Dakoda's Revenge Page 2

  "I'm sure I won't be searching you out. I'm going home,” Odessa said with a lot more confidence than she felt. Unwittingly or not, the older woman had unearthed Odessa's surfacing fears. She couldn't take care of herself any better than a worker bee could without the queen bee in its hive. Why had she allowed herself to be so blinded by Roland's charm and savoir-faire to blindly trust him enough to believe he was who he claimed to be? What kind of trouble had she become entangled in?

  The woman gave a small, sad smile. “If you say so. Information around here is power. Don't forget that."

  Before Odessa could reply, Violette turned her back, walked into the surging crowd, and was lost to sight seconds later. “Well, that was enough of that.” Odessa unconsciously puffed out a little breath, blowing her short bangs up and down.

  "Roland, I'm going to kill you when I find you.” She wished she had a sharp object and Roland was in its direct path. She gritted her teeth. It wasn't funny that he had left her in the midst of a culture she was unfamiliar with, and to make matters unbearable, she had no money, no spare change of clothes, and knew no one. She didn't have any idea even as to how to get a hold of her brothers who might be able to help her—if she was willing to admit she had been in the wrong in running away with Roland Baylon.

  For a millisecond, she let herself entertain the reassuring notion that Roland would return for her. But the notion evaporated and quickly spiraled downward into fear and uncertainty.

  If she ever found Roland, she would string him up by his toes until he begged for mercy. What would he think of that for a hearty but humorless prank? She came to the conclusion she was alone and needed help in obtaining information as to how to get off the space station, and how to obtain lodging if nothing else. Odessa hustled off in the direction Violette had taken deeper into the station's maws.

  A couple of minutes later, after shoving past one alien after another that appeared stranger than the last, and desperately searching for a hint of Violette's dress, Odessa finally caught up with her. She pressed her fingers delicately against the woman's upper arm to halt her.

  The other woman spun around, her face a study in wretched terror. “Oh.” She relaxed marginally on seeing Odessa, although remained uneasy. “It's you."

  Odessa didn't know why the woman panicked at the simple touch. “Can you tell me where the Air Controller's office is? Please?"

  Violette shook her arm free. “Trust me, you don't want to go there."

  "But I have to.” The Air Controller, according to what little she knew of the station, was the man to ask about cargo ships and where they were headed.

  "Women don't go to the Controller's offices. Not unless they're heavily escorted."

  "Why not? I can handle myself."

  Odessa received an expression of grave doubt. “You have to rethink what you can do here. What's safe for a woman on your planet isn't on Romaydia. You can get yourself killed for asking a simple question."

  "I have to try and get there anyways."

  Violette examined her face, her eyes questioning and momentarily sharp. Before Odessa could say anything, the mask of hopelessness slipped back into place. “Why?"

  Odessa swallowed. Was there no safe haven except in the eyes of a stranger? “I just need to. That's all."

  "To find that boyfriend of yours?” The other woman shrugged again. “You won't find him. He's long gone off the station."

  So her motives were plainer than the eyes on her face. “That too.” She was a little irritated. “Now, are you going to tell me?"

  "If I told you, I'd be putting your life in danger. You don't know these men. They'll kill you to cover up their indiscretions, especially since you're perceived as a visitor here. Visitors, especially of the female persuasion, have other uses than asking questions they have no hope of getting an answer for."

  Odessa refused to listen. She stormed off towards the edge of the public area, to the doorway where The Drifter should have been, hoping she could stop someone and ask for the information she needed. Surely, someone would know where the Controller's offices were.

  Warding off the panic that had lodged near her breastbone, but determined she would get off Romaydia no matter what the consequences, she was about to turn around when strong arms grabbed her from behind. She cried out, but the sound was lost amidst a woman's simultaneous, high-pitched laughter echoing a few feet away. By the time Odessa could cry out again, her captor had clamped his hand over her mouth and started to haul her off into a darkened corridor. Odessa fought to breathe and release herself from the tight hold, but to no avail. Apparently, Violette might have been right—Romaydia was no place for a single woman.

