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.

He unlatched one chair and carried it back to the cockpit. She did turn around then, watching as he latched the chair down to the metal grid on the floor of the cockpit. Right beside her. He gave it an experimental shake and was glad to see that it didn’t budge.

“Now you have a copilot.” He dropped into the seat and fought his smile when she scowled at him.

Swiveling back to the control panel, she punched in the launch sequence. The ship hummed to life. The bay doors retracted, revealing the darkness of space, the multitudes of star systems and the gleaming lights of 8th Wing ships on patrol. His pulse kicked a little just to see it. Didn’t matter how many times he launched for his own patrol or on a mission. In some ways, he was still that dirty-faced kid staring up at the night sky, wishing himself among the stars.

This wasn’t a routine mission, not by a long shot. He had a difficult task ahead of him, and an even more difficult woman beside him.

The lights from the control panel illuminated her face, and again he was struck by how incongruously aristocratic she looked, how coolly beautiful. The sidelong glance she gave him,

though, revealed that she was profoundly unnerved by his presence.

Well, she rattled him too. They were even.

“Launching,” she murmured, “in five, four, three, two, one. Hang on to your balls, Commander.”

They blasted off.

The ship was too small. It never had been before. There had always been plenty of room for her. Mara knew that technically, the Arcadia hadn’t actually shrunk. But now the bulkheads felt too close, the passageways too narrow, and the cockpit felt like a Meruvian snuffbox.

Not very difficult to find the culprit behind the Arcadia’s sudden loss of size.

As she piloted toward the Smoke Quadrant, she sent another wary glance out of the corner of her eye. The 8th Wing flyboy was studying the control panel intently, his dark brows drawn down in concentration. His presence beside her was large, warm, masculine. Foreign. Unwanted.

“Planning a mutiny?”

Frayne didn’t look up from his scrutiny of the controls. “If I jettison you, I can’t get to the Smoke Quadrant.”

Nice. “Why the inspection?”

“I always learn whatever ship I’m on. Never know when I’ll need to take the controls.”

Mara bristled. “You aren’t getting your hands on my ship. I promise you that.”

He turned to her, and even this slight adjustment of his posture made her feel hemmed in,

overwhelmed. She told herself it was because he was 8th Wing, a representative of everything she avoided—order, discipline, regulations. Obligations. Yet she knew, deep down, that his gray uniform accounted for only a very small part of what unsettled her.

His eyes, darker than the depths of space, held hers. “Tell me what I can get my hands on.”

“Keep them to yourself,” she snapped, but a pulse of heat worked through her.

He lifted his broad shoulders in a negligent shrug. Yet he wasn’t as indifferent as he tried to look.

Mara felt his gaze on her as she slid out of her seat to make some adjustments to the ship’s climate controls. Felt his gaze all over her body. It was too damned hot in here.

“How long until the Smoke Quadrant’s outer perimeter?”

“About twenty solar hours.”

With a muttered curse, he surged to his feet to stand in the galley space behind the cockpit. He prowled like a caged beast, all sinewy, supple motion. Even though she stayed in the cockpit while he paced in the galley, she was still able to sense the power of his body. His large hands clenched and unclenched reflexively.

“We need to talk strategy. Part of me just wants to go in with guns blazing—but I know that can’t happen.”

“It’s got to be on the quiet.” She couldn’t take her eyes off him as he moved. A man his size shouldn’t be so graceful, yet he was, and the contrast between his masculinity and the sleek motion felt unexpectedly potent.

“Any sign of trouble, and our leads dry up.”

“Exactly.” She managed to pry her gaze away to study the chart on the control panel. “The best intel about moving black market goods is on Ryge. I should start there.”

“We,” he said. “We should start there.”

She blew out an impatient breath. “I don’t work with we, just me.”

“Until Lieutenant Jur and her ship are safe, it’s we.” He crossed his arms over his wide chest.