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Chapter One

Earth Date: 2105 Port Ireland:

Terra Four 70 A.C. (After Colonization):

"Listen Garrett, I don't give a rebel's damn what game or whose bed you have to drag him out of, just get Banner. You hear me?"

Standing behind his massive desk and bracing his weight upon the knuckles of firmly planted fists, Jonathan Loring's voice could be heard into the main hallway of LorTec's Central Control.

Lending him distinction, Loring's dark hair was dusted with gray at the temples. Though generally good-natured and quick to find humor, a frown now creased his brow.

"According to his itinerary," Loring continued with less volume, "he should have arrived in port sometime this afternoon."

Dan Garrett's shoulders slumped. "He's here all right, Mr. Loring, but it's been over two hours since I last saw him. He had just finished unloading a large shipment and said something about heading to the Star Cruiser. Sir, I'll never find him in that place...providing he's even still there."

"Look, I don't give a damn where he--"

"I'll get him," Garrett quickly cut in. "I'll find him for you, Mr. Loring."

The Star Cruiser was noisy and crowded. The atmosphere was a mixture of music, loud voices, laughter and a heavy blanket of smoke.

A wide variety of people mingled together. Some were off long-haul freighters, eagerly celebrating the end of an eighteen-month run. Then there were the miners--diggers, as they were called--just in from the asteroids and anxious to set their fantasies into motion, most of which had been months in the making. Still others, like Nick Banner, were there merely to celebrate the payout of a six-week cargo run.

Like so many other freelance cargo pilots, Banner was the owner and sole operator of a small cargo ship. With cargo runs being long and lonely, it was common for some pilots to take a woman aboard. In essence, she would need a lift to his destination, and in exchange offer her companionship with all its connotations. Nick Banner wasn't interested in that kind of arrangement. Six weeks in space can be a big mistake when stuck with someone you don't happen to get along with. He'd tried it once--shortly after he'd acquired the Victorious. It turned into a catastrophe and from then on he resolved to limit his women to port only.

Terra Four's port taverns, and the love-starved crewmen who frequented them, were no different now than they were on Earth a little over two centuries ago when the tall sailing ships would come to port.

Just as it was then, an easy lay could always be found hanging around the port bars. Banner, however, had never known a time when he wasn't surrounded by women vying for his attention. He had never once paid for a woman's favors, and being with the same one for more than a couple of days didn't happen to be his idea of a good time.

He was barely twenty-one when he fell hopelessly in love with Linnae. So crazy in love, he turned his back on all the others, even walked away from the gaming tables and asked her to marry him. Blind to everything, he closed his mind to the ugly rumors going around about her.

"She's a whore, Nick. Dammit man, open your eyes; she's using you. Why can't you see that?"

More than once Nick's fist had split his older brother's lip for those very words. Even his friend, Zeke, had tried to dissuade him, but to no avail. Stubborn and hardheaded as they come, he had defended Linnae's honor right down to the bitter end, when he'd shown up unannounced one evening. As the door opened, Nick simply stood there in mute shock while a man scrambled about for his clothing.

Drunk and giggling, Linnae tried to coax Nick to join the fun, but he turned away without a backward glance. And in many ways was still on the run.

He left home shortly thereafter. Setting out for a small, untamed world called Echo, he spent the better part of two years burying his heartache and anger in hard labor and life-threatening assignments. If nothing else, those years had taught him the meaning of being tough and living hard. He also earned damned good credits for his endeavors, and when he returned to civilization it was with a determination to live again.

The first thing he had done was place a hefty down payment on a small cargo ship, already christened the Victorious. Not long after that he formed a partnership with a drinking companion, Quint Kendyl. It was a business venture that entailed using Nick's ship to make short runs for a local courier. Eventually, however, the partnership failed due to conflict of interests between the two men.

Looking for bigger and better brought Nick to Terra Four when, operating under the name of Banner Enterprises, he picked up a variety of freight and mail runs within the sector. By now he was over Linnae, though the scar of her betrayal ran deep. Vowing no one would ever own his heart again, he regarded women as nothing more than playthings--entertaining diversions to be enjoyed and left behind.

Nick Banner had been branded a hard case back then. Come payday he could usually be found bucking roulette at one of the local port dives, where he drank everyone under the table, fought half the security force with his bare fists, and generally wound up passed out in some woman's bed.

