Pirate's Price (4 page)

“The credit confirmation is all the
reference I need. Why are you being so squeamish?”

“This doesn’t feel right.” Tapping his thumb
against one corner of the datapad, he reached for his half-empty
mug of hazard. “How long do we have to accept or decline? I need to
do some digging.”

“Digging into what? This couldn’t be cleaner
if we’d planned it ourselves.”

“That’s the problem. It’s too damned easy.
There has to be more to it than we know.”

“I’m sure there is, but we don’t need to
know the motivation. We provide a service for a fee. As long as the
fee compensates for the risk, and we can avoid collateral damage,
we do the job. Those are your rules.”

Vihlok studied the details more closely,
determined to figure out what was bothering him. “There’s a six-day
lapse between the wedding and the ransom. What the
venot
are
we supposed to do with our guest for six days?”

“According to the contract, we’re supposed
to ‘irreversibly sully her reputation through direct or indirect
means.’ You’re better with all that legal
blin
than I am,
but it sounds like she wants a good fuck thrown into the
bargain.”

Ignoring Fibros’s obvious amusement, Vihlok
returned to his apartment. Space on Makar was limited, so all of
the shops and personnel quarters were designed for functionality
not comfort. Shrugging out of his metlar jacket, he tossed it onto
the sleeping station. The garment might be heavy and hot, but it
protected him from focused pulse blasts and thrusting blades.

His reality had changed dramatically when
the Devauntian uprising began. Memories of life before his exile
were hazy at best. His father had been overthrown when Vihlok was
thirteen. The next twenty-one solar cycles evolved in an ever
changing blur of danger and lies. He’d progressed from negotiator
to smuggler to privateer, but the outcomes were all similar.
Despite authorization from the Sabrotine Federation, he was a
criminal, a man existing outside the law.

Silencing the past with practiced
indifference, he crossed to his access terminal. The datapad named
the groom, but gave no information about the bride. “Info search,
King Vega of Peronite.”

“There are four thousand six hundred
ninety-two entries referencing that name,” the computer told
him.

“Do any of the records pertain to his
upcoming wedding?”

“The official announcement, thirty-two media
entries, and four interactive access points.”

It was a royal marriage; media frenzy was
inevitable. “Display the official announcement.” He sat on the
contoured alloy seat as the announcement materialized onscreen. His
gaze skimmed down the page until the bride’s name caught his
attention. “Confirm identity of the bride.”

“Princess Rana Jabulayni of the Devauntian
Empire. Shall I display an image file?”

“Yes.” Vihlok could barely force the word
out. Usurpers, murderers, and thieves, the House of Jabulayni was
responsible for his present circumstance. War was brutal and
barbaric, but at least it was honest. The Jabulayni butchers had
murdered his parents while they slept! His older brother had
followed and Vihlok would have been next if he hadn’t been small
enough to escape through the ventilation ducts in the palace.

Fibros found him three days after the
massacre, terrified and hungry, cold and unable to speak. They’d
had no choice but to leave the planet, knowing the Jabulayni
assassins wouldn’t rest until every member of the Royal House of
Torral was wiped out of existence.

Vihlok gazed at the holoimage. Silky black
hair framed Rana’s heart-shaped face. Prominent cheekbones and a
full-lipped mouth distracted little from her wide glistening eyes.
Light brown with a hint of red, the color was exclusive to the
House of Jabulayni. Vihlok couldn’t deny her beauty. Her youth,
however, gave him pause. She would have been a child when the war
took place, innocent and -- He’d been a child too! He’d been
reduced to a common criminal while the House of Jabulayni
cannibalized the Devauntian economy.

Stunned and infuriated, he activated his
audiocom.

“Go ahead,” Fibros responded to the
page.

“Do you know who we’ve been contracted to
abduct?”

Fibros chuckled. “Thought you’d enjoy the
irony.”

“What’s to say this isn’t a trap? Who the
fuck would contract me to abduct one of them?”

“The wedding is taking place on Peronite,
and the empress has no reason to believe you’re still alive. This
is the opportunity you’ve been waiting for. Make of it what you
will.”

