No Such Thing (27 page)

"Got it." Ryelle went to work, lining the units up at a faster pace than they’d been going, but in a steady progression to the wormhole,
which felt like a chaotic storm of energy to her telenetic senses. "That’s a hell of a thing you made, Declan."

He made a noncommittal noise in his throat and she saw him watching her out of the corner of her eye. She took a quick look at Asha and winced to see the
woman yanking at her braids, her young face tragic. Ryelle undid her handiwork with a sigh, ignoring the blonde’s muffled squeal of surprise when she
gently smoothed the strands into place.

"This is slow. Is there any way I can reach through the hole and help on the other side?" she asked, reaching for the wormhole before Declan
could answer.

"No, don’t try it. It isn’t made for—"

Ryelle’s talent recoiled like a rubber band and she flew off her feet, skidding to a halt against the wall, head bumping it hard.

"Ryelle!" Declan knelt next to her, brow pinched and eyes brilliant with concern.

"Ow. Your wormhole bit me, Declan," she said, laughter bubbling up in her throat. She rubbed the back of her head, snickering. "What were
you saying about not trying it?"

"Not made for humans, remember?" he said wryly, helping her to her feet and ratcheting up her heart rate with a brief hand under her elbow.
"Are you all right?"

"No. My pride is horribly wounded. Would you kiss it for me?" she asked sweetly, fluttering her lashes at him.

He rolled his eyes. "Get back to work, Soliere."

"Slave driver."

She got back to work but knew the instant he left her side and headed for the exit. "Are we boring you, Master Chief?" she asked in a low
voice, knowing he’d hear it over the communicator.

"Just need a little…space."

She frowned at the strange note in his voice. "I didn’t touch you again, did I?"

"No, but I can feel you working. It’s different, but still not comfortable."

"Hmm." She couldn’t contain a smug smile. "I’ve met other people like you. My talent doesn’t seem to have the same kind
of affect on them."

There was a heavy silence. Then he said in a sharp voice, "You touched other people like that?"

"As a test, one they agreed to ahead of time. Why, does that bother you?" There was another silence and Ryelle felt like dancing on her toes.
Her smile turned into a grin. Progress. "We don’t abuse sensitives like the Institute used to, but we still ask for their help with research
and in finding young telenetics. The Institute is still unaware of your status, by the way."

"Thanks for that," he muttered.

"My pleasure. Declan, why is once enough?" She hadn’t meant to ask so soon or so baldly, but it popped out before she could tie her
tongue. With a wince, she took over the filling of the cargo units with ore, just for something to occupy her suddenly fevered mind.

"Leave it alone, Ryelle."

"Strange how the memory plays tricks, because I seem to recall that you enjoyed—"

"I was just a kid when I met you. You were dazzling—of course I damned well enjoyed it. But you left, so I got over it and moved on. So
just—"

"I never got over you. I’ve been in love with you my entire adult life."

It was strange how calm she felt saying it. Spilling her guts and baring her heart to possible annihilation should have been a bit more terrifying. She
packed ore faster. Then she reached for the cargo carriers coming in from the asteroid field when she started to run out of ore at the facility.

He was silent for a long time. Then he said quietly, "You can’t be serious."

"Why, because it would be emotionally twisted and pathetic? I was in love with your nineteen-year-old version. You’ve changed since then. Grown
even more irresistible, which is hardly fair. You’re also a lot more irritating, which can’t be easy on the people around here—nobody
likes a grumpy bastard, Declan. Hasn’t made a difference in how I feel, though."

"That’s insane."

"See, there’s another reason I love you. You always know just what to say to make me feel all warm and gooey," she said in a sardonic
tone. "While we’re airing our feelings, I’d like to add that I’m jealous as hell of your little blonde cutie. How long have you
been seeing her?"

"What the hell are you talking about? I haven’t seen any—you can’t just—Mother of God," he ended on a mumble.

"She would be an interesting step up, but I was actually referring to Asha. She’s feeling more than a little possessive of you, McCrae."

"Asha? That’s nuts. She’s just a kid."

"So, not seeing her?"

"No."

"Oh, good."

"Blast it, Ryelle, you are not in love with me."

