Space Wrangler (15 page)

“He's my last hope.”

“Fine,” he grumbled. “Do what you have to do, but after that, don't marry him. Just go home.”

“Home? Where's that?” Her eyes filled with tears. “Not Earth—I don't have anyone there. And not here, obviously. But I have a brother somewhere, so I guess
that's
home for me.”

He stared, honestly shocked. “If you could go into the sinkhole and be with him, assuming he's alive—would you?”

“In a heartbeat.”

“Geezus, Lexie.”

“Is it so different from what
you're
doing? All alone in godforsaken Sector Fourteen with only your computer to keep you company? Millions of miles from the nearest human?”

“I'm exploring new frontiers. Seeing something new every day.
Learning
something new every day. And yeah, I need to get away—to regroup—but it's more than that.”

She seemed about to argue, then surprised him with an apologetic smile. “It suits you, that's for sure. Ever since I saw you in action—whipping that electronic lasso through the air and wrangling that big old thug—you had me convinced. It's the life you were born for.”

“Thanks, Alexia. And for what it's worth, I get why you need to look for Trent. It's like you said.” His throat closed over an unexpected lump. “If I thought one of my crew survived the crash and was stranded somewhere—yeah. I'd be on that forever.”

“Look at us,” she insisted tearfully. “Closure, right?”

“Alexia—”

“I'm fine, cowboy. Just say goodbye.”

“If you need me—”

“I won't,” she began. Then her eyes flickered with curiosity. “Is there some sort of radio? Or frequency? I mean, if there's not, fine. But just in case?”

“I'll be pretty far out. But TJ can always reach me.”

“What if TJ
is
the problem?”

“Huh?” His gut knotted. “You think that asshole might actually hurt you?”

“No, no.” She grabbed his face between her hands. “He'd never hurt me. I was just thinking things might get awkward, and I might need to slip back through the sinkhole. But I have another contact here, so please don't worry about it.”

“What kind of contact?”

“A man named Zeke Angelus. Have you heard of him?”

“The smuggler?” Rick glared in disgust. “How do you know
him
?”

“I don't,” she assured him quickly. “But one of his men snuck me through the sinkhole the first time, so I know I can trust him. You don't approve?”

“He's obnoxious. And he cheats at cards,” Rick told her, still disgusted. “But if you need to get back to Earth quickly, you're right. He's the guy who can make it happen.”

“Good.” She flashed a cheerful smile. “I'm sure he's easy to find.”

“He's dating a girl named Gabrielle Rousseau. She works for TJ in the communications center. You can trust her to get word to him. But be discreet,” he murmured. “I don't know how TJ feels about Gabby seeing other guys. They were pretty hot for a while, then they had some kind of falling out.”

“He mentioned a girl who was willing to come through the sinkhole with him, but who was almost—well, I can't remember how he phrased it, but sort of like a pushover.”

“He called her that?” Rick shook his head. “Unbelievable. After all she did for him. But yeah, he's supposedly the one who broke it off. Which is nuts because she's easily the most beautiful—” He caught himself and added lamely, “She's really nice. You'd like her.”

“Too late, she's off limits to you for the rest of your life,” Alexia said with a laugh. “But I'll definitely contact her if something goes wrong. Thanks for the tip.”

His thoughts turned to the miniature red beacon in the pocket of his jeans—a device he used to contact Sensie, and vice versa, over short distances. It didn't make sense to give it to Alexia, since the range was less than 100,000 miles. He'd be farther away than that in hours. But still—

“Don't look so worried,” she scolded him. “Just kiss me and get going. The dome lights will be on in a few minutes, right?” Raising herself up on her tiptoes, she brushed her lips across his. “Thanks for last night, cowboy. I'll never forget it.”

“Yeah, it was the best.” He wanted to say something better. More romantic. But all he could manage was, “Watch yourself with TJ. And when you're faking D-side poisoning, be sure to mention a metallic taste in your mouth. That's the major symptom.”

“I'll do that. Thanks.”

“Okay, then…” He brushed his lips across hers, then pulled open the door. “Take care of yourself, Alexia. And when you see your brother, tell him I said hi.”

When you see your brother, tell him I said hi.

Alexia's imagination crackled as she climbed back into bed and pulled the covers over her sinfully contented body. Of all the things Rick could have said,
that
was what she needed to hear most. An affirmation of their commitment to each other's paths, even though those paths were destined to diverge.