The link went dead and Vihlok was left
staring at the image of his enemy.

Rana clasped her hands into tight fists,
determined not to reveal her apprehension. Simulated torches cast
the formal garden in hazy golden light. Kashi had assured her
repeatedly that the wedding would not take place. The younger woman
refused to divulge the specifics of the impending abduction,
fearing Rana’s reaction would be less than genuine if she knew what
was going to happen.

King Vega stood at Rana’s side beneath a
flowering arbor, resplendent in court finery. Her gown was no less
elaborate, but her mood was anything but festive. The robed
minister droned on and on, rudely performing the ceremony in
Peronite without benefit of translation. If their surprise guests
didn’t arrive soon it might be too late.

An abrupt pop startled Rana out of her
anxious musings. She glanced over her shoulder as twin pillars of
smoke billowed into the night sky. People covered their mouths and
coughed, instinctively huddling into protective groups or darting
toward the surrounding buildings.

Vega’s private guards rushed in from one
side and Rana’s advanced from the other. Dressed in formal suits,
with the lower portion of their faces covered, three men emerged
from the panicked guests and insinuated themselves between Rana and
her guards.

One of the raiders grabbed her around the
waist and trapped her arms against her sides. “Back off!” he
shouted and pressed a gun against the side of her head. Surprise
and fear made her yelp and then go perfectly still. He wasn’t
really hurting her. She just hadn’t expected the kidnapping to be
this realistic.

A foolishly brave guard lunged for her and
one of the abductors blasted a warning shot right between his feet.
He scrambled back, weapon raised in a non-threatening manner.

“Wait!” Vega held up both hands. “Why are
you doing this? What are your terms? We can negotiate without
involving Rana.”

Her captor’s arm tightened painfully and
Rana cried out.

“We’ll negotiate when I control the
situation.” He dragged her along the gravel path and through an
arched opening in the high perimeter hedge. His companions
followed, keeping the guards back with compact rifles positioned
against their shoulders, solid and steady.

She struggled against her captor’s hold,
dragging her feet and twisting her upper body. They were a bit too
good at this. A violent shiver slipped down her spine and she
wiggled one arm free. Instead of scratching his arm or inflicting
pain, she shoved the gun away from her temple. “A dead hostage
won’t do you any good.”

He made a sound suspiciously like a chuckle
and hurried her across the wide side lawn. They piled into a
skimmer and took off at breakneck speed. She gasped and reached for
the nearest solid object, which happened to be her captor’s thigh.
There was no mistaking his throaty laugh the second time. He
covered her hand with his and guided it to the railing in front of
her.

Night air whipped her veil around her face
and shoulders, sending another shiver down her spine.

“We’re not going far,” he told her. “You’ll
be much more comfortable on my ship.”

“Ship?” Keeping one hand on the railing, she
crossed the other arm over her chest. “Where are you taking
me?”

“You’ll see.”

They lapsed into silence as the skimmer sped
along. She glanced behind, but there was no sign of pursuit. Had
Vega been caught completely unprepared or did he not care that his
fiancée had just been kidnapped? The lack of response stung her
pride, though it served her purpose better. She hadn’t been able to
accomplish as much as she’d hoped in the short time since the
marriage had been announced.

The skimmer raced toward their destination.
Rana studied her surroundings, but the darkness and her minimal
knowledge of Peronite conspired against her. Did Kashi know where
these men were taking Rana, or would she be out of contact with
everyone for the duration of her “captivity”? No guards, no
regimented agenda, or meddling mother? She wouldn’t know what to do
with herself.

A smile played about her lips and she
enjoyed the brisk wind against her face. The Pirates were being
suspiciously civil. Did they realize she was their client? They had
been given detailed plans and invitations to the wedding. They had
to realize she was involved to some extent.

She looked at the man seated next to her,
intrigued by his strong profile. The lower half of his face was
covered by a stretchy material he had apparently pulled up from
under his neck cloth. The wind tossed his dark hair, creating messy
waves. Tingling awareness passed down her spine, but the elusive
image remained just out of reach. Did she know this man? That would
explain Kashi’s certainty about his proficiency and character.

