Gabriel's Ghost (24 page)

Ren and a mug of tea arrived a few minutes later. I vacated my chair and watched as he settled in it. That was something else that would make Thad’s lip curl. A Stolorth raised by Takas in the command sling of an Imperial P40.

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Ren set his tea down, angled his head, reading me. “You are more peaceful, happier now, Chasidah.”

My rainbows were improving. “I was just thinking about how much you
don’t
remind me of my brother.”

“I would imagine I’m very different from Thaddeus.”

“Praise the stars for that, Ren.” I patted his shoulder, let my hand rest long enough to absorb a much-needed warmth, and left the bridge.

* * *

My cabin was empty, the lights dimmed as I’d left them. The bed was neatly made, quite possibly just as I’d left it. I didn’t know if Sully had been in, napped or moved out altogether. I was about to open his closet, find an answer maybe it was time I faced when I noticed the message light flashing on my deskscreen.

I sat and fingered a new angel of heart-stars card propped against it while I read.

Chasidah. Angel. Gabriel has lost his words. They have all fled, shamed to be in hiscompany. He’s left now with only a few, simple ones. They are inadequate. They cannot begin to
convey all that he feels. But they are all he has
.

Chasidah. Angel. Gabriel is sorry. Gabriel is sorry. Gabriel is sorry
.

Chasidah. Angel. The grievous wrong isn’t as much in the questions Chasidah couldn’t ask.But in the only real truth that Gabriel could tell, and did not
.

Chasidah. Angel. Gabriel loves you beyond all measure. That is the only real truth
.

I stared at the screen, elbows on my desk, my hands cupped over my mouth. My heart hammered, ached.

He was right. He’d never told me he loved me. In the past two weeks he’d told me I was wicked, I was beautiful, I was wild, I was delightful. I was his obsession, his fantasy, his best interfering bitch.

His angel.

He’d caressed me, coddled me and held me. He’d made me warm, hot, crazy, passionate and delirious. He’d made me feel safe, respected, honored.

He made me his lover. He made me his friend.

And he’d tried to tell me, if only I’d been listening, that he was more than an empath. But I didn’t want to know.

Just as Philip knew, when he married me, I was career Fleet. He knew I abhorred the crèches. But he’d rejected that, when it became inconvenient. Rejected me, hurt me.

Sully hadn’t hurt me. He’d shared his anger and pain and fear with me in a fashion far more intimate than I was used to. Perhaps even inappropriately. But he hadn’t hurt me, hadn’t stripped my mind, altered it.

He could have. He also possibly could have taken command of the
Meritorious
away from me before I opened the vidlink to Philip. With a touch. With a thought. I’d heard stories of things like that happening during the war.

But he hadn’t. Angry and afraid, he’d waited, trusting that I’d do nothing to hurt him.

I sat and thought about that. I picked up the card again.

A dangerous man, Gabriel Ross Sullivan. An undeniably handsome bastard. But I couldn’t imagine life without that wicked, wicked Sully-grin. Risks and all.

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* * *

I found him in the small ready-room, sitting in semi-darkness. A mug of tea was in front of him, still full, but no steam rose. No fragrance wafted in the air.

I moved the mug when I sat on the edge of the table. It was cold. So was his hand when he took mine. No warmth, no spirals, not even a flutter danced up my arm. It was as if everything that Gabriel was, was gone.

Except for the dark, haunted look in his eyes. Which was something we had to discuss, something I had to face, before we could go any farther.

“You’re a telepath. Like a
Ragkiril
.”

“Yes.”

“This is what you didn’t want me to know.”

He nodded. “I don’t want you to be afraid of what I am.”

“Then you should’ve told me, not just gone ripping apart my memories—”

“I lost control. That’s never happened to me before.” His voice was rough. His shoulders hunched tiredly. “At least, not in a very long time. But I was… reading such anger, such fear in you. I knew there wasn’t time for questions. I reacted stupidly. Didn’t even realize what I’d done until I was there. I’m sorry. It won’t happen again.”

“You’ve apologized. I accept that.”

He sat up a little straighter, hopeful. His fingers curled more tightly into mine.

“I also know you could’ve done more than just view my mental scrapbook. But you didn’t. I appreciate your trust in me, that I had a workable plan. Even if it made you angry.”

