Thief (5 page)

Shivering, she took a deep breath and tried to read the table. Confusing images and emotions assaulted her—blood, pain, fear. Overriding them all she felt one word, safety, echo in her mind.

“She’s coming around.”

Kraft rolled her head toward the lyrical voice. Her blurry vision finally focused on a tiny woman with strawberry blond hair and a sleek, cat-like face.

After speaking into the wall com, the woman gazed back at Kraft with naked curiosity and approached. “How do you feel?”

When the woman leaned over her, Kraft shoved her away and leapt off the table. She grasped frantically for a weapon because she felt too shaky to fight hand-to-hand. Yanking open a drawer, she found a scalpel and brandished it.

“I’m not going to hurt you.” The woman held up her hands and backed toward the open infirmary door.

“You got that right.” Kraft looked down. “What the hell am I wearing?” She kicked off the ridiculous beaded slippers, flexed her feet and got her bearings for a fight. “Where am I?”

“In the infirmary,” the woman, a doctor, said.

“I grasp that part, I mean where in the Void—”

“You’re on my ship.” Jace entered the room with his gun drawn.

Confused, disoriented, the last month a total blur, Kraft felt the scalpel tremble in her hand as the ravages of powerful drugs coursed through her veins. Her gaze and hand wavered between the targets the doctor and Jace offered.

“I let you go.” Kraft tried to comprehend what was going on. “Why are you doing this to me when I let you go?”

“I’m trying to help you,” Jace said. “Put down the scalpel.”

When she hesitated, he pointed his gun right at her head. The ancient Sod Buster clicked with a resounding boom when he pulled the hammer back.

“Stand down, Captain Kraft. Don’t make me kill you to protect my crew, because you know I will.”

Kraft struggled to understand the confusing images clouding her mind. She had vague memories of blood and horror. Death like a stench she couldn’t ever run from. The scalpel clinked to the floor as she lifted her hands.

“By my honor, I stand down.”

“Are you decent?” Jace asked through the closed door.

“Bit of a problem.” Kraft tugged at another lacy shirt that barely covered her bellybutton.

“What’s that?”

“None of this fits!” Kraft discarded the shirt and realized it was the last one. “Captain Lawless?”

“Yes?”

“I’m asking an awful lot, beggars shouldn’t be choosers and all, but, can I have something of yours?” Besides Heller, Jace was the only person on the ship with clothing that would fit.

“So you can read it?”

In her current condition, she didn’t think she could read a book, let alone anything else.

His knock against the metal door resounded in the empty storage room. “Are you going to answer me?”

“What if I could read your clothes?”

Without a word, he walked off.

Naked, Kraft waited in a room now strewn with shirts and skirts. She appreciated Payton and Charissa’s offer, but most of their clothing flat-out didn’t fit her foot-taller frame.

She heard Jace approach. He tapped twice with his knuckle then opened the door just enough to drop a bundle of clothes.

“Try those.” He pulled the door shut.

Kraft picked up a homespun cotton shirt, thick and heavy, dyed in the spring with yarrow root. Youthful hope radiated from soft yellow contours and handcrafted wooden buttons. When she slipped the shirt on, Jace’s scent surrounded her. He hadn’t worn this in almost a decade. He’d kept it neatly folded in the back of his drawer, like a memory preserved.

She lifted up the brown trousers which were just as faded and worn. She pulled on a dream turned nightmare. Visions of fields filled with rolling grain, and then a woman of home and comfort with three children at her side. Then came a burning sickness. Death. The destruction of all he loved. The resounding echo of her vision in her own heart literally floored her.

Jace must have heard the crash from the other side of the door. He tapped twice. “Kraft, you okay?”

“I’m getting there.” She stumbled to her feet and buttoned up the trousers. She wondered how much of what she’d felt was real and how much had been perverted by the drugs. Everything had a surreal chemical edge. Time seemed like salt water taffy in the sun…

“Are you decent?” Jace asked through the closed door.

“Debatable, but I’m dressed.”

The storage room door creaked open. Jace wore almost the exact same outfit as she did, but his shirt was battered blue and his trousers were made of denim. He looked at her for the longest time, and she almost lifted her hands to protect herself. How could that man, with his gaze alone, make her feel utterly vulnerable? She chalked the unfamiliar feeling up to the drugs she’d been injected with for the last month.