But that was then. Miraculously recognizing Nick's ingrained honesty and reputation as a hard worker, a man named Linc Sheldon took Nick under his wing. It was Sheldon who, in time, introduced Nick to Jonathan Loring.

* * *

Dan Garrett entered the doors of the dimly lit Star Cruiser. To his left, a brawl had broken out in the corner, and two men seated at a nearby table were taking bets on the winner. To Garrett's right, a group of inebriated coworkers were starting the next game of "Bounty".

"Hey, Garret, come on over. You wanna get in on this? We've got room for one more." James Cleary had a stupid grin plastered on his face and eyes at half-mast. Four others in the same condition were poured into their chairs around the game table--full mugs of ale within easy reach. One of them absently shuffled a deck of cards while the others had already positioned their pawns on the holograph game board.

"Not tonight, Cleary. I'm looking for Banner. Have you seen him around?"

"Not more than thirty minutes ago," Cleary answered.

"'Ee's 'ere...somewhere," one of the other men spoke up. "Lucky devil had two blondes hangin' on 'im." The man grinned, and then added, "Both of 'em clinging to 'im like shateries." With that, the men at the table burst into a round of raucous laughter. It seemed that the shateri was always the brunt of someone's joke. The small fur-bearing animal, found along the southern coastline of Terra Four's main continent, was not only known for its luxurious fur but was also notorious for its enthusiasm for procreation.

Garrett couldn't help but grin; their laughter was contagious. "Thanks, fellas. If you happen to see him again, tell him I'm looking for him."

Dan Garrett continued making his way through the crowd, his eyes intently sifting through a murky sea of smoke and faces. Finally he climbed a set of wide stairs that led to a mezzanine from which he could survey the entire main floor. The mezzanine was an extension of the bar, a balcony furnished with tables and chairs that completely encircled the room.

Finding an empty table near the balustrade, Garrett claimed it and began methodically scanning the entire main level from his perch. Behind him several drunk and boisterous crewmen were engaged in singing a bawdy song. All around, people were drinking and laughing, either burying their fears and troubles or celebrating their good fortune.

Banner, who seemed to rarely have fears or troubles to bury, was drinking to his luck when Garrett's eyes finally locked onto him. Seated at a game table on the opposite side of the room, and true to form, Nick Banner was casually sprawled in his chair. All six-foot-four of him. From the smug grin tugging at the corners of his mouth and the stack of game chips at his elbow, there was little doubt who was winning.

There was an unconscious grace about Nick Banner. He always seemed to turn heads. In all honesty, Garrett was secretly envious of Banner's magnetism and innate ability to attract women. Though they were traits he yearned to possess himself, he had resigned long ago to the fact that he simply didn't have it and never would.

Even the faded, scarred leathers that Banner wore would have looked shoddy on anyone else. But with his dark hair and hard, lean body the well-worn attire lent a primitively appealing air of danger.

Reaching for his mug of ale, Nick laid the winning cards on the table. He liked winning, but cleaning up on a table of drunken comrades wasn't much of a challenge, not to mention that it grated on his sense of fair play. It was time to call it quits. "Gentlemen, I believe this completes the game, and it looks like I win." He grinned and added, "Again."

A stunning brunette now stood at his back, both hands draped possessively over his shoulders as though she might lose him to another should she dare to let go. Leaning down, she whispered something in his ear that brought forth a crooked grin as he downed his last swallow of brew.

"Fellas, what can I say? I hate to win and run, but worse yet, I hate keeping a lady waiting. Here," he said, separating half of his winnings and tossing the coins back onto the table. "The drinks are on me." With that, the table burst into a round of boisterous cheers and Nick rose to escort his luscious companion to the nearest exit.

He no sooner began guiding her, his hand at the small of her back when, "Hey Nick! Wait up!"

Banner turned to see Dan Garrett elbowing his way through the crowd.

"Garrett. What's up?"

"Loring wants to see you."

"Tell him I'll drop by first thing in the morning." He turned and resumed guiding his companion toward the exit.

"Nick. He means to see you. Now."

Groaning inwardly, Nick stopped short, turning to Garrett in exasperation. "And it just can't wait until tomorrow."

It was clear, from the look on Garrett's face, that he was painfully aware of his ill-timing. "Sorry Nick, but no it can't. I wish I could tell you what it's all about, but I'm sure it's important."