  Chapter 2

  Odessa thrashed about, trying to free herself from the tenacious hold of whomever was holding her. She didn't think the man was Roland. Her attacker's smell was that of strong tobacco, not like her fiancé's expensive colognes. Her captor had painfully pinned her hands behind her and covered her mouth with a sickly smelling cloth. Abduction attempts weren't part of the adventure scenario, were they? Might he be Roland after all, playing another of his tasteless jokes on her, forcing her to think he had abandoned her and then having her seized by one of his buddies?

  Terror struck her as she remembered Violette's warning. What if she was being captured by a man who wanted to take his pleasure on her? She wouldn't be able to bear that. Adventure wasn't about having choices taken away, but about expanding horizons.

  She did the only thing she could think of. She raised her foot and slammed her heel into her captor's instep. He made a choking sound. He released her just enough to enable her to squirm out of his hold and wriggle around. She was going to show him what she thought of his underhanded tactics to get what he wanted. She would mete out the punishment he deserved.

  As she turned around, a man-shaped blur whizzed by. Without warning, her captor was lifted in the air. His feet dangled at least twelve inches from the floor. For a moment, Odessa gaped in amazement at her raging rescuer before he threw his prize against the wall behind her. She cringed at the sound of flesh slamming and bone cracking against the metal decking.

  "Vermin,” she thought she heard him say before he brushed his hands against his leather clad thighs. Magnificent thighs that made her mouth water and her brain appreciate the form of the male body and forget the immediate danger her attacker had placed her in. A close examination of her attacker showed he was male with an ugly scar marking the length of his cheek, greasy hair, and torn clothing. Odessa didn't pause to think. She kicked him in the shin with a swift, vengeful kick.

  "Who are you?” she demanded.

  His throat swelled where her rescuer had lifted him.

  "He can't hear you. He's out cold,” her savior grumbled.

  So that's why the criminal hadn't reacted to her punishment. Flustered and embarrassed at her inability to take care of herself, she raked her eyes up her rescuer's muscled chest, up biceps that deserved to be videographed with no material covering the deep, tanned skin, and up to a ruggedly handsome face. She blinked at the sudden hurt in his whiskey-colored eyes, an anger that dissipated as quickly as steam. It was as if he had consciously shut down his emotions and left nothing but a pair of delicious eyes staring from inside an empty cornhusk. How could anyone close down the very qualities that made him human, just like that?

  "Are you hurt?” His voice was like a welcoming trickle of water to a woman who was cold and wanted a hot bath to warm her.

  Reality stormed back like a blast of icy wind. Fear for her safety replaced her fascination with a man who must be like Roland—callous and unfeeling. Perhaps this man, who appeared to be one hundred percent human, wanted nothing less than the man lying at her feet had wanted. Or Roland was observing her from somewhere and enjoying this practical joke on her at her expense. The insensitive brute.

  That raised the question that if he were watching, then why hadn't he come to her rescue? Slow realization crept through her nerves. Roland ha
d stranded her on Romaydia, and she was very much on her own and without protection. Gut instinct usually served her well. Heeding Violette's warning, which repeated like a badly formed curse in her head, she growled, “I know what you want. Don't come near me or I'll kick your insides out."

  His luxurious, thick eyebrows shot up. “You do? What might that be?” he asked in mock bewilderment.

  "You know perfectly well.” The words she wanted to say, the evil ones, wouldn't come. Why fuel the fire?

  "You sure know how to bruise a man's ego. I'm trying to be kind to you, and how do you return it? By threatening to kick me to seventh heaven and beyond."

  She maintained her tough stance, hoping he would simply go away. “You've done your good deed for the day. Why not leave it at that?” Uncertainty clawed at her mind. Could she distinguish the good from the bad, or were they both the same on Romaydia?

