his shoulders straight dissolved. He leaned back in his chair, slumping slightly.
“Throwing a lot of money around on a place like Dock Five,” she said softly, “can get you killed.”
“I thought—”
“Be straight with me, Trip. Were you telling me the absolute truth about how you had this run-in with Fuzz-face? Or were you dealing with him to try to go out-system?”
That
would change everything. Fuzz-face could well be an undercover ImpSec agent. Or worse.
“No. I swear—”
She suddenly sat up straight, seeing movement by the side door that set her internal alarms pinging. Two large human males. Not Fuzz-face but the balding one she was sure had been with Trip’s attacker earlier. Dark jackets were too large, and hands were snakingunderneath or being tucked behind at the waist. Armed, definitely. Clutching weapons, definitely.
Looking for Trip Guthrie? Too damned likely.
They sure as hell didn’t look like they were looking for an ale.
Her pulse spiked. She nudged Trip’s boot with her own. “Side door,” she said quickly, quietly. “Guy on the left?”
Both men—Baldy and Curly, she dubbed them—were scanning the busy movement in the bar but hadn’t fixed on the spot where Kaidee and Trip were seated. Or else they had, she realized with a sinking feeling, and were too well trained to reveal that fact.
But not well trained enough to hide their imposing predatory appearance. She crossed ImpSec off the list. ImpSec was cagier than that.
“You shot that one earlier,” Trip said, confirming her recognition of the balding man.
“Stunned him,” she corrected him. Station rules. She tried to abide by them. Not everyone did, as Gudrin Vere had found out when Nula caught up with her. “You see Fuzz-face anywhere?”
Trip slouched down in his seat and raked the bar with just a glance and only the slightest movement of his head. She wondered again how much Halsey had taught him.
“Nope. You?”
“Nope.” She’d used the same method. Movement drew attention. They didn’t need that right now. “We need to get out of here. Front door’s closest, but it’s also the most obvious.” Just to the side of the front door, though, was a little-known maintenance access to what was now the CFTC shuttle bay. Scenarios and options ran through her mind. So did a penchant for safety. There were far too many innocent patronsbetween here and that access way. “There’s a back exit to your right, behind the bar. Provides more cover.” And fewer innocents in the line of fire, should stupidity make an appearance. Bar ’droids were replaceable.
“I know how to use a gun, if you have a spare,” he told her.
“Only my L7. With luck, we won’t need it.” She nudged him again. “Big group over there is getting ready to leave. When they start moving, so do we. Keep your head down. Don’t run unless I tell you to. Just make for the back of the bar. Then get down to Green Ten. Got it? Green Ten. Popovitch Repairs. Tell Pops I sent you. You can be straight up about who you are. He’ll help you.”
Trip blinked, an emotion flickering through his eyes. She wasn’t sure if he was afraid or affronted. His mouth thinned. “I’m not leaving you here alone.”
Affronted. And with a short memory of who had rescued whom earlier.
“We’re leaving,” she stressed the word,
“together
. But if I don’t tell you where we’re going, and we get separated—”
“Oh. Right.”
“The group’s moving.” But so was the armed trio. “Try to use one of the Takas as cover. I’ll watch our friends. You head for the bar.” She swiveled her chair around, spying something on the decking as she did. A short-brimmed dockworker’s cap under the table. Discarded or forgotten, she didn’t care. She snatched it and, ignoring the grimy stains on the tan material, shoved it over her hair, tugging the brim down. She didn’t know how good a look Fuzz-face and friends had gotten at her, but if they were convinced
“Throwing a lot of money around on a place like Dock Five,” she said softly, “can get you killed.”
“I thought—”
“Be straight with me, Trip. Were you telling me the absolute truth about how you had this run-in with Fuzz-face? Or were you dealing with him to try to go out-system?”
That
would change everything. Fuzz-face could well be an undercover ImpSec agent. Or worse.
“No. I swear—”
She suddenly sat up straight, seeing movement by the side door that set her internal alarms pinging. Two large human males. Not Fuzz-face but the balding one she was sure had been with Trip’s attacker earlier. Dark jackets were too large, and hands were snakingunderneath or being tucked behind at the waist. Armed, definitely. Clutching weapons, definitely.
Looking for Trip Guthrie? Too damned likely.
They sure as hell didn’t look like they were looking for an ale.
Her pulse spiked. She nudged Trip’s boot with her own. “Side door,” she said quickly, quietly. “Guy on the left?”
Both men—Baldy and Curly, she dubbed them—were scanning the busy movement in the bar but hadn’t fixed on the spot where Kaidee and Trip were seated. Or else they had, she realized with a sinking feeling, and were too well trained to reveal that fact.
But not well trained enough to hide their imposing predatory appearance. She crossed ImpSec off the list. ImpSec was cagier than that.
“You shot that one earlier,” Trip said, confirming her recognition of the balding man.
“Stunned him,” she corrected him. Station rules. She tried to abide by them. Not everyone did, as Gudrin Vere had found out when Nula caught up with her. “You see Fuzz-face anywhere?”
Trip slouched down in his seat and raked the bar with just a glance and only the slightest movement of his head. She wondered again how much Halsey had taught him.
“Nope. You?”
“Nope.” She’d used the same method. Movement drew attention. They didn’t need that right now. “We need to get out of here. Front door’s closest, but it’s also the most obvious.” Just to the side of the front door, though, was a little-known maintenance access to what was now the CFTC shuttle bay. Scenarios and options ran through her mind. So did a penchant for safety. There were far too many innocent patronsbetween here and that access way. “There’s a back exit to your right, behind the bar. Provides more cover.” And fewer innocents in the line of fire, should stupidity make an appearance. Bar ’droids were replaceable.
“I know how to use a gun, if you have a spare,” he told her.
“Only my L7. With luck, we won’t need it.” She nudged him again. “Big group over there is getting ready to leave. When they start moving, so do we. Keep your head down. Don’t run unless I tell you to. Just make for the back of the bar. Then get down to Green Ten. Got it? Green Ten. Popovitch Repairs. Tell Pops I sent you. You can be straight up about who you are. He’ll help you.”
Trip blinked, an emotion flickering through his eyes. She wasn’t sure if he was afraid or affronted. His mouth thinned. “I’m not leaving you here alone.”
Affronted. And with a short memory of who had rescued whom earlier.
“We’re leaving,” she stressed the word,
“together
. But if I don’t tell you where we’re going, and we get separated—”
“Oh. Right.”
“The group’s moving.” But so was the armed trio. “Try to use one of the Takas as cover. I’ll watch our friends. You head for the bar.” She swiveled her chair around, spying something on the decking as she did. A short-brimmed dockworker’s cap under the table. Discarded or forgotten, she didn’t care. She snatched it and, ignoring the grimy stains on the tan material, shoved it over her hair, tugging the brim down. She didn’t know how good a look Fuzz-face and friends had gotten at her, but if they were convinced
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