With a heavy sigh of regret, Nick turned to the girl. Tightening his hold on her, he drew her near. "Baby..." he began, capturing her chin in a hold that appeared both gentle and possessive at the same time.

"Gina," she corrected. "My name's Gina."

Nick grinned. "Gina, honey..." Nuzzling against her ear he murmured something that made the woman glow, then punctuated it with a lusty kiss.

At last he turned to Garrett. "Let's get out of here ‘fore I change my mind."

A landcraft waited outside the Star Cruiser for the 30-minute ride from Port Ireland to the headquarters of LorTech Equipment. The sleek, low-slung vehicle was a sporty two-seater model. Her shiny black exterior said she was new; the logo on her doors said she belonged to LorTech.

"Well, I see Jonathan finally broke down and replaced a few of those tired vehicles. How long have you had this?" Nick asked, running an appreciative eye over the smart new rig.

"About three months now," Garrett answered, fishing a remote from his pocket and entering a code. In response, both doors disengaged and slid silently backward to disappear into the rear quarter panel on each side.

Emitting a low whistle, Nick climbed in and continued his appraisal from the inside. The complex dash was a mini cockpit, loaded with options ranging from a host of digital readouts to a small rear display monitor. "N i c e," he drawled approvingly as the control console snapped to life the instant Garrett's weight settled into the driver's seat.

Owned by Jonathan Loring, LorTech was a fast-growing research equipment company presently booming with a recent contract to supply equipment to Echo, a small and relatively unexplored rim world.

It was nighttime, and traffic was heavy at first, but thinned progressively the farther they traveled from the city. Soon the landcraft picked up speed and the landscape began whisking by in a blur. Patting his pockets, Nick found a thin cigar and lit it. Both men remained silent, each deep in his own thoughts.

The environment was particularly dreary, consisting mainly of processing plants and warehouses. Then the scenery gradually changed. The buildings became taller and seemed to stretch farther apart. Some had tanks attached to them. Others had pipes that ran from one building to the next. Eerie puffs of vapor rose from their stacks, illuminated by the surrounding floodlights.

Terra Four was a Class E planet, located within the Sector Five System. Its distance from Earth measured in time was roughly six weeks. Before Stellar drive, it had taken years to reach the Sector Five System.

First discovered around the turn of the century by an unmanned probe during Earth's so called "Race For Space" era, Terra Four was the fourth of five planets that were named for their likeness to Earth. Colonization didn't occur, however, until almost thirty-five years later.

The first settlement formed was a tiny mining colony, Port New America, nestled high in the Cascades, Terra Four's northernmost mountains. Eventually more colonists arrived; more settlements sprouted up, and with them various forms of livelihood developed. Ultimately, through economic evolution many small mining towns combined to create thriving cities. Port Ireland grew to become the largest and most advanced city on Terra Four.

Pulling up to LorTech's outside gates, Garrett flashed the required credentials to the guard and they were waived on through.

As Nick palmed the security lock at the main entrance to the massive complex, a hidden scanner began crosschecking his palm print: retinal and voice patterns with his stated identity. "Come on...come on," he muttered, releasing an impatient sigh as they waited. As if prompted by his impatience a green light snapped to life on a small panel and the lock on the door clicked open. Nick wasted no time barging through. Garrett followed at his heels, trying to keep up with Banner's lengthy stride.

Taking the steps three at a time, Nick hastily made his way up a flight of stairs and down a long carpeted hallway until they finally came to a door with "Jonathan T. Loring, President" inscribed on it.

"Hi Lizzy," he muttered, striding through the reception area toward the inner office.

"Nick. Wait! I'll let him now you're--"

"Its okay darlin', I know my way in."

"Yes, but--"

Skipping formalities, Nick hit the pressure-plate and barged in as the door opened into Jonathan's spacious office. Loring's back was turned as he stood before a floor to ceiling glass wall overlooking the compound.

"Ah, Nick!" he said, whirling around. "Thank God he found you."

"Yeah. Your timing's impeccable, Jon."

"Have a seat. Please," Jonathan said, indicating one of two leather chairs in front his desk. At the same time he turned to Garrett, thanking and perfunctorily dismissing him.

Nick sank into a comfortable chair, planting one booted foot across the opposite thigh. "So, what's up?"

Taking his seat, Jonathan lifted an envelope off his desk and wordlessly handed it to Nick.