  Her heart stopped for a millisecond as the man scowled with penetrating golden-brown eyes that were emotionless one moment, and world-weary and devastatingly lonely the next. Once again, he shut down. “I wasn't trying to hurt you. Haven't you had enough of that for today?"

  "Um, yes,” she replied on the edge of a gulp of air. Maybe she had been a bit too hasty to tell him the dire consequences of getting any closer. Maybe he wasn't like Roland or the man on the dirty floor after all.

  "In case you don't understand, I'm friend, not foe.” His voice was seductively deep, the kind a woman could fall in love with and easily hear as they made love over and over.

  "I understand English perfectly well."

  He shrugged nonchalantly. “I didn't say you didn't."

  "But you implied I don't."

  His slow smile infuriated her. She raised her hand to slap his cheek, but he seized her hand midway.

  "You're spoiled."

  "I am not!” she replied in a scathingly condescending voice, angered further that he restrained her. “You have no idea who I am!"

  "Some lost princess from a world I've never heard of?” he quizzed.

  "Yes,” she ground out.

  "I see. And which planet would that be?"

  "I'm not at liberty to say."

  He nodded as if he understood. “Where are your guards?"

  "I gave them the slip."

  "Why?"

  "I want adventure,” she shot back.

  He released her hand. She slipped it inside her pants pocket, surprised at the heat he'd generated. “You'll get more than you bargained for on Romaydia. Run along now. Hurry to find your guards. If you don't, the princess from an unnamed planet will be ravished and perhaps murdered."

  Odessa's lips parted, searching for just the right retort.

  Her rescuer went on. “If you weren't spoiled, miss-know-it-all, you would have the good grace to thank me for my inquiry as to your health instead of thinking up ways to damage my person."

  Odessa really wanted to stomp on his foot now. His grin not only aggravated her, but made her think of making love in the presence of that mesmerizing, sexy mouth and glittering eyes. She swallowed her annoyance. “How do I know you're a friend?” She ran her tongue over her lower lip and tried to take in a calming breath. He appeared earnest enough, but could she trust him?

  He spread his hands out in front of him. “Guess you'll just have to take my word for it, won't you?"

  "Words are cheap. I can take care of myself without your help.” Hadn't her brothers tried to teach her self-defense? Maybe the only thing they hadn't taught was how to test a man on the honesty scale, a killer gorgeous man who radiated animal magnetism. He would impair any woman's good judgment.

  "Oh, my gosh.” Her eyes widened.

  He grinned. “Having a tough time with that?"

  "I, uh, oh!” She sucked in a terrified breath. “Maybe you're one of those men who hypnotize women and spirit them away to their lairs with the snap of a magical finger?” Roland had told her that story, but she hadn't believed it. At the time.

  * * * *

  Dakoda Harley, better known to his friends as Dak, found the petite woman charming, a feisty handful, and ridiculously innocent. Or was she an adept actress? Her bark was clearly worse than her bite. Her outburst surprised him. For some reason, she was acting as if she couldn't add two single-digit numbers together in imitation of so many of the other women on Romaydia. Was she undercover and bungling the job? Or was she hunting for a man who would take her off this hellhole? She wasn't so unlike other women he'd had the misfortune of encountering on other assignments. “I've not heard that story before. Is that one they tell on your planet to misbehaving children, princess?” He suspected she would tell him another lie.

  "I, uh, was thinking you might be magic."

  He couldn't resist breaking out into loud laughter. “That's a new one. No one's ever called me a spirit with magic before.” The laughter died. If he had had magic powers, he wouldn't have let his wife die. From force of habit, he surveyed the area—the grim station's interior that had worn on his nerves hardly a month into the assignment, and the extra security that was visible to his eyes but not to the average person. Nothing struck him as out of place.

  She shrugged.

  He saw the indecision. She was ready to flee, he guessed. “Yes. Like this.” He raised his right hand and snapped his fingers to demonstrate his point.

  Her eyes widened into large gems before she grimaced. “Nothing happened."

  "Did you expect it too?"

  She seemed to pull herself together. The top of her head hardly reached the bottom of his chin. “I was expecting something, dammit."