She would always be grateful to him, not just for affirming her search for Trent, or giving her a romantic, erotic fantasy that would last her for as long as she needed it, but for sharing his most precious secrets—about Sensie, about his father's glorious death.

But most of all, she was grateful to him for preventing her from making a mistake with TJ. Not only was the Sea-Mont CEO her only real link to Trent, but he was her only remaining family outside the sinkhole. She had almost jeopardized that by trading sex for sentient. But it would have been beneath her, not to mention unfair to TJ.

She would find another way to rescue her brother. It was a daunting prospect for sure. But she felt so strong right now, so healthy and alive and optimistic, she knew she could do it, thanks to a handsome green-eyed wrangler who had found her irresistible, at least for one night. And who had then had the sense to back away—ride off into the virtual sunset—so that he
could find the peace he so desperately needed.

And so that she could find her brother.

Chapter Eleven

The panoramic view of the space platform from the Sea-Mont offices never ceased to amaze TJ Seaton. Not only was it remarkable in its own right—a triumph of man over nature, over space, over gravity and common sense—but the glimpse of planet Destry, with its swirling poisonous cloud cover, truly staggered the imagination. This platform, floating forty-thousand miles above its host, had begun as nothing more than a supply station for the real action on the surface, but had grown into so much more. A self-contained world. A home for two hundred humans. A modern miracle.

And more than anything, a source of pride and contentment for TJ. Or at least, until today.

Today, he struggled with uglier emotions. Jealousy, anger, hatred—all directed at one loathsome, despicable man.

David Seaton.

Rick Gage had asked if TJ had received feedback from the old man about Alexia's arrival on the D-side, and TJ had reported a two-word answer:
Deport her
. But in actuality, it had been a bit longer.
Nine
words to be exact.

Deport her or I'll find a CEO who will
.

“Fucking asshole,” TJ muttered, still seething from the impact of that message. His father had made similar threats before, but only in the early days of the space platform. Since then the son had proven himself again and again, to the point where the old man—a semi-retired figurehead—would have to be crazy to make a management change.

But the old guy
could
make that change. And that was the point, wasn't it? After all these years—all this work, this commitment, this combination of tragedy and triumph—TJ still had zero power. And he certainly didn't have an ownership interest. His father had seen to that. And so, while Alexia mourned the loss of control due to her reduction from fifty to forty-five percent ownership, TJ didn't own
any
of it. He could barely protect his own future, much less hers. After tireless efforts to do everything right for everyone concerned over his first thirty-five years of life, he had made three monumental mistakes.

First and foremost, he had failed to marry Alexia the day she turned eighteen. Worse, he hadn't even considered it back then. She was still a kid. Sure she had a crush on him, and sure, he had responded to some of her antics. What guy wouldn't?

But she was Roberto's daughter. That alone rendered her untouchable. Add to that her status as Trent's sister, and the closest thing to a sister—or any kind of sibling—TJ himself had ever known.

Definitely Mistake Number One, especially since she had already owned a virtual twenty-five-percent interest in the company back then, albeit in trust. And unbeknownst to TJ at the time, she would soon inherit another twenty-five percent.

If he had just married her when he had the chance, it would have made him an official part of the Montoya clan. Maybe he would even have a Montoya-Seaton child by now. Alexia had been hot for motherhood, hadn't she? Playful, sure. Even flirtatious. But only with TJ. Not like now, when she would happily sleep with any physicist in sight.

Being an honorary Montoya had meant everything to him in those days. Even when Roberto died he had felt secure. Trent, as trustee, had been in the driver's seat, especially since David Seaton recognized him as the goose that would keep laying the golden eggs, and thus had shown him enormous respect. And because TJ was Trent's friend, he too had been given a certain degree of deference.

But Trent and TJ hadn't been fooled. They had even talked about leaving Sea-Mont. Selling off Trent and Alexia's fifty percent and starting a new company of their own. A huge middle finger to David and his tyrannical ways. The monster would have had to contend with a new partner, and the odds that such a buyer could supply even half of Trent's brainpower or TJ's management skills had been laughable. And so, Sea-Mont would have crumbled. Not immediately, but eventually. And by the time the old fucker died, it really wouldn't matter if he actually left his half of the company to his only son or not.

