Even though the older man outranked the commander, the captain reddened with embarrassment.

“The opportune time never came up.”

Something wasn’t right here. Unease chilled Mara’s spine, cooling her immediate response to the commander. “Tell me what?”

“I’m your partner.”


The scavenger’s eyes widened, and Kell couldn’t help but feel pulled toward their ice-green depths.

Extraordinary, her eyes. Filled with intelligence and heat and cunning—and anger.

“No,” she said. “Impossible.” She glared up at him. “I work alone.”

“Not on this mission,” he answered.

She scowled and folded her arms across her chest. Even furious—or maybe because she was furious—Kell had never seen a more stunning woman. He’d read her file, slim as it was. Seen her on the holovids. Those images had shown her to be attractive, and he’d gotten some ribbing from others in the squad about what a hardship it was going to be, spending many hours in close proximity to such a beautiful criminal. Kell had laughed, but said with complete confidence that it didn’t matter if Mara Skiren was the reincarnation of the love goddess Oshun—the mission was everything. Not once in his whole decorated career had he strayed from his objective, which was just another reason why he was considered the best in the squad.

He still did not doubt himself, but seeing the scavenger in the flesh made him realize he would have to call on all his discipline and training to keep his focus.

She had the tawny skin and almond shaped eyes of an Argenti, her cheekbones high, her lips ripe with erotic promise. Almost aristocratic, her features. Ivory-hued hair tumbled loose around her shoulders, and he wondered if it felt like cool white silk against bare skin. Her battered nyyrikki-skin jacket hid the shape of her upper body, but he suspected she was slim all over, as attested by her body-hugging cargo pants. But the slenderness of her body misled one to think she could be easily overpowered.

Kell had been in the 8th Wing for over fifteen years. Before that, he knew his way around a battle pit. He had learned quickly how to judge someone, how to read them and what external signs were deceptive. One look at this woman, and he knew. She was ferocious.

Never more so than when she felt herself cornered.

“Bad enough I’m being blackmailed into this.” She folded her arms across her chest. “But I draw the line at teaming up with anyone. Especially some 8th Wing puppet.”

His own temper flared. “I’m not a damned puppet. I’m a pilot, just like you.” One of the Black Wraith Squadron, which meant he was a fucking great pilot.

She stepped nearer, so that the toes of her boots nearly touched his own. The closer she got the more beautiful she became, even as angry color stained her cheeks. “Hundreds. No, thousands of missions I’ve flown. Alone. You aren’t necessary, Commander.”

“Commander Frayne is the 8th Wing’s best pilot,” Captain Esen said.

The scavenger looked unimpressed. “He’s not touching my ship.”

“It’s not your ship I’ll be touching.” Kell planted his hands on his hips.

Her eyes rounded. Her cheeks grew even more flushed.

Damn, that didn’t come out quite right. Or maybe it sounded a lot more like what he wanted to do, rather than what he had to do. “If Lieutenant Jur is too injured to fly her ship back to base, I’ll have to pilot it.”

“The Arcadia’s magnetic tow net can handle the lieutenant’s ship.”

“She flies a Wraith, just like I do. They’re too valuable to risk to a tow net and if we’re being pursued, it’ll make too good a target. The safest option is to have me fly the Wraith if Lieutenant Jur can’t.” He stared down into Mara’s eyes, willing her into subordination with just a look. He’d made ensigns and new recruits shake in their flight suits.

Not this scavenger. She just glared right back up at him. “I’ve never lost a payload. Not once. I’m not going to lose your damned ship.”

“We can’t take the chance that this will be the first time.” He didn’t back down, either.

She opened her mouth to speak, but Captain Esen cut her off before she could say something cutting.

“The Wraith ships that the Black Wraith Squad pilot are extremely valuable,” he explained, “but it’s the tech they use that makes them of incalculable worth. If that tech fell into the wrong hands—”

“PRAXIS,” she said at once.

“They’ve been trying to get their paws on a Wraith for years.” Kell’s voice was hard as he recalled the skirmishes and battles fought just to keep that crucial tech away from the PRAXIS Group.

Lives lost, many of them his friends. He hoped that Lieutenant Jur wasn’t one of them, but there would be no way of knowing until he got inside the Smoke Quadrant.

