assume you have fallen. I will go to the party without you and without an invitation. Good hunting, Director Bishop.”
A range of emotions flashed across his face before settling on suspicion. “You’re going to stay here? Voluntarily?”
“Yes. Until the start of the party. Then I am going to leave, even if I have to go through Aoife to do it.” I shot the woman an apologetic look, but she just tilted her head with a smile, the first I’d seen from her. “I suggest you move quickly.”
Ian nodded and closed the face guard of his helmet. In the gray-and-black combat armor he looked massive. He had a blast rifle in hand, another strapped to his back, and two pistols in thigh holsters.
Alexander was outfitted with the same gear and impossibly huge. He moved lightly, though, the combat armor aiding rather than hindering. He and Ian visually checked each other to ensure the armor had sealed without gaps.
I mentally caught the signal from their internal com. I moved to the crate of supplies brought from Aurora while I shamelessly eavesdropped.
Ready? Ian asked.
Alexander agreed, then said, You should apologize to the woman.
Ian froze for a second. Why?
She’s hard to read when she goes all icy, but I think you hurt her. How would you feel if someone told you that you were a liability?
I paused at Alexander’s uncanny insight. I would be wise not to underestimate him just because he was big and quiet.
I never said that, Ian protested. Focus on the mission, not Lady Bianca. He turned on his external speaker. “Aoife, you’re on the door. Lock it as soon as we’re clear. If we’re not back in three hours, take the ship into orbit and await instructions.”
He’d just given me a deadline for overriding control of the ship.
As if he’d heard my thoughts, he turned his helmeted head in my direction. “Stay on the ship.”
He did not apologize.
“Until you return or the party starts,” I agreed.
The cargo door lifted and the two men jumped out, deciding not to lower the ramp. They landed with a muffled thud, but they were off and running a split second after they hit the ground.
The spaceport was littered with debris. Ian and Alexander hit the edge of our shield and a person popped up from behind one of the piles, leading with a blaster. The bolt deflected off Alexander’s armor. Ian shot the shooter before he could fire again.
Now that they were clear of the ship’s shield, individual shields shimmered around them. The shields were effective against energy weapons but wouldn’t stop projectile weapons. The physical armor protected against both, even after the shield’s energy was drained. The cargo door slid closed and Aoife holstered her blast pistol.
“Are you really better than Alexander?” I asked.
“Light-years better,” she agreed easily. “Alex is smart, strong, and inexhaustible. If you need someone to haul fifty kilos over mountainous terrain all day, Alex is your man. But I’m lighter and faster. As long as he doesn’t get close, I’ll dance circles around him. And I’m also a better shot, so he wouldn’t get close.”
“Are you two together?”
She laughed, a deep belly laugh that rang pleasantly through the cargo hold. “Alex is my brother,” she said.
I stared at her as I tried—and failed—to see the resemblance. She caught the look and clarified, “Adopted.”
Heat climbed my cheeks. “I apologize,” I said. “That was rude.”
She waved off my concern, then her gaze turned shrewd. “Are you and Ian . . . ?” She moved her hands together.
“No.”
“But you’d like to be.” She stated it as fact and I wondered at how broken my mask must be that a stranger could see through me in under an hour.
“I did, once, but he made his feelings—his lack of feelings—very clear.”
She made a little disbelieving sound under her breath but didn’t say anything else.
I turned back to the cargo crates. Ada had not been joking when she said she’d packed a little bit of everything. The combat armor took up a third of the crate. The other two-thirds were packed with weapons, clothes, and technology. On top of everything was the wrapped package of coffee and chocolate.
I opened the chocolate and broke off a piece. Synth chocolate never tasted right to me, no matter which recipe I tried. But real chocolate . . . real chocolate was a little piece of heaven. The square melted on my tongue like a delicious, sugary blanket.
After a moment’s hesitation, caused entirely by selfish greed, I held the