  The conversation was getting stranger by the moment. Maybe she wasn't that bright after all. What kind of woman expected magic at the snap of a finger on an ugly space station? “You still didn't tell me which planet you're a princess on."

  She grimaced. “Earth.” She met his gaze squarely, unafraid of his reaction.

  "The last I heard, there are no real magicians or sorcerers who practice magic there. Has that changed since you were last there?” Harley fished for information, unable to believe he was indulging in this conversation. Magic and sorcerers had never been part of his harsh reality, not as a child, nor as a man.

  "Only in children's fairytales."

  "Then why did you expect magic when I did this?” He snapped his fingers again.

  This time, her eyes stayed focused on his face. “I'm not sure. As a matter of fact, I'm not certain about anything right now.” She gave a little sigh, either the femme fatale, or the perfect actress.

  He shook his head, marveling at how this woman had sucked him into her world of crazy magicians and acts only characters in medieval fantasies could perform. Why would anyone want to attack her? Wasn't it too soon for the Murrach's men to know that Roland Baylon had departed with great haste? Or was Murrach Pardua, the self-styled lord of Romaydia, cognizant of what went on everywhere on his turf? The realization made Harley uneasy. He was double-dealing, and he might very likely not return home from this mission, except in a black plastic bag.

  Against his better judgment, he offered an explanation for the attack, one she hadn't asked for. “When you bumped into him earlier, he thought you were, let's say, propositioning him. So he wanted to make good on your offer when you weren't looking.” He wasn't certain that was the truth. He had arrived only moments earlier to see her being manhandled and had no idea whether she deserved the attention or not. His gentlemanly instincts had kicked in.

  Her sapphire eyes flashed fire and ice all at once. Her lips—pretty, coral temptations begging for a kiss—opened and shut. “Were you following me?"

  He shook his head once, wishing he could squeeze her throat and churn the information he needed out of her. But he couldn't afford the unwanted attention that action would get him in case the station's disorganized law happened to arrive. He could hardly use his strong-arm tactics here. He had to lure her, like a bee to a flower.

  "Then how do you know what he wanted?"

&nb
sp; "A wild guess.” He lied. “I happened to be going in the same direction as you were, so I was slightly behind you.” By chance, he had been walking through a pack of humans and aliens in the public area when he had come upon Odessa. He hadn't known who she was, but had returned to his quarters to direct a visual search of the Romaydian archives. She was Odessa Grante, a woman who had come with Roland Baylon on his ship The Drifter. That one fact alone was enough for his buried anger to flare up. If she was here, and Baylon wasn't, she was probably dealing drugs or up to some illegal activity in Baylon's stead.

  He watched her mull over his statement. Her breasts, high and firm, lifted and fell with each breath she took. Grudgingly, he admitted she reminded him of his late wife, Abby, with her hair the color of yellow autumn leaves in the sun creating spun gold strands. She was tough, but every inch a female. What was the truth beyond the facade?

  "And you want me to believe that?” She planted her fists on her hips in a rather melodramatic manner.

  The uneasiness notched upwards. Apparently, she was used to getting her own way, and if she didn't, she was capable of throwing a tantrum. Or was this her actress persona?

  "You have no reason to disbelieve me.” Any man who tried to browbeat her, whether it was in bed or out, was in for a surprise. Where was he going with this train of thoughts? He could ill-afford thinking of her in bed. Women in bed and assignments from Murrach Pardua didn't mix. He couldn't afford to let his attention slip for even half a second. The only other assignment he had allowed himself to be persuaded into bed was when he had been married to Abby. Sexual entanglements on the job slowed down critical response times, especially when they had to be made within seconds.

  "I honestly don't know who to believe,” she muttered.

  For a solitary moment, Dak allowed himself to feel pity for her. Mentally, he cursed himself. Hadn't he discovered that feelings led to heartache, as his falling in love with Abby and losing her had? “Give me the benefit of the doubt. No one else will help you on this station."