AKA Mistake Number Two: not cutting the filial cord that was actually more of a noose.

And the most damning mistake of all? TJ should have killed David Seaton when he had the chance, either as a child or even as a teenager. He had
wanted
to do it—had stood over the monster's sleeping figure more than once with a cold steel blade in his steady hand—but had allowed conventional wisdom to subvert natural instinct, despite the raw reality of his mother's horrific suicide.

There had been whispers about it at the time. That David was so cold. So distant. Maybe even heartless. And for a beautiful but timid woman like Marissa Seaton, the lack of affection had been too much to bear. They had judged David, but also Marissa, noting with fake concern how weak she must have been to abandon her four-year-old son that way.

But even at four years old, TJ had understood. Because words like “heartless” and “distant” didn't begin to describe the monster or his cruelty, both mental and physical, all behind closed doors on the remote Seaton estate, cut off from any source of love or assistance.

Marissa had never stood a chance. Neither had TJ.

He knew what everyone thought: that he was either afraid of the old man or desperate to earn his love. No one understood the truth. He just wanted to
kill
the fucker. And as a child, he could have gotten away with it.

Sadly, his options in adulthood had grown more limited. And after Trent died in the sinkhole, and Alexia turned her back on him, his
only
option had been to wait things out. To suffer in silence until the old man's death. To make himself invaluable on the space platform—managing the company brilliantly by day, banging bio-girls by night—until the monster's heart gave out and TJ inherited fifty-five percent of the most valuable entity on either side of the sinkhole.

His strategy from that point forward would have been simple. Cremate David and scatter his ashes over the most disgusting, decrepit bog on Destry, then give Alexia back the five percent David had stolen from her and hope she'd forgive him his part in all that.

But she had accelerated the timetable by showing up unannounced. Now TJ had to deal with that. And not just with the event itself but with the emotions it unleashed.

He couldn't reverse mistakes number two or three. Couldn't go back in time and murder the monster, or start a new company with Trent. But he
could
marry Alexia, effectively erasing the first one. At the very least, it would allow him to take care of her, and would re-establish his status as a member of the Montoya family.

And at best? Well, he hadn't figured that part out yet. But he had confidence it would work out. That was his genius, wasn't it? Roberto had been born with phenomenal math know-how, Trent had had the science gift, and TJ had been given the ability to make money from all those Montoya talents.

“Mr. Seaton?” his assistant said sweetly from the doorway. “Captain Angelus is here for his appointment.”

“Excellent. Put him in the small conference room. And Barbara?” He turned to smile at the pretty, dark-haired woman. He had pulled her from the pool of bio-girls when his affair with former assistant Gabby Rousseau ended, and it had proven a smart move. Barbara was competent and discreet, serving him faithfully. And in turn, TJ had respected her by keeping his hands off her during work hours.

Best of all, Barbara wasn't clingy or emotional the way Gabby had been. She just did her job and made TJ feel damned good about himself, the way she had done just twelve hours earlier when Alexia had left with a headache and Barbara had stepped in to efficiently meet his needs.

Almost as if to prove that point, she arched a sexy eyebrow. “Yes, Mr. Seaton?”

“Did you arrange a medical appointment for Ms. Montoya?”

“Dr. Meg will see her at ten a.m.”

“Great. Make sure I get a full report. And if Meg pulls any crap about doctor-patient confidentiality, just let me know.”

Barbara's smile was reassuring. “We all waive those rights when we come through the sinkhole, don't we? No one knows that better than Meg.”

He cleared his throat, knowing that Alexia hadn't signed any such waiver. She had come through illegally, hadn't she? With all the attendant risks and privileges.

Annoyed, he muttered, “Just tell the smuggler I'll be there in a minute.”

Once Barbara had nodded and disappeared back into the reception area, TJ exhaled sharply, disgusted at the prospect of talking to a punk like Zeke Angelus.

But it had to be done. If he really wanted to reconcile with—and
marry
—the only remaining Montoya, he had to take care of some loose ends first.

Especially Rick Gage, the loosest end of all.

Striding into the conference room, he gave a brisk nod to the smuggler, who didn't bother standing, but rather just grinned as though they were old friends. Or worse, as though they were equals.

