Rogue's Christmas

After the cold drizzle outside, Gridline Diner felt warm and dry, almost safe. Smells of greasy food and strong coffee wrapped around me as I pushed through the door. The tinny version of We Wish You a Merry Christmas coming from hidden speakers did nothing to disguise the seedy feel of the place.



Two men in a corner booth looked up when I came in. Leo, the man I'd come to meet, smiled at me. If I hadn't been in more trouble than a fly caught in a spider's web, I would have turned around and gone back out into the rain. But when your choice is between getting smashed by a sledgehammer or getting mowed down by a tank, the sledgehammer takes on a sexy new look.



I walked as slowly as I could, forcing myself not to rush, hoping my cheap coat, my shaggy hair, and my slumped shoulders didn't broadcast what I was: a Meth on the run. Right up to the moment I slid onto the bench next to Leo, I was thinking about backing out, because the other man in the booth was drop dead hot, a recipe for trouble. If the sharp edge in his brown eyes was anything to go by, calling him a bad boy would have been as wrong as calling a hurricane a little wind and rain.



"Nakhoda Worthington, meet Captain Harlon, Deep-sky pilot," Leo said.



Pirate, I thought, settling into the booth. Leo was a cop--a really crooked cop. No legitimate captain would be hanging out with him. "What's your ship?"



"Midnight Hour," Leo answered.



I tallied up the credit I had, figured how far it could get me, then gave up. Fifty miles wasn't far enough. As long as I was on the grid, five hundred miles wouldn't be enough. But the Midnight Hour? With a pirate captain who probably only heard "no" when it was a man's last word? He met my eyes just as that thought went through my mind. My cheeks heated because I suddenly wasn't sure if I would say no to Harlon. But still. Five or six miles up in the sky would be a bad place to find out I was wrong. I thought about asking Leo if he'd lost his mind, but instead I said, "That's the slimiest brothel riding the skies."



"I run a clean pleasure deck." Harlon's deep voice went right down my spine. His windbreaker covered a solid body. He was as dark as the name of his ship, his skin a warm cocoa. A slow pulse started between my legs. My mind kicked into fantasy overdrive, making that pulse race along to the rhythm of Harlon on top of me, his hard body moving, his mouth on me, making me--



"... mine."



"You paying attention, Khoda? Don't let me keep you from being someplace more important." Leo said it as if he didn't know I was spending every waking second trying to get out of the mess I was in.



I had completely missed Harlon's words, but the one I'd caught sent shivers of desire through me. And what was I thinking about that for? He was a pirate. "Sorry," I said. "What?"



"I'm not buying you for the pleasure cabins." Harlon leaned toward me over his folded hands. "You'd be mine."



The speakers went scratchy then someone from ages ago, Bing Bisby I think, started warbling about how he was dreaming of a white Christmas. I took in Harlon's unwavering eyes, the silver streak of close-cropped hair about three inches wide that ran back over his otherwise clean-shaven head. His big hands made me wonder how they'd feel moving slowly down my body. That's when I saw the tattoos etched below the knuckles of four fingers on his left hand. They weren't coffin nails with my name on them, but they were pretty damn close. "No," I said to Leo. "No deal."



"He agreed to buy off your sentence," Leo said, in his best let's keep this friendly voice.



"My whole sentence?" Most men bought only a two-year contract, then a Meth on the run had to hope someone else picked it up before the grid caught up with him and reinstated the sentence. "Why?"



Burgers sizzled on the grill. The door opened and let in a cold blast. I broke out in a light sweat.



The answer was taking too long.



"A punk on the run doesn't ask questions," Leo said, all trace of friendliness gone from his voice. "The captain here bought five years." He reached in his pocket and brought out an E-tablet. "Your sentence gets erased. Your DNA signature gets wiped from the crime scene record. It's a good deal."



"Would you be the only one?" I swallowed and made myself meet Harlon's eyes. "I mean, would I just be in your cabin?"



He had dimples. They showed when he smiled. "I don't share," he said.



The second line on Leo's E-tablet caught my attention. A contract was on the screen. At the top was my name. Below it, OTG874B. "OTG?" I glanced at Harlon. "And I won't be in the brothel?" I asked him.



"You don't have a choice," Leo said.



"He's got a right to ask questions before he signs," Harlon said. I loved the way that shut Leo up. "No," Harlon said to me. "You won't end up on the red deck unless you're doing something you're not supposed to."



"How do I know what I'm not supposed to do?" I looked down at my fidgeting fingers. "I mean, I'm not a trouble-maker, but I've never lived on a ship."



Harlon gave me a scrutinizing look that was unsettling. "There's no trouble-making on my ship," he said.



Was that a joke? It was hard to tell because his eyes were unreadable. I didn't think it was safe to say anything, so I kept my mouth shut.



"I don't know anything about you," Harlon said. "But if you're doing business with him," he nodded at Leo, "you're in a tough place. I'm offering you a way out."



I told myself that for five years, it was possible I could stay out of trouble with Harlon. Barely possible.



The waitress, in a red polyester dress faded nearly to pink, finally remembered we were one of her tables. A red Santa hat drooped over her limp hair. Merry Christmas! was written in sloping gold across the white trim. "Sorry," she said in a why am I still here voice, "What can I get you boys tonight?"



"Nothing," Leo said and flashed his badge. "Police business."



"Wait," Harlon said. "You want anything?" he asked me.



From out of nowhere, I was suddenly shy, as if this was some weird first date. "Orange juice?" My budget hadn't included orange juice for months, and I didn't have the heart to turn down Harlon's gesture at being nice. "That would be good," I said.



"Big tip coming my way," the waitress muttered, and quick-stepped away, jamming her pad and pen into an apron pocket.



"I already took the captain's credit," Leo said, as soon as the waitress was out of ear shot. "So stop playacting. You're going with him."