulders. Shiny foiled patches and emblems of sponsors flashed in the weak interior illumination. “I figured it fits, since you’re so bent on getting your own way.”

“You have no idea what drives me or makes me who I am.” She gripped the datapad so hard, the lightweight plastic dug into her skin.

“Is that so?” His gaze flickered over her face, his expression clearly bored. “You have to be in control every minute, you probably wear your hair back like that until it gives you a headache—every day, correct? You get annoyed when people don’t do what you say that exact moment. Seems to me you’re so tense, a titanium rod would be jealous of your backbone.”

Willa hooked a finger into the neckline of her suit and pulled at the confining fabric. Angry heat rolled over her body, becoming trapped within the outfit. Damned uniform. What good would it do to keep a crew member alive in the event of a crash if the fabric meant she’d burn to death internally? “What about you? Don’t you demand as much control? Just look at the stunt you used getting into the cockpit.”

“That wasn’t control. It was seizing an opportunity.” One corner of his mouth lifted in a grin. “We’re not talking about me.”

“Start sharing, Stratton. It’ll be a long trip otherwise.” She secured the datapad into a slot on the wall, then punched a button that brought up a star map on the windscreen. “At our present rate of speed, it’ll be three days before we make it to the moon.”

Idiot. At the checkpoint and after the mandatory rest period, there was no way he’d be back in the pilot’s seat. They had to get through the checkpoints as quickly as possible. Didn’t he understand the concept of the rally?

Stratton chuckled. The deep, rich sound reverberated through the close confines and did strange things to her insides. “In your world, you might rule the roost, but remember, I’m the pilot. What I say goes.”

Right, as if he even had an idea of what her home life was like. Willa bit down hard on her bottom lip to stop the retort. “My life is exactly the reason I’m here.”

“Fair enough, but resist the urge to tell me. I’m not in the market for a BFF.” He swiveled the chair until he faced the instrument panel. “If we burn through the bulk of our fuel now, we won’t have enough to sprint for that checkpoint tomorrow. I’m not going to come up short in order to stay on your schedule.”

She stared at the star chart, determined not to look at his smug face again. “Listen, the only reason I’m on this bird with you is to win. There’s no other option. If you can’t deliver the goods, I’ll be forced to evict you from your position and get someone else.”

More than anything, she wanted the accolades that went along with crossing that checkpoint first and entering their energy signature for the official record. He could keep the damned prize money. Funds would be nice, but that wasn’t her objective. All she wanted was for her father and brothers to see her at the top of each race leg—and for them to say she was worthy despite her sex.

“I’d like to see you try. It’s not like spare racers are trolling the area. Besides, I’ll easily overpower you, have you on your back so fast you won’t know what happened. I rather enjoy a woman on her backside, especially one as
golvertic
as you.”

“What does that mean?” The man was a pig. Too bad she couldn’t continue the race without him.

“I heard it at a spaceport a few weeks ago. Can’t remember what race it originates with. It means hot, good-looking, sexy or however that equates in your language. You may have an attitude and a mouth to match, but your curves will get you points.”

Warmth crept into her at his statement. “I’ll admit I’ve gotten by a few times on looks alone.” There was that one time she’d been flagged on her home planet for racing a shuttle in a restricted area. She’d flashed a bit of skin and gotten off without a warning or fine.

“See?” He flipped a switch on the instrument panel, and the interior lights went off altogether. “I’m the man in our cozy pairing. I know best. Let’s move on.”

In a heartbeat, the erotic heat morphed into anger. Glad for the darkness that hid her deep blush, she fumed. “Oh, you—” A host of insistent beeping cut off the rest of her statement. Willa gave the control panel her full attention and punched in a series of commands on an abbreviated, diamond-shaped keyboard. “There’s a ship closing in rapidly off our port-side.”

“Show me.” Stratton’s command prompted no argument and rang of ingrained leadership.

Willa typed a code on the keyboard. Another animated chart filled the windscreen, this time with glowing red letters and a grid showing two flashing green triangles. “Coming in fast. Energy signature shows it’s one of the racing ships.”

He pressed a button above his head. “Manual steering override employed.” A slim silver hose dropped from a panel in the ceiling. He quickly attached and locked it to a valve on his right shoulder. “Best hook up your auxiliary life support. Get your helmet on also.”

“Will do.” For once, she had no problem following his orders. She attached her own hose, then forced a sleek black helmet over her head, securing it beneath her chin by its strap. Immediately, a trickle of cool, oxidized air blew over her body.

“Who does the ship belong to?” Stratton’s slightly static-laden voice crackled into her ear through the helmet’s receiver. If there was a part of racing Willa hated, it was the helmets. They restricted movement and hampered communication.

“Give me one sec.” Yanking the datapad from its resting place, she cycled through several screens before finding the information she needed. “It’s the
Stryker
. Piloted by—”

“Chaf Trant, the bastard.”

“Yes, how did you know?” She stared at Stratton, her jaw hanging slightly open.

“Let’s say we have history.”

“Join the club.”

He scoffed his disbelief. “You two know each other?”

“We’ve been partners. Once you’ve been around the circuits, you see the same people over and over.” It was odd that Stratton knew Chaf, though. By his own admission, he wasn’t a stranger to rallies, but she’d never seen him in races through this quadrant. Curiosity flared like a comet in her mind, but another bout of turbulence prevented her from questioning him. An alarm bell went off, signaling contact. “He’s got his nose in our stern. Evasive maneuvers?”

“One sec. Let’s see what sort of business he means to hit us with.”