Accepting the note, Nick held eye contact with his friend, assessing the indisputable mixture of terror and anger in the man's eyes. At last he withdrew the note from its envelope and began reading.

Mr. Loring, I overheard part of a conversation that could cost my life as well as those in my family. For that reason, I choose not to reveal myself, but I want you to know that your daughter's life may be in danger. I wish I had heard more, but I strongly suspect "The Leader" is behind this.

Without comment, Nick casually withdrew a slender brown cigar, lit it, and blew a lazy stream of smoke toward the ceiling where it was instantly ushered into the nearest vent. "I seem to be missing a few lines here, Jon. Maybe you'd better take this from the top. And who the devil's The Leader?"

Staring at Nick with blank eyes, Loring began. "That's just it; I'm not sure. There are several possibilities. Rumor has it there are at least two mega-corps that want total possession of Echo."

Maintaining eye contact with Loring, Nick took a slow drag from his cigar. "Just exactly who are these supposed corporations?"

Loring hesitated. "Hell, it's a rumor, Nick. Your guess is as good as mine."

"Then guess, dammit!"

A long moment of silence passed before Loring reluctantly offered a name. "Frontier Enterprises could be one."

"And?"

"These are just guesses, Nick. There's no way of--"

"And?" he persisted.

"Possibly...Chase Explorations."

Nick examined his cigar intently, deep in thought as he watched smoke curl off the tip. "Chase Explorations," he mused. "Aren't they based out of Paragon? What the devil are they doing clear out here, messin' around with a small rim world like Echo?"

"Howard Chase has become greedy over the years," Loring explained, dragging his hand through his thick hair. "His company has grown, but at the expense of others."

"So you figure Chase is The Leader?"

Loring shrugged. "It's possible. They've certainly managed to cut down most everyone in their way. It's known they want control of Echo, and LorTech is one of the few left in their path."

"Making you their target now. Right?" Not waiting for an answer, Nick lifted the note for emphasis. "Does she know about this?"

"Hell no. And that's the way it stays...at least until I can get her out of here. Knowing Tressa, she would refuse to leave."

Reading the note over again, Nick stuck the cigar between his teeth, wincing against the smoke trailing up into his eyes. "So, what is it you want from me?"

Jonathan dragged in a deep breath, letting it out slowly. "Nick," he began, "I want you to take Tressa off-planet for me. Surely you know of some place where she will be safe until we find out what the hell this is all about."

One dark brow arched. "Me? It's a bit out of my line, wouldn't you say? Sounds like you need a hired gun. Not some randy cargo pilot traipsing all over the galaxy trying to find a safe place to stash--"

"Dammit, Nick, you're a hell of a lot more than just a cargo pilot and we both know it. Besides," he added, "I don't need a hired gun. I'm not asking you to assassinate anyone. All I'm asking is that you get my daughter out of here until we can get to the bottom of this." Loring's voice eased off, betraying the depth of his feelings. "Believe me, if I thought there was anyone else..." He left the sentence hanging.

Nick calmly leaned forward, depositing a lump of ash into the ashtray on Loring's desk. "I'm not sure I'm your man for this, Jon," he said quietly. "Besides, I still have two deliveries yet to make. I can't just take off."

"I understand your position, Nick. Go ahead and make those deliveries. She wouldn't be a problem. I just need her out of here."

Nick tensed, shifting uncomfortably in the chair. Glancing away, he smiled in polite restraint. "We're talking about a chunk of time here," he said, his eyes cutting back to Loring. "You aware of that?"

Three hellishly long weeks, a silent voice echoed.

A frown creased Loring's brow and his gaze darkened as he slowly rose and moved from behind his desk. There was no misreading the grim look on his face as he came around to settle hip-shot upon the front corner of his desk. "Make no mistake," he began slowly, his tone laden with warning. "I know full well what I'm asking of you. Just as you do."

Loring's grave expression eased. "Besides, you seem to forget, I've always seen more in you than you see in yourself. If I didn't, believe me, I'd never entrust Tressie into your care for so much as a single minute."

For a long span of silence Nick stared at the smoke trailing up from his cigar.

"Dammit Nick, this is my daughter!"

"And I'm telling you, you've got the wrong man." With his beautiful daughter, Loring didn't know how wrong.

"But you're the only one I trust. I know what you're thinking," he added, "and it might help to know that she's already spoken for."