“I didn’t like your plan because I found out Guthrie was your husband. That you loved him. I stopped there. I thought then that you wanted to go with him, on the
Loviti
. I never knew you were divorced until you told me, later.” His mouth tightened. “I’m still not sure the divorce was something you wanted.”

“I wanted Philip’s options less.” I offered my other hand, squeezed his fingers reassuringly. No way to send warm tingles now. “Remember Port Chalo?”

A small smile played across his mouth then faded. “I waited for you to come back. I scared you away then, too.”

“I scared me away. The transmit waiting for me back on board was the finalization of my divorce. Believe me, I wanted nothing more than to go back to that bar and have you kiss me senseless. But I also didn’t want to wake in the morning and find out I’d been just another drunken fling. That you wouldn’t even have remembered my name. I couldn’t have faced that. Or myself. Or you.”

“I wasn’t drunk. You should’ve come back.”

I slid to my feet, tugged on his hands. “I’m here, now.”

He drew me against him as he stood. “I’d still like to try kissing you senseless.”

“My cabin or yours?”

He hesitated. “I hope mine is still yours.”

“It is.”

He started unbuttoning my shirt in the corridor, tossed his own on the couch as the cabin door closed behind us. I kicked off my boots and climbed into the middle of the bed.

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He pulled me down next to him. His arms closed tightly, almost desperately, around my back, over my hair that I’d unbound. I splayed my hand against his spine, my nose nuzzled against in his chest. I could feel his heart pounding.

But nothing more. Just the weight of his arms, the pressure of his mouth against my face as

he brushed my cheek, my lips, my chin with gently fervent kisses. And I felt my own very deep ache. But nothing more. He was staying out of my mind, out of my senses. Totally. Because of my fears, and his.

Because I’d ordered him to. A good captain knows when to rescind an order. I placed my lips almost against his. “Sully. It’s okay. Chasidah loves Gabriel, too.” There was a small intake of breath, then a question as he let the breath out again. “You’re

sure?” “Yes.” Warmth cascaded, surging. Warmth, cresting into heat. Warmth, cleansing, curing, healing.

Melting pain, melting aches. Spreading, flowing, gentling, caressing, lifting, cradling. Needing. Kneading. Stroking, skin, lips, fingers. Touch. Clothes. Come. Off. Heat, skin slicking, soft, hard, wanting, giving, claiming. Ecstasy. Warmth. Surrounding. Cradling. Gentling. Holding. Hands clasping. Mine. Mine. Love.

Chapter Eighteen

Boru Karn

She had been built for opulence. Sully had stripped her and outfitted her for war, for speed. For stealth.

The
Boru Karn
found us ten hours into meet-point. She slipped past my long-range, then tickled my short-range sensors only because, I knew, she was convinced she was safe. She sent a four-person tender out to pick up Ren and our meager belongings first. Sully and I secured the
Meritorious
, prepped her for tow.

An Imperial P40, towed by a luxury yacht. Unthinkable. Sully laughed at my silent bristling, tugging at my braid. “Snob,” he challenged as we waited in the loading bay for the tender to return.

I turned, retort ready. He sucked it out of my mouth with a long kiss.

The bay sealed behind the tender, force-field lights dancing in a bright blue circle. Our boots echoed on the hard floor as we strode out to meet it. The airlock uncycled, slid sideways. The small ship had no ramp, just a short step folding down. A man waited in the airlock, arms crossed over his chest, a clear expression of curiosity on his face that was the same color as Brother Clement’s. The color of deep Imperial ale.

I knew the face. Marsh Ganton. About my age, maybe younger, maybe older. It was hard to tell with a nose that looked like it had been broken a few times, and a scar that raked across his left eyebrow. His dark curly hair was clipped short. The arms crossing his chest were decidedly muscular. He offered his hand and I shook it as I mounted the stair.

“Captain Bergren.”

“Hello, Marsh.”

He nodded to Sully and I was surprised to see how much shorter Marsh was. He’d looked bigger on the
Meritorious’
s vidscreen, probably because of his build.

“We’re set,” Sully said, resting one hand on Marsh’s shoulder. The other held my elbow. “Strap in, Chazzy-girl.”

It was a short trip back to the
Karn
, who waited, undoubtedly, with her weapons hot, sensors at max. She wasn’t a ship to take chances.

