a tent in a thunderstorm. “You guys wait here,” he said, and slipped from the truck.
Thunder rolled in the distance. It was still swelteringly hot, so humid that sweat slicked his skin before he’d taken two steps. The evening air pressed down on him, and his joints twinged like he was an old-timer in a bar bitching about his weather knee.
Nina was already standing outside the motel office, her hands in her pockets, staring up at the sign proclaiming vacancies. “Ready to turn on the charm, Captain?”
She sounded dubious. Probably wondered why he wasn’t sending Rafe in to do battle with his pretty brown eyes and perfect smile.
Charm wasn’t Knox’s best weapon, but he had enough for an emergency.
It took a second to sink into it. To push all the reasons he shouldn’t smile at her into a dark corner and slam the door. After that, it was easy. The smile curved his lips without effort, because she was the kind of woman he’d always liked, back when he had the luxury of liking people. Dangerous, smart, and earnest.
Knox pulled open the door for her, unable to hold back a relieved exhalation when a puff of cool air hit him, and gestured her inside with a playful bow.
With a roll of her eyes, she shook her head. “Smartass.”
When she edged past him, her arm brushed his with a static charge more dangerous than the coming storm. A lock of her hair tickled his cheek. He inhaled the impossible floral scent of it and allowed himself one reckless, dangerous moment to wonder what the masses of it would feel like wrapped around his fingers.
He didn’t have time for fantasies. The old man behind the desk was straightening up, one hand still behind the counter in a way that screamed I’m pointing a gun at you.
If Nina noticed—and she must have noticed—she didn’t let it show. “The sign outside says you have rooms available.”
The man’s gaze bounced back and forth between the two of them. “This isn’t that kind of place.”
She arched an eyebrow. “Not the kind of place where people sleep?”
Sleeping wasn’t the implication under the old man’s scowl. If the stakes had been a little lower, Knox might have asked the old bastard which of them was supposed to be paying the other, and for what kind of sex, but he had a feeling he wouldn’t like the answer either way. And he couldn’t afford to knock the man’s teeth out.
The proprietor leaned to one side, peering around them and out the window. “Those your trucks?”
The man’s shifted position made his ragged T-shirt sleeve ride up, revealing a lovingly cared-for tattoo, the black ink still as vivid as the green and blue at its heart—a stylized rendering of the earth. The symbol of Clean Earth First, a radical ecological group that had transformed into a fierce militia during the energy crisis. What had started out as bloodless corporate warfare had devolved into a messy civil war that the faltering federal administration had tried to deny was happening.
Not many Clean Earth Firsters had come out of the 2030s alive. The man in front of them had to be a tough son of a bitch who had seen not only violence, but the bone-grinding horror of all-out war.
And no one with that tattoo was likely to be a fan of the TechCorps.
Knox inclined his head. “Yep, our trucks. We’re headed north. Not looking for trouble, just some solid walls and a roof before that storm breaks. We can pay credits or trade. I’ve got solar chargers, a water filter … Real cigarettes and bourbon.”
After a long moment of tense silence, the man shrugged. “I like money. And bourbon.” He reached beneath the counter and retrieved an old-fashioned key on a worn plastic fob. “It’s one-fifty for the night.”
“We need more than one room,” Nina countered. “At least four.”
“I got three. Take ’em or leave ’em.”
Nina sighed, then turned to Knox. “You guys can have two. We’ll be okay in one.”
“That’s fine.” Knox moved slowly, aware that the gun under the counter was still in the man’s reach, and placed several TechCorps chits on the counter. “I’ll throw the bourbon in extra.”
“Extra, my ass. This is a discounted rate.” The proprietor reached for the chits.
Nina swept them up first and shoved them back at Knox. While the man sputtered, she laid out three credit sticks. “Three hundred for three rooms. Clean credits. You could spend them on the moon, if you could manage