Nick's eyes lifted to meet Loring's. "Oh yeah? Anyone I know?"

"He's new around here. Name's Sinclair. Look, I'm not saying it would be easy. You'll need to let her know whose boss right from the start. After that, she'll settle right in for you.

"Oh, and those rumors you may have heard," he added, "Tressa has not inherited her mother's gift. Thank God."

Nick shot him a puzzled look but said nothing. It had been eight years since he had first walked through the doors of LorTech Equipment. Tressa was just a kid then. With her being away at school most of the time, their initial introduction had never progressed much beyond a nodding acquaintance. It had only been in the last six months that he remembered seeing more of her around the complex. She had definitely grown up. And along with it, her personality had changed from giggly to politely aloof.

He had heard of Jonathan's desire for Tressa to work at his side, so whether her aloof indifference was due to shyness, conceit or professionalism, it was hard to tell. At any rate, he had never lost any sleep over it. Spoken for or not, she was Loring's daughter and that made her off limits under any and all circumstances--even if he was interested. Which he wasn't.

Now here he was, doomed to baby-sit this spoiled, liberated woman/child for how ever long it took. Worse yet, he would have to still be on speaking terms with her by the time they arrived at their destination--wherever the hell that was.

"Well?" Jonathan asked with an edge of desperation.

Doubt laced with irritation coursed through Nick. Leaning back, he unconsciously studied Loring, wishing like hell he could come up with some alternative. At last he released a compressed sigh. "So, when do we leave?"

Relief flooded Loring's face. "You'll do it then?"

"Under the circumstances I don't have a hell of a choice. I'll take her to Acacia. It's roughly a three-week flight from here. That should buy you a little time. Delta will enjoy the company, and after I see Tressa safe, I'll do what I can to help."

"I'm thinking that it might not hurt for you to stay off-planet for a while yourself. If that electro blade had gone much deeper..."

Nick's entire left side still ached, a pain he had successfully been ignoring until Jon brought up the subject. For a brief moment he reflected on the night he'd been attacked. He had just finished loading a shipment into the hold. Turning to key-in the security, he had detected movement in the shadows and a glint off something metallic. He vaguely remembered whirling to ward off the attack, but too late to evade the thrust. Gut-wrenching pain began in his lower back and ripped up his side as he went down. In that clouded moment, he had recognized one man: his ex-partner, Quint Kendyl.

The pain kept him semiconscious as he lay facedown on the scarred surface of the landing zone. And although he had been unable to distinguish little more than the grating edge of voices, there was no doubting the distinctive boots of the man who stood before him. "Kendyl" was the last thought that registered as he slipped into unconsciousness.

"Are you listening to what I'm saying?" Loring broke in.

Without comment Nick leaned forward to deposit another lump of ash into the ashtray.

"I was saying...that if..."

"Yeah, I heard you," Nick mumbled, shoving the cigar between his teeth. "I'll deal with it in my own way, Jon. I won't hide, if that's what you're suggesting."

Silence passed as Nick contemplated the plan. "I'm going to be up-front with you. No matter how careful we are, there's no guarantee that Acacia's going to be a safe haven. It's not common knowledge I'm from Acacia, but if someone gets to nosing around, it's on the security records. You have no way of knowing how big this operation is, or who's watching who."

"I'm aware of that." Jonathan relaxed. "Look, I know this won't be easy, but I'll see to it you won't regret it. I assure you there will be a double bonus in it for you." A smile tipped the corners of his mouth. "I'll even double your high-risk credits on this one."

"I'm not doing it for the bonus, Jonathan. Besides, you couldn't afford me even if I were. And as far as regret is concerned," he grimly added, "I started regretting, the instant I heard Garrett's voice." He fought down the mental image of Gina.

Ignoring Nick's cynicism, Jonathan continued, "Now I figure if you come back to the place with me, we can work out the details on the way. Then we can bring Tressie on back with us. Besides, I know Mary's going to want to meet you. Hell, she'll probably want to speak privately with you."

Great. Nick nearly groaned aloud That ought to be real interesting. I just got into port, Jon. Look at me. I'm not only beat, I'm half-crocked.

Questioning his own sanity, Nick rubbed the back of his neck and tried to sort through his feelings. Having hit port three hours ago from a five-week run, he had spent the first hour and a half overseeing, as well as assisting in the unloading of cargo off his ship. He was tired, and the way he figured it, by now he should have been well on his way to getting drunk, counting his winnings and getting laid, in roughly that order.

