Taken (Calliston Series - Book 1) (17 page)

He had no idea how long he had stood there, staring at her bare backside, before he had climbed back into the bunk below hers. The boyish figure she presented in the daytime hid the perfect naked ass he'd been exposed to. He couldn't rid himself of that image as the now clothed body part walked away from him.

Jasmine was in the bathroom, powdering her nose, when the fracas started. When the ship dropped out of faster-than-light speed, she felt a prickling on the back of her neck, a warning signal she'd felt before when a story was about to turn bad.

The ship wouldn't have reason to stop in the middle of its flight unless they were experiencing engine trouble or something more nefarious was in progress. That was when her gut decided to join in. A good investigative journalist never ignored their gut. A good investigative journalist would also never jump headlong into danger without protection. She lifted her left foot and pulled a small personal weapon, a sexy little pulse blaster, from a concealed compartment in her boot heel. Jasmine palmed it and quickly slipped out of the communal bathroom to find out what was going on.

Jasmine prided herself on being prepared for anything, even the dark. She triumphantly produced a small flashlight, which she strapped to her weapon. This allowed her to have one hand free, just in case.
Just in case of what?
she asked herself, but didn't dare answer. Answering those kinds of questions only fed the fear, which was, at the moment, still contained to the knot in her stomach. She told herself that this was all just a coincidence, but still moved cautiously through the ship. The bridge would be the center of any activity, that or engineering. The engineers would be busy trying to get the power back on, however, and the captain would be more forgiving of an interruption from little old her.

A good commanding officer could sniff out trouble before his crew. Norik was better than most COs, as he had been trained in tactical and security measures before moving up the command track. The half-Lyrissian was always observing, always ready, except when he was still pondering naked body parts.

The engines stopped first, which made one or two people look around with questioning expressions. With the engines not producing energy, it meant the ship dropped out of FTL, but that the ship's forward momentum still didn't completely stop—not until the helm or some other external force stopped the ship. Not a happy thought, but a realistic one.

The room was plunged into darkness as the power died. The whirr of life support halted and, most frightening of all, the emergency systems failed to kick in. It wasn't long before panic started to settle in among the passengers. All of whom, save for Jasmine, were in the communal area with Norik. Norik couldn't begin to guess where she was.
 

"Everyone remain where you are," Norik said, employing his most authoritative voice. "I am sure this is just a small fault. Please stay where you are, and I will find out what is happening."

Norik left the passengers in the lounge. They had grouped together for comfort and were, for some reason that escaped Norik, talking about the souvenirs they had bought back on the planet. Humans, he thought. The answer a regular catchall for anything he didn't understand about the species. He hadn't ever pretended to understand his father, who had been a brilliant—although rather eccentric—diplomat. Norik supposed this was also why he would never understand the man's suicide.

He cast off such morbid thoughts and made his way to the bridge, intent on offering his services to the captain. After all, it was his duty to help in whatever way he could.

Jasmine had made it onto the bridge just a few minutes earlier. She had not expected to find the scene that now confronted her. The old captain she had made friends with just yesterday was sagged back in his chair as if he had been thrown there like a doll. She crept forward and gasped. The nasty burn to his chest and neck wasn't enough to turn her stomach. It was the smell of cooked flesh that threatened to introduce her breakfast to the deck plating. She averted her gaze to find the man at helm sprawled across his console. Either she was looking at him at an odd angle or his head was missing.

Jasmine put a hand to her stomach in a vain attempt to keep everything down. She turned to leave but was stopped when someone, or something, tackled her to the floor. Her weapon and light skittered well out of reach. She tried to scream but the air had been knocked from her lungs. Jasmine twisted and clawed at the deck plating as the person who had landed on her tried to pick her up. Apparently he had a friend, one who delighted in stomping at her fingers. Not wanting anything broken, she suddenly let go, which sent her and her attacker backwards a few feet. Both men grappled with her as she threw her arms and legs wildly around in an attempt to break free. They soon had her trapped, with her back pressed against the front of one man and his large and extremely strong arms wrapped around her. She kicked back with her heels, hoping to connect with shins, but the warning squeeze he gave her soon put a stop to it.

"You finished?" the finger stomper drawled. He moved closer and shone a light into her eyes, making her blink and see spots when he flashed it away.

"No," she gasped defiantly. "Get him to put me down so I can gouge your eyes out!"

He backhanded her with his flashlight hand and asked again, "You finished now?"

Now Jasmine saw stars dancing hand in hand with the spots. All blinked in time to the throbbing on the side of her head. "Yes," she whimpered meekly.

"Good," said Stompy. He held a data tablet up next to her face and blinded her again. "Looks like we got what we came for," he told his accomplice.

Jasmine's ears pricked up at that. Her heart, which had been racing, found a higher gear to pump in. They had been after her and they had killed the bridge crew to get her, which meant two things: these men were murderers and the man she had been investigating, and run from, had found her.

All she could do was whimper as they talked about what they, and a third accomplice, would do with the passengers.

~

To be continued in Adrift (Callisto Series - Book 2)

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