She opened her mouth to contradict him, but Pete interrupted her. "Ah, Mem? Could you stop doing that? You’re freakin’ out the
miners."

"What are you doing?" Declan asked with uncalled-for suspicion. Then he repeated the question to Pete without waiting for her answer.

"She sorta took over the whole mining operation," Pete said with a little grimace of apology at Ryelle, tugging industriously on an earlobe.

"I don’t know what they have to freak out about," she said in a disgruntled mutter. "I’m doing their job for them."

"Why
are you doing their job for them?"

"Just working off nervous energy. It’s not every day I tell the man I—"

"Don’t say it."

"Fine."

Pete approached with a hesitant smile. "You want a seat, Mem? Figure you gotta be a little tired by now…"

"Thank you, Pete, but I’ll stand. How’s the unit speed?"

"Good. Nice and steady. Course, they’ll be surprised to get so much of it…" he added with a sidelong glance at her, his wide mouth
twitching.

"Are you picking on me?"

"Wouldn’t dream of it, Mem."

"Um-hmm. So what happened to the ball game?"

"They’ve been watching you instead. You’re kinda, y’know, entertaining."

"I’ll bet you say that to all the girls," she said dryly, grinning when he snickered.

Declan sighed in her ear, sending chills down her spine. "Ryelle," he said in a warning tone.

"Your boss doesn’t want me charming and seducing you, Pete."

"I’m devastated, Mem. Maybe you could just flirt with me a little."

"No goddamned flirting," Declan growled in her ear.

Ryelle’s grin widened and she slipped her arm through Pete’s with a lascivious wink. "You’re on, handsome."

"Ryelle, I’m going to beat you. And then I’m going to fire Pete."

Pete, who hadn’t heard his boss, said, "If you wanna say that a few hundred more times, I won’t stop you."

"And now I’m going to beat him, too," Declan snarled.

"I’d love to, Pete, but I have to be honest. I’m only doing this to make your boss jealous."

Declan sputtered, while Pete gave her a sunny smile and said, "Works for me."

"Ryelle, get your ass in my office right now."

Ryelle chuckled and gave Pete a peck on the cheek. "I think it worked. Thank you, sweetie."

"Anytime," Pete said with a dopy grin as she headed for the door.

"Sweetie?" Declan asked in a low, outraged voice.

Ryelle smiled to herself and said nothing. When she stepped through his office door, she stopped short and stared. He was cleaning. Or at least, piling the
clutter. There was now a straight path to his desk and a narrow open area near the door, enough for her to pace without crowding him.

"Wow," she said mildly.

He threw her a black look and tossed something metal in a corner. It crashed alarmingly.

Ryelle winced. "Did you want that broken? ‘Cause—"

"Not another word," he snarled, moving at a dangerous prowl to his desk. "Fleet responded. Vanguard will be here in about four
days."

"Well, I expect the GenTec to mobilize before then, but that’s all right. Better late than never."

He frowned at her, thumb tapping on the side of his desk. "You still want to be bait?"

"That’s the plan."

"I think we should wait for the Fleet."

She tried out her new pacing range and smiled her approval, though she was careful not look at him when she did. "Why? We have a good guess of what
they want and I’m here to test it out. Waiting for the Fleet is as useless as me flattening them right now. We would know nothing more than their
resumed aggression."

"Because I’m afraid they might make you flatten ‘em and you thought it was murder last time."

She turned slowly to face him. When their eyes met, he dropped his gaze and his frown to the desk. Sweet warmth spread through her and she couldn’t
keep a smile from curving her lips. He was concerned for her, but judging by his expression, he wasn’t happy to be caring. That frown was the only
thing keeping her from leaping on him.

Taking a deep, steadying breath and folding her arms across her chest to confine the urge to climb him, she said in a careful voice, "Thank you. But
I’ll be all right, Declan."

"I can still feel you working," he said in apparent disapproval to the desk. "What are you doing?"

"Just what I contracted for, moving the cargo and watching for visitors. The supply ship is closing in and so are the screamers, but it’s not
time yet."

"You’re doing all that at the same time?"

"I’m fairly well trained to multi-task, Declan," she said with dry humor. "I can weave a basket, too—want to see?"

He finally looked up at her, frown fading into reluctant amusement as he sat on the edge of his desk. "I’ll pass."