Provided, of course, that the stubborn scavenger gave in and took him on as her partner for the mission. Whether she agreed or didn’t, he was going to the Smoke Quadrant. Her compliance did not matter, especially with a mission this critical.

“Then I’ll pilot the Wraith ship,” she said, “and put the Arcadia on auto pilot for the return journey.”

“Only members of the Squadron can fly a Wraith,” he answered.

She snorted. “Please. You 8th Wing hotshots aren’t the only ones with skills. Give me fifteen minutes and I can fly any ship.”

“Not a Wraith.” He held up his left hand, revealing the square of slightly raised flesh in the center of his palm. “Biotech implants. Without this, the Wraith is an inoperable hunk of metal. But with the implant, the pilot and the ship become one. And that’s what PRAXIS wants for themselves.

They get a hold of a Wraith, they copy the tech, and the shitstorm that is the PRAXIS Group is going to get a whole lot worse. Even for scavengers.”

Her lips tightened, but she wouldn’t speak, wouldn’t yield.

He had had enough of playing nice. “One of my squad is missing. She could be injured. Or maybe whoever has Celene is torturing her.” His jaw tightened, thinking of the lieutenant, alone, hurting.

They were all trained on how to survive and endure torture, but that didn’t make it easier to contemplate one of the squad being abused. “We’re wasting time because of your temper tantrum.

You don’t work with a partner? Tough. Now you do.”

For a moment, he and Mara simply glared at each other. He saw the calculation in her gaze, saw her mind working to find some way out. But there wasn’t one. Kell had a mission, Mara Skiren was part of that mission, and there was nothing further to discuss. He’d get the job done. He always did.

And if he could hurt the PRAXIS Group in the process, so much the better. World-eating bastards.

Suddenly, Mara turned and stalked toward her ship. She punched in the entry code, and the hatch opened with a hiss.

She said over her shoulder, “If you’re not on the Arcadia in five minutes, I’m leaving without you.” Then she marched into the ship, muttering.

Captain Esen looked at the space where Mara Skiren had stood, and he did the same. He expected her to leave an afterimage, like a solar flare burned into the eye.

“Her file doesn’t do her justice,” the captain murmured.

“Not much would, sir.”

“It’s not going to be an easy mission.”

“That is an understatement, sir.” Breaching the natural barriers surrounding the Smoke Quadrant,

infiltrating the region of the galaxy known for its ruthless criminals, finding Lieutenant Jur, getting both her and her ship to safety. A challenge, yes, but Kell had undertaken missions just as perilous.

When it came to himself or other members of the Black Wraith Squad, he had complete confidence.

Throw a wild card like Mara into the situation, and all of his carefully planned stratagems became lunar dust. She unbalanced everything. Including him.

“I’ll bring Lieutenant Jur back, sir.”

Captain Esen nodded as if this had never been in doubt. “Her Wraith, too, Commander.”

“And if the Wraith is too damaged to fly…” He knew the 8th Wing’s protocol for such situations but wanted direct confirmation from the captain.

“Destroy it.”

Which meant that there was a possibility he might be stranded, or consigning himself to capture or death.

“Of course, sir.” He knew without consulting the chrono on his wrist brace that his five minutes were almost up, just as he knew Mara would leave without him if he didn’t get his ass on to her ship.

“Time to go.” He gave the captain a salute, which was returned.

“Good luck, Commander.” Captain Esen glanced meaningfully at the scavenger ship.

Kell grabbed the duffel bag he’d stowed nearby. “Black Wraith Squad doesn’t need luck.”

“This mission, you just might.”

Taking a deep breath, he boarded the scavenger ship. He had already familiarized himself with the ship’s specs. The cockpit at the front connected to a galley, and sleeping quarters lay just beyond that. For one person, the ship would be small but comfortable. For two, however, the situation would be less accommodating. Extremely uncomfortable, actually.

He navigated quickly through the narrow passages to stand just outside the cockpit. Mara sat in the captain’s chair, running a diagnostic and plotting a course. Her shoulders stiffened at the sound of his boots on the floor. She didn’t turn around.

“I’d tell you to grab a seat for take off,” she said, “but there isn’t one.”

“Incorrect.” He dropped his bag and strode toward the galley. There, at a tiny table, were two seats, the only grudging acknowledgment that someone other than Mara Skiren might be on her ship.