His shoulders were broad and those long arms
had maneuvered Rana with effortless strength. As if sensing her
gaze, he turned his head and looked at her. His thick-lashed eyes
were pale in the moonlight, but she couldn’t determine if they were
green or blue.

He made his living on the fringes of
civilization, doing things no one else would dare. His base of
operations was Spaceport Makar, but she didn’t even know his name.
Despite Kashi’s confidence in this man, Rana’s real security came
from the Sephoran bankers and their two-stage transfer process.

The stranger’s gaze lingered on her face and
his brows scrunched together. He couldn’t see her through the veil,
she realized. Had he heard of the Devauntian Empire or was this
just another job?

“It’s not far now,” he said and one of the
men behind them snorted, obviously amused by his concern.

Dragging her attention away from her captor,
she stared out across the rolling hills. She’d made some progress
with the leaders on her home world. Most everyone she spoke with
agreed that changes were desperately needed. Still, no one was
anxious to move against the empress. Anyone who opposed Empress
Bakula had a way of disappearing.

The skimmer slowed and Rana looked up.
Silhouetted against the moonlit sky was a familiar ship, the sleek
lines and sweptback wings unmistakable even in the darkness.
“That’s my mother’s ship. Why did you steal a royal transport? She
loves
this ship.”

None of the men replied to her objection.
The leader helped her down from the skimmer and one of the others
fastened a clip on the control console and sent the simple
transport speeding off in the opposite direction. This explained
how they’d gotten onto the compound without incident, but how had
they overridden the biometric security on the cruiser? It took a
member of the royal family to activate the ship’s primary
systems.

A ramp extended from the hatch as their
small party approached. Someone must be inside the ship. She didn’t
bother with questions. The men were obviously focused on
escape.

Would it be to her advantage to reveal that
this was not an ordinary kidnapping? All she really needed was a
ride off this rock and a place to hide while she… Her thoughts
skittered to a halt as she climbed the ramp. Though similar in
appearance, this was not her mother’s ship. The royal crest was
missing and the interior was not nearly as well maintained.

“Where did you get a Devauntian cruiser?”
These ships were only issued to members of the aristocracy. Had the
owner been harmed because of her?

The leader motioned to her left. “I’ll show
you to your quarters.”

She studied the corridors as she walked,
hoping for a family seal or indication of who owned the ship. Her
captor scanned open the door to one of the staterooms and she
paused, unable to ignore her concern any longer.

“No one was to be hurt,” she said. “That was
clear in the contract. How did you get this ship?”

He urged her into the cabin and locked the
door with a voice command. “What kind of woman arranges her own
abduction? That question has bothered me ever since I received your
message.”

“I have valid reasons for what I did and
they have nothing to do with you. If someone was harmed because of
our arrangement, I am partially to blame.”

Pulling the face covering off over his head,
he tossed the fabric ring aside. He unfastened his jacket, his gaze
never leaving hers. His movements were slow, almost threatening,
yet the leap in her pulse had nothing to do with fear. Her nipples
tightened and heat cascaded through her abdomen. He was rugged and
unabashedly male, his formal attire accenting an underlying
savagery.

A memory stirred in the back of her mind.
Simulated candlelight and brightly colored gowns, people crowding
the perimeter of a ballroom as they watched a dashing couple dance.
She tried to focus the image, to summon the details or
significance, but the memory slipped away. Why had this…criminal
made her think of a formal gala? It was more than just his
garments. He was somehow connected to the memory.

“The ship was acquired long before you
entered the equation,” he told her. “In that, at least, you are
blameless.”

“What’s that supposed to mean? How have I
failed to uphold my end of the bargain?”

“You are either the bravest woman I’ve ever
met or the most foolish.” Challenge flashed in his bright, blue
eyes as he untied his neck cloth. “You have intentionally put
yourself at the mercy of men you know nothing about.”