"Probably for the best. I don’t have a creative bone in my body. My baskets usually look like hell."

"In that case, I’ll take ten," he responded with a fleeting grin. "Can sell ‘em as alien art."

"You know, it’s not nice to make fun of the craft-challenged." She gave him a severe stare but couldn’t keep her lips from curling.

He snorted, folding his arms over his chest. "Like anything you touch won’t fall right in line."

"Well, you haven’t. Then again, I haven’t really got my hands on you yet, have I?" She waggled her fingers at him and gave him a
toothy smile in response to his glower. "Which reminds me—weren’t you going to beat me?" She fluttered her lashes at him. "I
was so looking forward to it."

His skin darkened and though she wanted to believe it was desire, his thunderous expression made anger much more likely. "Damn it,
Ryelle—"

The opening door interrupted him. A woman stepped in with the casual confidence of someone secure in her welcome. Her features were too strong to be called
beautiful, but she was striking, tall and full-figured, with an abundance of rich reddish-brown curls rebelling from the restraining clasp at the back of
her head. "Declan," she began but stopped abruptly when she saw Ryelle.

Ryelle felt a wicked stab of jealousy at the comfortable way the woman spoke and entered, until she met her gaze. She had Declan’s indigo-spiked,
brilliant blue eyes. Delight sparkled through her when she realized that this was Declan’s legendary mother, Regina McCrae. She began to smile but
lost the urge when those blue eyes narrowed in predatory fury.

"You," the woman snarled.

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Declan jerk to his feet and head their way. "Mom—"

"Why did you come here? Haven’t you done enough?"

"Mem McCrae," Ryelle began with bewildered hesitance.

Declan interrupted. "Mom, now’s not the time." His voice was grim, features set in a stern frown as he clasped a restraining hand around
his mother’s upper arm.

She ignored him, eyes focused with murderous intensity on Ryelle. "Didn’t you do enough damage the first time around? If you think I’m
going to let you walk back into my son’s life and—"

Declan’s hand clapped over her mouth. "Mom!" He gave her a little shake, and she transferred her furious gaze to her son. "Not the
time. You need to get the hell out now."

She pulled out of his hold with an exasperated look. "But Declan, she’s…"

Declan glared at her, hands resting on lean hips.

She pursed her mouth, sending Ryelle an assessing glance, before she shrugged. "Fine. Getting the hell out." But her eyes promised dire things
while she turned toward the door.

Ryelle wasn’t exactly sure what horrible acts she was supposed to have performed to elicit this level of hostility, but she could empathize with a
mother’s need to protect. "Mem, if it helps any," Ryelle said in a diffident voice, "I came here because I’m hopelessly in
love with your son."

The woman stopped and stared at her wide-eyed.

Declan planted a hand on her back and got her moving again, shooting Ryelle a dark glance. "No, she’s not," he growled.

Ryelle smiled winningly at his mother. "Don’t mind him, he’s just saying that because…" Her smile faltered and she sent
Declan a flash of irritation. "Actually, I don’t know why he says that. But I love him anyway."

"Bullshit. We knew each other a few days when we were kids. Even if you thought you loved me then, that was fifteen sarkin’ years ago. You
don’t know anything about me now, Ryelle, so give it a rest."

She sighed and looked at his mother. "Is he always this cranky?"

"Not usually. Seems you bring it out in him."

Ryelle rolled her eyes. "Swell. Since you’re already pissed, I may as well confess that I’ve been sort of stalking you over the years.
From a distance. Don’t worry, the color of your underwear is still a state secret, but I’ve followed your career pretty closely. The VR
maintenance job looked interesting and I swore you’d stick with the AI managing system. But I can see now that this place is perfect for you."

They stood side by side and gave her identical blank stares. She took the opportunity to study and compare their features.

"That’s so amazing. You have the same chin, too."

Mother and son looked at one another then Mem McCrae cleared her throat. "So, she’s a little loopy in the head," she said to her son.

"Yeah."

"Well, you’ve done worse," she responded with a resigned sigh and left.

Ryelle contemplated the closed door for a moment. "Somehow your mother has gotten the wrong impression of me. I’m not loopy. And what damage
was I supposed to have done?"