She was already moving, sublights thrumming, when we exited into the tender bay. There was a loud hum then a slight jolt. I recognized it as the tow-field, locking onto my P40.

Unthinkable, four years ago.

Salvation, now.

Ren met us just aft of the bridge, visibly relaxed. His mouth curved into an easy grin. “This is finally a good day.”

Sully arched an eyebrow. “Thought we’d never make it, did you?”

“I had some small concerns from time to time.”

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“Salved your worries with my losses, however.”

“That helped.”

God, how much did Sully owe him now? I’d lost count. But I knew Ren hadn’t.

The sublights steadied. Marsh stepped by me and shot me a quick glance. “They’re still playing cards?”

“Incessantly.”

His gaze switched from Sully to Ren and back to me.

“Don’t ask,” I told him. “Last I remember it was over four million.”

“Four million, seven thousand, five hundred twenty five,” Ren said. “Not that I am keeping track.”

Sully hustled me forward. “To the bridge, please. To the bridge.”

The
Karn’
s bridge was set up just like the
Meritorious’
s. Captain’s command sling and helm were in the center. Communications on the left, weapons, engineering on the right. My brief perusal took in the familiar configurations, technical superiority. And another face I recognized.

Gregor.

I didn’t know his last name. Fleet intelligence could never come up with one. But I remembered the face, the lanky form. Sully’s pilot, always in the shadows, waiting for Sully’s orders. He vacated the captain’s chair as we came up behind him and greeted Sully with a brisk handshake, a nod. “About time, you son-of-a-bitch.”

“We ran into a few delays.” Sully clasped Gregor’s shoulder. They were almost of equal height. But Gregor was at least ten years older, wiry. His hair and eyes were a light muddy brown.

“Hope you fucked ’em good,” Gregor said. His gaze fell on me as Sully withdrew his hand. “Well, well. Chaz Bergren. Pride of the Sixth Fleet.” He said it with a smile. A cold smile.

“Gregor.” I offered my hand, pretended I didn’t see the hardness in his eyes. His resistance to my presence wasn’t unexpected. But I had no intention of acknowledging it. I could conduct myself like an officer, even if he couldn’t.

He shook it quickly, released it. “Looks like we did what we came here to do. So far.” Another narrow eyed glance focused briefly on me. Then he turned back to Sully. “Want me to get Verno up on the bridge? Marsh can show Bergren her quarters. Then you and me—”

“Chaz stays with me. My quarters.” Sully’s voice was calm but held a tone that brooked no argument.

A slow, knowing smile from Gregor. Oily. “Sure, Sully. You’re the boss. Whatever you say.”

Obsidian eyes narrowed slightly. “Fifteen minutes. I want to unpack some things, find that datapad we’ve been working on. Chaz and I will meet you, Ren and Marsh,” he added with a nod to the shorter man waiting, and watching, by the comm station, “in the ready room. Get Verno to sit helm. Fifteen minutes.”

* * *

“I don’t want to be an issue between you and Gregor.” I waited until the door to Sully’s quarters closed behind me before I spoke what was on my mind. I could still hear Gregor’s sneering, “Well, well”.

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Sully picked up my duffle—pilfered from a locker on the
Meritorious
—and hoisted it next to his on the bed. It was a wide bed, in the middle of a bedroom larger than we had on my ship. Behind us, a salon in pale grays and blues, with a long couch, two soft chairs and a low table. Commissary panels were set behind a high counter with two padded stools. This had once been an opulent ship.

“You’re not. You won’t be.” He opened the duffle, pulled out the datapad, put it on the bed as I came up behind him. He turned and placed his fingers under my chin. His eyes were dark, infinite. “Hear me well. One word. Mine. Gabriel gives no quarter in that. Gregor’s opinions will change, or be silenced.”

Gregor had no idea what such a threat might mean. But I did and even after nearly three weeks, still wasn’t comfortable with the power behind the threat. The very dark side of Gabriel Ross Sullivan. A side that made me uneasy the few times I’d seen it.

“I can fight my own fights very well, thank you very much.” I let some arrogance resound in my words. “I just don’t want it to come to that. We have an unwritten rule in Fleet: you don’t have to like someone to work with them. That’s all I’m asking for here.”