His clothes fit her well. The shirt strained a bit at her bust and the pants a bit at her hips, but they were about the same size in most places. Kraft took hard-and-fast notice of where they differed.

“I wanted to get into your pants, Captain Lawless, but this isn’t quite what I had in mind.”

Jace startled back a step. He seemed amazed she hadn’t lost her sense of humor. He suppressed a burst of laughter by turning away and coughing hard. Having composed himself, he turned back, but kept his attention on her bare feet. “We’ll have to get you some shoes.”

“Tell you what, at this point in my life, I’m grateful I still have feet.” Her attempt at humor compelled him to meet her gaze. She smiled, but it felt forced, and if his worried brow was any indication, he noticed.

“You’re safe.”

A thousand questions swirled in her mind, but in the end she shrugged and asked, “Why?”

“You can cook, right?”

Caught off-guard, she laughed. “From captain to cook? I’ve had quite a tumble from grace.”

“But you can cook.”

The look on his face brimmed with so much hope, a genuine smile lifted the edges of her lips. “That I can do.”

“Then that’s why.” He leaned casually against the doorframe.

“You needed a cook?” She knew there was far more to his helping her than he would ever admit to.

“Yep. Good cooks are rare. Fairing’s cook even more so.”

Shock made her drug-ravaged nerves tingle. “Who told you that?”

“Feller by the name of Trickster. He gave me this as proof.” Jace pulled a folded paper from his hip pocket.

Pleased to see a well-worn friend, she clutched the paper tightly when he placed it in her hand. “Can I keep this?”

“Then it is yours?”

Caught, she looked up into his exotic-sunset green eyes. “You are so much more than pretty.” She dropped her gaze to the paper. “What do you want for it?”

“Cook for me and my crew, and it’s yours.”

“How long will I be beholden to you?” Despite her best efforts, her husky voice sounded suggestive.

“It’s up to you.” He shrugged, pulling his soft blue shirt tight across his shoulders. “Whatever you think is fair.”

“What latitude.” She couldn’t help but feel suspicious of his generosity, but trying to read him would probably be a waste of her time at the moment.

“Honor among thieves.” His slight smile made her shiver.

“You don’t owe me,” she defended, dropping any suggestive tone from her voice or posture.

“No, I don’t, do I?” He turned and walked away.

She followed behind, mumbling, “Looks like I owe you.” She tucked the paper into the pocket of her borrowed shirt.

“He gave me this too.” He handed her another paper.

Kraft unfolded a report from an IWOG hospital. Her heart almost exploded. How had they gotten her in there without bells and whistles going off everywhere?

“Trickster said he got that in some kind of hush-hush deal with an IWOG doctor at a hospital in Kali.”

“Oh.” Kraft thought that explained why she wasn’t being tortured at this very moment.

“Next stop, you can get your face cleaned up.” Jace pointed to a bathroom.

“What did that weasel do to my face?” She stomped to the mirror, took one look and reeled back. “How the hell did you recognize me under all this crap? I look like a whore!” She turned on a small trickle of water and scrubbed her face clean with the bar of harsh hand soap.

“It’s your eyes,” he said softly. “Hard to forget.”

Looking at his reflection in the mirror, she gave him a speculative once over. Captain Jace Lawless expected her to cook, but what else did he have in mind?

Chapter Seven

Kraft worked behind the stove with skilled and fluid movements, but she shook with fine tremors. As he watched her select tidbits from the meager pickings of freeze-dried food, an explanation for her trembling struck him.

Jace touched her arm. “Are you okay?”

Jerking back, overcorrecting, she stood tall and offered him a wan smile. “Welcome to the wonderful world of withdrawal.”

He leaned close. “Payton might have something to help, and we can live one more night without—”

“No more drugs.” When she shook her head, her linen-bound hair danced across her back and teased the edge of her fanny. “And I think you’re in dire need of a decent meal. You were practically drooling when you asked me if I could cook.” Her rolling chuckle enveloped his whole body.

“It has been a long time.”

“For a lot of things.” She winked and turned her attention back to the stove. “Besides, the only way I’m ever going to get better is if I eat.”

