No Such Thing (37 page)

"I like your priorities," she murmured.

If they kept up this conversation, he was more than likely going to drag her to a secluded corner or closet and behave like a mindless animal. Tearing his
gaze away from the soul-sucking heat in her dark eyes, he fixed his attention on the munching children and tried to focus on the rather monumental issue of
a bomber running around his station. "Can you help find him, Ryelle?"

She made a low sound in her throat that didn’t help cool his lust. "I could try, but I’m not sure how much help I’d be. He’s
human, just like everyone else on this station. Unless he has some outstanding molecular characteristic, like an implant or an obvious deformity, it would
be like sifting through a field for a specific blade of grass."

"Huh," he said thoughtfully and glanced around at the skeleton crew in the pit below. "I need medical history on Ventura." After a
few seconds, it appeared over Ryelle’s shoulder.

She twisted a little to read it with him without releasing his hands. "No such luck," she sighed.

"You might still be able to help, though," he mused, smoothing his thumbs over her soft skin with absent enjoyment while he considered the
situation. "We’re on general quarters, so everyone should either be in their units or in safe containment areas, except for security and us.
Ventura’s on the run, so he’d be trying to stay away from people, avoid detection. If you looked for somebody who’s on their
own—"

She was nodding as he spoke and finished his thought, "That would probably be him. I’ll give it a try. You’ll need to let me go,
though." She paused with a sly, sultry smile. "Unless you want everybody to see you fall at my feet."

The memory of the ruthless seduction of her focused power made him groan with longing and regret. "When this is over, I’d love to fall at your
feet," he growled, tightening his grip on her. "But right now…" He let out a measured breath, lifted her hand to brush her knuckles
against his lips, and let her go. He was about to step around her and get out of her way, when a stir of excitement among his people drew his attention.

"Boss, I think we did it," yelled Sven, one of the younger but more brilliant members of his team.

"Did what? Or do I wanna know?" Declan called back with casual humor, hiding his sudden tension.

"Nothing kinky, sir, just a minor miracle," Sven answered with a cocky grin. "Made ourselves a scan for things that go boom."

"Damn, boy, I think you just might be as smart as you think you are. Fantastic work."

Sven lowered his eyes modestly and put a hand over his heart to make a theatrical bow, but his mouth curved in a smug smirk. Until one of his coworkers
kicked him not so gently in the rear. He jumped, rubbed his abused posterior, and muttered, "Wasn’t just me, boss." Then he brightened.
"Wanna hear how we did it?"

"Hell, yes," Declan answered with burning curiosity, the inventor inside him clamoring for knowledge. "But later. Right now, we need to
find out if this bastard means to make any more holes in my station."

Sven’s face fell a little with disappointment. "Well, sure, first thing’s first…" he responded, his voice trailing away into
mumbles.

"You’re all so nerdy, it’s cute," Ryelle murmured for his ears only, sending him a sparkling look out of the corner of her eye.
"I can encase a bomb when we find it, keep it from doing damage until it’s removed."

"What if it explodes while you’re holding it?" Declan asked with a painful clench of his stomach, studying the delicate line of her jaw.
How the hell did someone so petite and fragile-looking contain such unimaginable power? He was afraid they’d find her limits, find her weakness, and
he’d have to watch her hurt. Or die. He wouldn’t survive it.

She gave him an incredulous look. "Declan, I took fire from a sun. Suns explode a lot more than a puny, manmade bomb."

"Not so puny," he said with a scowl. "They’re making some big damned holes."

"Okay, we’re coming up with something," Sven called and a hologram appeared above the rail. It showed a three dimensional diagram of the
station, ghostly blue, while riots of color flowed in streams throughout its structure.

Declan recognized the pattern and raised his eyebrows. "Using the power grid?"

"Well," Sven responded with a modest tip of his head, "it could use lots more fine-tuning, but we figured this would do for now."

Declan tamped down his fascination with the mechanics of the problem and his mind’s tendency to follow the team’s thought processes and refine
the results. "Very pretty. Show me what you found."