TJ had never seen this nuisance up close, and could barely hide his disdain as he studied him. Not yet twenty-four years old—a full eleven years younger than TJ—he seemed immensely pleased with himself despite his reputation for carousing and law breaking. He reeked of anarchy and disrespect from his scruffy face to his rangy body, clad only in jeans, boots and a black leather vest over a tattered black shirt.

Rumor had it women loved this kid, but TJ suspected Angelus had started those rumors himself. Why would anyone be attracted to a self-styled buccaneer who obviously hadn't bothered shaving for an important meeting with the CEO of Sea-Mont? And in addition to the heavy five o'clock shadow—at nine o'clock in the morning, no less—the kid was dressed like he was going to a rumble.

No weapons, at least, although TJ suspected it was because the guard, assisted by a team of enforcers, had confiscated a bevy of knives and blasters.

Trying for a no-nonsense expression, TJ took a seat at the head of the table. “Thanks for coming on such short notice, Angelus. This should only take a few minutes.”

Barbara stepped into the room and asked, “Did either of you want coffee? Or tea?”

The smuggler chuckled. “You know what
I
want, but it'll have to wait till you're off duty.”

Flushing, Barbara murmured, “I'll just be at my desk then. Mr. Seaton? Let me know if you need anything.”

“Thank you, Barbara.”

As soon as the secretary left, the punk gave TJ a smirk. “You've got good taste in females. I'll give you that.”

“Cut the crap,” TJ advised him. “You know why you're here. You smuggled Alexia Montoya through the sinkhole. I could prosecute you for that.”

“Except you'd have to prosecute
her
too,” Zeke reminded him.

“Fine. Then I'll just bar you from D-side completely. I have that authority, you know, with or without cause. You don't have any rights over here—”

“Correction: your employees don't have any rights. Luckily I don't work for you. And it's all moot because I've never even
met
Alexia Montoya. I've seen pictures, and she's hotter than Laredo in summer. But smuggle her? In my wet dreams.”

“Shut up and listen,” TJ growled. “I'm offering you a deal, so be smart. You can clear yourself of these charges—and of
all
charges up to this point—if you do one simple thing for me.”

“You're offering me immunity? On every crime I've allegedly committed up to now?”

“Exactly.”

The smuggler sat up, clearly intrigued. “And in exchange, you want me to sneak something through the sinkhole for you?”

“Don't be ridiculous. I want you to investigate something for me. Confidentially.”

“Something?” Zeke smirked. “Or more likely, some
one
?”

TJ winced, annoyed by the punk's perceptiveness. “I need your word you'll keep it confidential.”

“Done. Who's the mark?”

TJ wanted to assure him that the “mark” was ten times the man either of them could hope to be, but what would be the point? So he said simply, “I'm not investigating the man personally. Just his activities. He's one of my wranglers. My best, actually.”

“You're talking about Rick Gage?” Zeke gave a long, low whistle. “You suspect
him
of doing something illegal? Who's next? God Himself?”

When TJ just glared, the smuggler grinned. “I've played cards with Gage. The guy's so effing honorable, I cheated once just to get a reaction. And yeah, he almost killed me, but it was worth it.” Sitting up straighter, he insisted, “Whatever you think he's doing, you're wrong. Rick Gage wouldn't break a law to save his own life.”

“So you're saying you'd rather be banned from D-side than help me with this? Because that can be arranged.”

Zeke moistened his lips as though conflicted. Then he explained. “I don't want to piss Gage off. He carries
laser
weapons for fuck's sake. So unless you're willing to make it worth my while…”

“Your record will be cleared. And if you find anything—any
dirt
on him—I'll give you twenty-thousand credits.”

That kept the rip-runner's attention. “What exactly do you think Gage is up to?”

“Probably nothing,” TJ admitted, mostly to himself. “But he doesn't just wrangle thugs. He goes after infodroids, and he's good at it. We pay him a fortune for the data in their memory banks, which means he gets paid when he brings us the droid's head. But he never brings the rest of the body, even though we'd pay for that too, since it can be re-purposed like any other bio-metal. That's suspicious, don't you think?”

Zeke shrugged. “How does Gage explain it?”

“He says—and obviously it's true—that droids are different from thugs.” TJ stood and began to pace. “Thugs are dense, but droids are gangly, like octopuses. So he claims he doesn't want to waste precious cargo space by storing the entire droid body. He just harvests the head—for the data—then discards the rest into space and loads up with thugs.”