He leaned against the counter and wondered how this was ever going to work when Kraft could read him. He feared she found something dark in him, because every time he touched her, she withdrew. As much as he wanted to ask, he didn’t want to know.

The delectable aroma of her cooking had been like a siren call through
Mutiny
and everyone gathered in the galley, holding plastiware plates in drooling anticipation. His crew gave Kraft speculative glances, and he knew he’d have to explain, but he hoped to do it after everyone had a full belly.

Kraft served up plates that were fairly snatched from her hands. When she handed Jace his plate, she said, “You’ll know soon enough if you made a good deal for me or not.”

He sat at the head of the table on a wobbly wooden bench.

Around a bite of food, Charissa gushed, “This is so yummy!”

“Magnifique!” Payton exclaimed, nodding agreement to her daughter.

“Fabulous,” chimed in Bailey, lifting his fork to Kraft like a salute.

Garrett, his mouth too stuffed to comment, rolled back his eyes and moaned.

Jace took one bite and knew fifteen hundred for her was an insult. He hadn’t tasted food this wonderful in a decade. How could Kraft make the same freeze-dried dreck they’d been gagging on for months taste like this?

“It’s extraordinary.” Jace turned from his place at the head of the table to face her.

“Thank you kindly.” Kraft bowed from her station behind the stove.

“We can squish over and make room,” Charissa offered, more than willing to press against Bailey, the new object of her affection.

“Thank you, but no.” Kraft waved off the invitation. “I’m fine right here.” She filled her plate and ate standing up.

Jace wondered if she wanted to keep her distance because she was embarrassed about him buying her, or if perhaps the lingering effects of the drugs made her reader ability difficult to control. He turned back to his meal and thought it might be for the best if they kept their distance.

The only sound in the small galley was metal forks against plastiware plates and the occasional sigh of sublime pleasure.

Heller, sitting to Jace’s right, glared at Kraft while he shoveled food into his gaping maw. His freshly shaved head gleamed a vulnerable, naked pink under the kitchen lights.

When they’d returned from Trickster’s, Heller pitched a fit over how much Jace paid for Kraft despite the fact he’d received full pay. Everyone else took a pay cut so Jace could afford parts and service for
Mutiny
. But it seemed full compensation did not lessen Heller’s snarling hate for Kraft.

“You as good a whore as you are a cook?” Heller took another big bite.

Before Jace could remind Heller to keep his big mouth shut, Kraft softly said, “I might be a cook-whore, but at least none could call me dishonorable.”

Everyone stopped eating but for Heller. His grunting chomps echoed in the small galley as everyone exchanged glances and then looked pointedly at Jace for an explanation. This wasn’t how he wanted things to play out, but Heller left him no choice.

“What’s going on?” Charissa darted her wide green gaze between Jace and Kraft.

“Who is she?” Payton demanded, frowning at Jace with her serious-doctor and protective-mother face.

“I’d like to know too.” Bailey primped his pale blond locks with a boyish hand.

Garrett shrugged, leaving the explanation up to Jace.

“She’s a whore.” Heller leered at Kraft. “A whore that can cook.”

“That’s enough, Heller.” Jace didn’t bother to check out how Kraft responded to Heller’s comment.

“He’s right though, isn’t he? That’s what you bought me for.” Kraft’s voice was low and speculative.

Jace turned to her, and she lifted her chin a notch.

“You gonna let all the crew have a go at me, or just you?”

Incredulous that she would even ask him such a thing after what he’d sacrificed to save her, Jace coldly asked, “Is that something you’d enjoy?”

Narrowing her eyes, she asked, “Does it matter? I don’t have much of a choice, do I? Your medic could dope me up six ways to Sunday, and I wouldn’t—”

“I won’t,” Payton interjected, looking at Jace with horror that he might even ask such a thing of her.

“I never—” Jace stopped himself from defending something he had no intention of doing. “No one’s getting drugged. I want everybody to be quiet.”

Silence descended.

“Kraft, please tell them who you are.”

“A cook and a whore, apparently.” Kraft nodded at his crew.

“Give me strength.” Jace rubbed a hand across his weary forehead. After a long, exhausting day, his headache had migrated to every part of his body. He tried to will the tension out of his muscles with little success. “Tell them who you really are.”