Kris DeLake - Spy to Die For

“Two minutes to spare,” he said.

She tapped a chip on the back of her hand, showing her the time. She hated the “useful” augmentations that put that stuff just inside the eye.

He was right. They had two minutes to spare, and they certainly weren’t going to spend that bussing tables. The only reason anyone bussed a table in this place was to have a place to sit down.

“Amazing,” she said and then burped. So ladylike. Ah, well. She hadn’t acted politely since she met him; wasn’t time to start now. She didn’t even excuse herself.

His grin grew, and his eyes twinkled. God, he had a pleasant face. She really liked that.

“How about getting a drink?” he asked. “I still want that special soda.”

She’d never had the local sweetwater, as a friend once called it. She had no idea how they made the special soda here on Krell, and she was afraid to find out that the stuff wasn’t boiled or sterilized or pasteurized or whatever the hell companies did to purify liquids way out here. Not that they’d want anyone to get sick here, but public safety regulations really weren’t Krell’s strong suit. That was one of the reasons why so many shady characters showed up here on such a regular basis.

She counted herself as one of those shady characters.

“A drink sounds good,” she said as she stood. She extended a hand to help him up and to her surprise, he took it. For a half second, she thought he was going to tower over her, but he hunched.

“Good,” he said, not letting go of her hand. Instead, he used it to drag her out of this place. Did he actually believe Delores would lock them in?

Perhaps he did. But then, he knew her better than Skye did.

They made it outside—if, indeed, the concourse could be called “outside”—and the door locked behind them with an audible click. Skye turned slightly and saw Delores frowning at her through the window.

Jack still held her hand, but he hadn’t moved. Skye glanced at him and was startled when her gaze hit his torso.

He had stood up. Upright. To his full height.

Which, she had to admit, was impressive.

The top of his head nearly bumped the concourse’s ceiling. She had thought he was tall before, but he was really tall. She had never seen a human in space who was that tall, bar none.

She craned her neck, saw the elegant line of his throat and the underside of his chin. He had just a bit of growth. It gave him a rough, careless look. She suspected if he cleaned up a bit, he would be so handsome everyone would remember him.

Not that they could forget his height.

“How in the universe do you manage?” she asked him, her neck getting just a little sore from looking up at him.

He was scanning the area—probably for open bars. “Manage what?”

“This,” she said. “Space stations. Space ships for that matter. Being out here, where everything is built for people like me.”

He looked down on her. How many people had done that in the last few years? She could probably count them on one hand.

It made her feel like she was on Kordita standing next to a tree.

“It’s not so bad,” he said.

“Not so bad?” she asked. “You have to watch your head all the time.”

“As if that were possible,” he said with a smile. “I can’t see my head.”

He went back to scanning.

She got the message. He didn’t like talking about his height. Interesting. Well, everything about him was interesting. Everything . She squeezed his hand.

“Drink?” she said.

“Yeah,” he said slowly. “I suppose you want alcohol.”

“I don’t care,” she said. “I generally avoid the stuff.”

He looked down on her again, those blue eyes suddenly serious. “You like crusty Starcatcher burgers, you burp like a cargo jockey, and you don’t drink. What are you?”

Her heart twisted a bit. She was always a surprise to people. She wondered if he no longer found her attractive. (Had he found her attractive? Or had she just imagined that? Still, he was holding her hand…)

“I’m clearly not a girl, right?” she said. “Or at least one you’d find in polite company.”

He chuckled. “Like there’s polite company on Krell.”

“Good point,” she said.

“Come on,” he said. “There should be a place across the way which, if I remember right, is open continually.”

Then he dragged her forward and she went. She had to walk fast to keep up with him. That surprised her. They maneuvered around the open-air part of the restaurant, with its locked chairs, across the actual concourse to the other side, with its other open-air sections.

Most of them were closed. The shops had locked up and so had the restaurants, but the bars were open.

Three had revolving “open” signs in their windows, but only one had an open-air section. It was close to the exterior walls of the bar, and there were only a few tables, but she knew that Jack would choose to sit there.

And she couldn’t blame him. He didn’t have to worry about hitting his head.

There was one available table, but she had a hunch it wouldn’t be available for long. She squeezed his hand and said, “You get the table, I’ll get the drinks.”

Then she slipped her hand from his and pushed her way inside the bar.

It was crowded and smelled of beer. The actual bar itself had a self-serve section, and she was grateful. People pushed against her, talking, laughing, trying to find room to stand.

She glanced out the door. He had gotten the table and was watching her.

Her heart pounded. When was the last time she had been this impulsive?

When was the last time she had had fun?

She couldn’t remember.

She smiled at him, then turned to the bar and ordered their drinks.

She was beautiful. Jack had to give her that. The mysterious and forceful Skye was one of the most beautiful women he had ever seen—and he had seen a lot of beautiful women.

She negotiated her way through the crowd inside the bar, working her way to the self-serve section. She looked tall in there next to all the space jockeys. Tall, and thin, and stunning.

She wasn’t tall. She was, in fact, a tiny little thing. Her hand had felt fragile in his.

Her black hair was cut short around her head, forming a cap around her face. She could hide behind that wedge of hair if she had to. Her eyes were as black as her hair, blacker maybe, like pieces of space that starlight couldn’t reach.

Yes, he was waxing poetic over a woman he had just met. And yes, it scared him.

He tried to ignore women whenever possible. They were trouble. But this woman was impossible to ignore.

She came out of the bar holding a drink in each hand. She had gotten something yellow and fizzy. He had gotten the special soda, which was just root beer, made with both wintergreen and real cherry tree bark that got shipped in.

Or maybe the combination of all the artificial flavors mixed just right. Maybe it was all hype. Whatever the case, he liked the special soda on Krell almost as much as he liked the Starcatcher’s burgers. Less than he already liked this woman.

Whose last name he didn’t know.

She set the drinks down in front of him then climbed into a chair. It was noisy here, with the conversation inside and out, plus some pounding music that he didn’t recognize.

“Not good for talking,” he said.

“Then why talk?” she asked and leaned forward.

Before he knew what had happened, she kissed him. Her lips were warm and firm. She hesitated for just a minute, as if asking his permission.

He thought about pulling away—he couldn’t remember the last relationship he’d had (well, he could, and he didn’t want to think about it)—but he waited too long. Besides, his mouth opened slightly, and she took advantage of it, her tongue sliding in and exploring his.