“You want to wait? What if his intent is to destroy our ship?” Pissed off at both Stratton’s blatant disregard and Chaf’s audacity, she glared at her screen. “Do you think he’s trying to steal our stats?”

“What, now? We don’t have any time stats yet.” Stratton nudged a silver joystick, and the ship banked to the right. “He’s probably hoping to bump us off course.”

“I wouldn’t put it past him, except…” When the ship hiccupped once more, she gripped the edge of the control panel with one hand. “I didn’t think Chaf would stoop to cheating.” She’d raced with him before. He’d never employed such smash-and-flee tactics.

“Oh, you mean like I would?”

Willa shrugged. “You said it, not me.” She got the feeling Stratton would cheat, over all else.

“You’d be surprised at what your pal Chaf will do.”

What the hell kind of business did he have with Chaf, anyway? The monitor bleeped again. Willa trained her gaze on the grid. “He’s going over the top.”

“Damn it!” Stratton jerked back on the steering mechanism. “The bastard is trying to dust us.”

“How can you possibly know that?” She half rose from her seat in order to better spot Chaf’s ship. “He’s never—”

“It’s what I would do in his situation. If he dusts us, we’ll be drifting dead for a good few hours, depending on how many waves he lets go.” His expression was dark and determined, illuminated by the light array on the back of the
Stryker
as it dropped into position before them. “Hang on. We’re gonna cheat too.”

Again, he jerked the joystick, and the
Anomaly
banked hard to the port-side. The triangle on the screen indicated Chaf followed suit, behind them now. Stratton’s fingers tightened on the controls. His lips, just visible beneath the smoky-hued fiberglass visor, were set into a thin, hard line.

“Give me the location of the nearest wormhole. We’re gonna play the poor man’s slingshot.”

Having no idea what the term meant, Willa slid a finger over the windscreen display, and another map flickered into view. Blue dots appeared over the star chart, the nearest point five parsecs away. “Not far. Keep veering to the right and you should see it in a couple of minutes.” Another alarm erupted into the quiet of the cabin. The
Anomaly
shivered as Chaf bumped the rear. “I’ve never known Chaf to try such tactics before.”

“Yeah, well, when a man’s got a bounty on his head and owes even more to various gang leaders in a few galaxies, he tends to act irrationally.”

Oh no. “You’re a bounty hunter?” The glare she shot him was lost due to the helmets. “That’s why you’re in the Nebulon Trike, isn’t it? You’re tracking Chaf, as ridiculous as that sounds. You have no intention of winning, do you?” She jabbed at the display screen, and the star chart disappeared.

“Oh, I have every intention of winning. I’ll also bag that asshole Chaf. And like I told you before, I always get what—or who—I want.” Moments of intense silence stretched between them. “Start the countdown for the wormhole. I’m going to tax the engines as much as I can without jumping into hyper-light. Don’t want to get lost in the hole or burn through our energy before the checkpoint.”

She did as instructed while her mind raced. She was saddled with a bounty hunter, on his mission no less, tracking a man she thought had a tendency to be a jerk, a fierce competitor. What the hell had Chaf done to warrant a bounty? “Ten seconds to intersection. Nine. Eight…”

“Is he still on our tail?”

“Affirmative.” She nodded, her gaze glued to the grid. “Five seconds to intersection.”

“Great. As soon as our nose passes through, hit the round yellow button.”

Willa’s stomach roiled with unease. “You intend to dump our EM waves on him? That’s a little unfair, don’t you think? What about the Golden Rule?”

“Oh, but when he was gonna do it, that was fine?”

She bit back a retort.

“Besides, there’s no Golden Rule in racing. Just do it. Once we hit the wormhole, we’ll be in prime position. Chaf will be stuck, as will anyone else behind him.” The engines roared and whined as he primed them to the point of strain. “What part of this plan do you not understand?”

Stratton shoved up his helmet’s visor, sparing a few seconds to scowl at her. “Willa, now!” Why wouldn’t the damned woman do what he asked? Travel through the wormhole would prevent them from nabbing Chaf, but they had to escape their present situation. No sense in getting stuck in the same web. There’d be another opportunity to bag his quarry this day.

“If we’re disqualified, I’ll have to shoot you.” She slammed a finger onto the button.

“Again, you can try.”

A tinny, electronic voice came over the comlink and proclaimed, “Electromagnetic waste has been released. Craft contamination imminent. Please clear the area.”

“That’s the plan.” He wrenched the steering mechanism forward. “Computer, full speed. Hold just under hyper-light. Sync with the nav’s coordinates.” Only after he’d issued the orders did he remove his helmet.

“So, those EM waves, will they permanently disable Chaf’s ship?”

Stratton’s laughter was more of a bark. “I wish. The EMs will disable his ship’s system for a couple of hours at best, depending on how new his shuttle is. I’m hoping he’s in the same class we are, which will net us almost three hours. It’s a small delay move, but it’ll make sure to put space between us.”

“What about the other racers behind him?” The helmet muffled her question.

“What about them? Not my problem. I’m only concerned about Chaf.” He shrugged, done talking about the issue. “Look, it’s a rally, not lunch with an intergalactic contingent. They’ll get over it.” Why the hell did she care? Hanging his helmet on the hook above his head, he swiveled to assess Willa and get a feel for her state of mind. First and foremost, he wanted to know exactly how close she and Chaf had been. A lovesick female could be dangerous. “So, you and Chaf, huh?”

“We were partners a few times.” Willa removed her helmet and stowed it on its hook. “No big thing.”

“I get it. Racing partners with benefits, huh?” If she had personal knowledge about his quarry, he’d draw it out and use it against both of them—as long as he got his money.