"Here, you see?" The diagram abruptly zoomed in on one of the power cores of the station, where a spot of color swirled in a different, darker
pattern. "We went with the theory that the guy was using a remote, figured that meant a receiver."

"Got lots of receivers all over the station, Sven," Declan cautioned, but he could see what the young tech had in mind.

"Not there we don’t, sir. We’re working on running a list of normals, their functions and probable output patterns, but that
there’s not a normal."

"Where is that again?" Ryelle asked, studying the diagram with a faint crease in her brow. "Could you pull back so I can
see…?" The diagram zoomed back out and her expression cleared. "Thanks. I’ll take a feel, let you know if it’s explosive.
Declan, step back, please."

He did as ordered then fretted when he could only see part of her face. She was facing the railing, slim form relaxed and still.

"It is explosive," she said softly. "I’ll remove it, try to disarm it. We’ll want to keep it for evidence."

"Dec!" Asha’s voice was sharp with anxiety, her pretty face taut with horror. "I think we’ve got another one. It’s in
the residential—"

The station groaned and quaked under his feet, triggering cries of alarm and denial from his crew. Ryelle’s power shoved by him, but he barely
flinched, his entire being focused on her tense face.
Residential?
"Where?" he barked.

She paled, eyes widening as she looked at something beyond him. One of her hands settled on the rail and she leaned against it as if she needed the
support. "One casualty," she said in a breathless voice. "Four injured, but still alive. Medical needs to hurry."

"Where, Ryelle?"

She slowly focused on him, eyes wide and unblinking. "Not in the dense residential areas. Guest quarters…"

"What?"

"My quarters, Declan. It’s the central point of impact. The blast took out most of yours as well and several below, which is where the injuries
are. The service level above received some damage, but—"

"He tried to kill you?" Declan had never known such rage and terror in his entire life. If he had Ventura in front of him right now, he would
tear him apart with his bare hands. He would
enjoy
it. He suddenly realized what he’d neglected—Ventura had watched him contact Ryelle
on the com in medical. He’d seen where she was. Declan must have noticed his attention on some level, unconsciously piecing things together even
then, some primitive part of him recognizing the danger before his logical mind understood. He wondered why Ventura had waited to set it off. Maybe he
hadn’t had a bomb in place at the time.

Her face eased, the shock seeming to wear off. Her eyes darted to the children, who were clustered together in the far corner of the entrance deck,
watching them all with blank, black eyes. The half-eaten pizza hung in the air next to them, forgotten. "I was not the only one he would have
killed," she said in a low voice. Her tone was casual, thoughtful, but Declan felt a twinge of dismay as he watched her features sharpen, her eyes
narrow. "If you hadn’t asked us to join you, all four of us would be dead." Her voice hardened on the final word, giving a glimpse of her
rising fury.

"Ryelle, that doesn’t make sense, if he’s working for the GenTec."

"We don’t really know what he’s doing, do we? We’ve been just guessing. But the GenTec’s primary objective would be to take
me out. Even if that meant the loss of their telenetics."

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the children’s restless reaction and realized they’d heard her. With a quick glance, he absorbed the
uncertainty on their faces, the worry in their body language. Rose had her shoulder pressed to Daniel’s, body turned part way toward him. Jake stood
in the V of their bodies, holding Rose’s hand as he watched Ryelle with enormous eyes and a puckered forehead. Daniel’s lips were compressed in
a thin line, eyes darting from Ryelle to Declan and back.

Ryelle reacted without thought to their distress, body moving before her mind could censor it. She wanted to wrap them in her arms, fold them in layers of
protection and warmth. Children should not be afraid. Children should grow up without knowing betrayal or insecurity. "I won’t let anything
happen to you," she said soothingly, dragging her feet to a halt in front of them and clutching her hands together to keep from reaching out to them.
The need to hold them was an astonishing ache in her chest. She’d always gotten on well with her students and felt a vast affection for most of them,
but her affinity for these children was so strong it was scary.

Jake swayed toward her, but Rose tugged him back, her chin lowering and face turning in profile so that she seemed to curl into Daniel’s shadow.
Daniel met Ryelle’s gaze with steady challenge, though it lacked hostility and there was an edge of uncertainty in his features. They weren’t
ready to trust her yet.

