Kris DeLake - Spy to Die For

Like this guy had caught her.

He couldn’t stand upright. He had to bend at the waist just to get inside the door, and even then, the top of his head scraped the door frame. He had black hair that seemed a touch long, but she couldn’t really tell because she couldn’t see his face yet.

At least he was thin. She couldn’t imagine how a tall fat guy would survive on a space station like Krell. The doorways were as narrow as they were short.

The man somehow managed to wend his way around the tables and found a path to her little bit of wall. As he did so, he said to the waitress, “Bacon double cheeseburger, extra cheese, extra bacon, extra crispy. And a Krell special soda. Keep that funky water away from me.”

“Yes, sir,” the waitress said sarcastically. “Should I salute too?”

“C’mon, Delores,” he said, surprising Skye by knowing the waitress’s name. “It’s already been a tough week.”

He pulled a chair to the side of Skye’s table and sat down so hard that the chair actually groaned. He straightened his back. It cracked as he did so. Then he brought his head up.

Skye’s breath caught. She hadn’t expected him to be so handsome or so young. He had moved like an old man—probably because he had to hunch to get into the place—so she had just assumed that he was old.

She had assumed wrong.

He was probably in his early thirties. He had high cheekbones that accented the hollows in his cheeks. His nose was angular and pointed at that marvelous mouth of his, not too big and not too small. It was curved up in a smile now, a smile that made his unbelievably blue eyes twinkle.

“Thanks for sharing your table,” he said. “This place is so crowded, I can see why Delores didn’t want to serve me in the open air.”

Skye laughed. “Well, you know. It’s me and the piles of dust.”

“I don’t think there’s dust here,” the man said. “Dirt, maybe, but not dust.”

Skye tilted her head just a little to concede the point.

“Yet,” she said, “it must not bother you. You come here often enough to know the name of the waitstaff.”

“Just Delores,” the man said. “She’s been here longer than the dirt.”

“I heard that,” the woman—Delores—said from the back.

“I was hoping so, darling,” he said. “You know how I hate stepping inside this place.”

“It’s not my fault you’re too big to fly in space.”

“Honey,” he said, that smile growing, “I don’t fly. That’s what ships are for.”

Skye was smiling too. She couldn’t remember the last time she had felt this amused.

“You are the tallest man I’ve ever seen off-planet,” she said, agreeing with the grumpy Delores. It had to be hard for him, traveling in places built for people like Skye.

“Yeah, I get that a lot,” the man said. “Most people let height regulations discourage them. Me, I just pretend to be shorter.”

“Does it work?” she asked.

“You just saw how well,” he said. Then he extended his hand. “Jack Hunter.”

She hadn’t expected introductions. She stared at his hand stupidly for a moment, thinking that a) his hand was big ( nice ) and b) his hand was big. Then she took it in her own, noting calluses which meant he did some kind of physical labor.

“Skye,” she said, conscious that she wasn’t giving him her last name. She never gave out her last name, since she wasn’t really sure what it was. Her parents had used Jones the last time she had seen them, but before that, they’d been using Anderson, and before that, Ngyen. The Guild had stuck her with Jones, but she had identification in anything except Jones.

“Skye,” he repeated. “As in ‘skies of blue’?”

As in the color of your eyes , she thought, but didn’t say. She was not about to tell him her name was Skylight. People always wanted to know where that name came from.

“As in skies of gray, maybe,” she said. “I tend to reject anything that’s black and white.”

“Or colorful,” he said.

“Or colorful,” she agreed. But he seemed colorful, and she wasn’t rejecting him. In fact, he still held her hand. Or, if she really wanted to be accurate, his hand enveloped hers.

She rarely felt small, but next to this guy, she felt truly tiny. And her hand was lost in his.

In a good way.

She rubbed her thumb against his palm, and his cheeks actually flushed with surprise. His hand twitched just a little, and she wondered if he had nearly pulled away from her.

But his gaze never left hers. If anything, his eyes seemed to become a deeper blue.

“You seem colorful to me,” he said.

“Only every other Thursday,” she said.

He smiled. It softened his features and made him seem even more approachable. How long had it been since she’d seen such a handsome man?

All right, that probably wasn’t the question to ask, since she’d seen a lot of handsome men. But none of them had attracted her. This guy, he made her relax, maybe a bit too much. Spies should never relax.

“It’s my lucky day then,” he said so softly that she almost didn’t hear him.

Banter rose in her mind: Mine too . Or maybe we could both get lucky . But she didn’t say either of those things because she suddenly felt awkward. That “lucky day” comment seemed sincere, and she distrusted sincere.

Delores showed up with a steaming burger, something that resembled fried potatoes, and a tray of condiments. She slammed it all on the table, narrowly missing Skye and Jack’s still-entwined hands.

He let go of Skye’s hand and she glanced at him, startled. She hadn’t even thought of letting go.

Oh, yeah. Sincere was very dangerous.

His cheeks still had spots of color as he reached for the hamburger. Delores slapped his wrist.

“The sandwich, you overgrown monstrosity of a man, is for the young lady.”

No one ever called Skye a lady, and very few people called her young. Both terms applied to weaker, more polite people than she had ever been.

“Yeah,” Skye said, sliding the plate toward herself. “You wouldn’t like it. I prefer my bacon wiggly.”

And the banter again: Unlike my men. I prefer them hard .

But she censored that as well.

He glanced at her, a small movement, almost unnoticeable. Jack Hunter, huh? She had never heard of him, and she wondered why not. A man like him would be hard to miss no matter where he went. Since he was comfortable in the Starcatcher, he came to Krell a lot.

She should have heard of him—not necessarily by this name, but just because he was so big. People talked about anything unusual, and his size made him very unusual.

“Well, then,” he said, his hand retreating to his side of the table. “I guess I’ll have to wait for mine.”

Skye could hear the burger sizzling, so it wouldn’t take very long.

“What about my special soda?” he asked Delores. “I’m thirsty as hell.”

“I shut down the fountain,” she said. “Drink her water.”

“No one should drink that water,” Jack said. “I swear it’s another life-form.”

“Naw,” Delores said. “But I wouldn’t bet against other life-forms living in it.”

She wiped her hands on an apron as filthy as the table, then stalked to the back.

“I want the soda!” Jack yelled after her.

“I want some handsome prince to rescue me from all this,” Delores shouted back. “I doubt either one of us will get our wish.”

“You can have my water,” Skye said to him. “I don’t mind.”

He was still looking toward Delores. Then he turned his attention to Skye and she felt the power of that face again. He wasn’t the most handsome man she had ever seen, but something about him took her breath away.