Ryelle swallowed her disappointment, reminding herself that they’d only known her for a few hours. At least they had each other to rely on and to
give and receive comfort.

Declan was barking orders behind her, getting a medical team to the injured and sending security both to the most recent blast scene and to where
she’d contained the explosive. He also demanded in a strained voice to know the identity of the injured and the location of his mother.

Ryelle turned swiftly, a thrill of alarm running through her muscles. "Your mother?" she asked. "Isn’t she in safe
containment?"

"Does whatever the hell she wants, remember?" he said with a quirk of his lips that tried to be a smile but didn’t quite make it.

"Trying to locate her, sir," Pete said, his face sharp with narrow focus on his viewers. "She’s not in her quarters. Med
hasn’t reached the injured yet to identify. Asking the nearest safe area."

Declan didn’t answer, but he stepped to the rail and grasped it in both hands, his face set in fierce lines.

"Were her quarters close?" Ryelle asked, as a band of trepidation tightened around her chest.

Declan shook his head. "Damn woman never stays put, though," he muttered, eyes fixed on Pete.

Pete gave a small shake of his head without looking up from his station. "Nearest safe containment doesn’t have her. Contacting next in
line."

"Found another possible bomb," Asha added to the tension, her voice thin and high.

"Show me," Ryelle clipped. The station diagram appeared again before her, narrowing on an area that she thought might be another wormhole
generator. "Thank you. Checking now. Got it." She contained the object in a bubble of force, comparing it to the other one she held with a grim
clench of her jaw. That man had been quite busy. Erratic, but busy. She couldn’t see a focused strategy in the placements of the bombs so far, except
for the one that had taken out her rooms. Just terrorization? Keeping her busy? Trying to divide her attention enough so she’d lose focus?

Ryelle ran a suspicious wave of talent through the GenTec ships, but the only thing she found was a half-repaired weapon system. She shredded it once more
and refocused on the more personal drama unfolding before her. Watching Declan’s muscles clench into stone, she winced in sympathy and wrapped her
arms around herself to keep from throwing them around him. She was spiking power out in too many different directions now to get near without
incapacitating him.

"Pete," Declan rasped in harsh command.

"I’m trying, Dec," Pete answered, running a frantic hand through his wild hair. "Haven’t found her yet. A station wide alert
would be faster—"

The door opened and Declan’s mother stepped through, her face set in stern lines and eyes snapping with indigo temper. "Declan Grievus McCrae,
what the hell kind of operation are you running here?"

Declan whipped around, his face lighting up with relief. "Mom," he blurted, as she caught sight of the dark children and skittered away from
them with a muffled yelp.

Regina ignored her son for a moment, studying the telenetic children while Declan sagged against the rail and wiped a hand over his face.
"That’s the weirdest thing I’ve seen in a long time," she finally declared then looked up to give Ryelle a crisp nod. "Still
around, I see."

"Yes, Mem," Ryelle responded with an uncontainable smile. "We’re glad to see you."

The woman lifted an eyebrow in an expression so reminiscent of her son that Ryelle felt a warm burst of affection for her in spite of the coolness in her
assessing gaze.

Declan was at his mother’s side in two long strides, interrupting her perusal of Ryelle by enfolding her in a rough hug. "Mom, where the hell
have you been?"

"Where have
I
been?" she snapped, though the angry tone was diluted and muffled by his shirt. She worked loose of his arms until he
was holding just her shoulders, then glared up at her son. "What the hell is going on around here, Declan? You tell everybody to huddle in their
quarters because we’re being attacked by GenTec, then you let us all twist in the wind. I’ve been fielding rumors that we’re being
invaded, that half the station’s been mutated or blown up. It’s chaos down there, Master Chief Engineer McCrae, and pretty soon people are
going to get hurt." She paused, narrowed her eyes on him. "And you didn’t tell me you were okay."

Declan grimaced a little under his mother’s censure but didn’t let her go, giving her a little shake instead. "You’re supposed to
stay in safe containment, Mother. That’s why they call it
safe.
The GenTec are immobilized. We’ve got a different problem."