Though past experience had taught Loring that Nick Banner was a man of his word, he looked at him for the first time since he had entered his office. Unshaven; worn leathers; his hair in serious need of a cut; he grimly admitted that Nick Banner looked every bit the rogue. Jonathan was certain Mary would not approve of Tressa leaving with him. In fact, he was tempted to question the wisdom of the plan himself.

Nick's eyebrow arched knowingly. "Second thoughts, Jon?"

"I haven't got time for second thoughts! I'll go on back and square things away at home. You, on the other hand, have exactly two hours to make yourself presentable. We'll meet you back at the Victorious at that time."

Swinging his feet down, Nick stood, crushed out his cigar and turned for the door. "You're the only one I'd do this for," he said, pausing briefly at the threshold.

"Yes, I realize I've called in my markers on this one, Nick."

"Damn right you have."

Chapter Two

Nick found Garrett waiting for him as he stepped out of the complex. Climbing into the front seat of the landcraft, he instructed Garrett to drop him off at the spaceport.

He couldn't believe he had actually agreed to such lunacy. Total insanity, he thought as they sped back to the spaceport. A muscle twitched in his left cheek at the prospect of a little over three weeks confined in the cramped quarters of the Victorious with Loring's daughter.

The last time he had a woman on board it had been at his invitation, and even then it didn't work out. Though he never found out what had her storming off the ship, he suspected it must have been something he'd said.

The lights of the port facility gradually came into view. Nick was pulled from his thoughts as the landcraft hissed to a halt before the terminal's front entrance.

"Good to see you again, Nick. You take it easy now."

"Yeah, you too." Climbing out, Nick reached for a cigar, bent his head and lit up. Releasing a stream of smoke into the cool night air, he gazed out over the landing field, his eyes fixed on the silhouette of his sleek ship, the Victorious--the Vicki, as he often referred to her. Anchored at the far end of the landing field, she sat patiently awaiting the completion of routine servicing.

A maze of high-octane fuel, fresh water and liquid waste tubes snaked their way across the durasteel decking and rose up into the belly of the ship. Each pipe, as it serviced the Victorious, had its own tiny pulsing light system traveling its length. From a distance they appeared as glittering arrows chasing one another in a merry race across the landing zone.

Out of habit, Nick always kept the Victorious ready for immediate lift. Even with LorTech being his primary contract, one never knew when an unexpected run would arise at a slow time--the kind that came with a hefty bonus for the trouble. Although to his way of thinking, some bonuses just weren't worth the trouble.

Once again he asked himself just what the devil he was doing. Loring's daughter of all people. It was crazy, and gut instinct told him that he'd regret it before they even cleared the atmosphere. Hell, he was already regretting it. One hour ago he'd been sitting in the Star Cruiser thinking his evening was all mapped out. And now...

Withdrawing a small comp remote, he tapped into the Victorious's primary onboard computer, releasing the security on the main entry. The familiar stench of exhaust and raw fuel hung heavy in the air as he made his way across the LZ. The high-pitched whine of a departing freighter escalated to a deafening roar.

Once on board, Nick absently wondered how long it would take to make things presentable. But then, he decided the ship wasn't all that bad. Nothing a little crammin' and jammin' couldn't fix. Grabbing a quick shower, he changed into a comfortable white crew shirt and black trousers. He rebelliously pitched the idea of shaving. Dammit, this fiasco was Jonathan's idea, not his. It had destroyed what had begun as a perfect evening, and Little Miss Loring would just have to take him--and his ship--as is.

Nick's sable collar-length hair, normally worn long by the standards of some, was getting a little too long--even for him. Now it seemed his plan for getting a trim while in port was out of the question right along with everything else.

The next hour was spent plotting the coordinates for the voyage that lay ahead and running a diagnostic check on the ship.

* * *

Mary Loring stared at Jonathan in disbelief. At forty-six, her beauty was exquisite, almost fragile. "I can't believe I'm hearing this, Jonathan." In spite of her reserve, there was a tinge of alarm in her voice. "But why Tressa? Surely there are others who can handle the clearance on that equipment. And who, again, is this man that's taking her?"

"One question at a time, Mary," Jonathan said calmly, masking the flood of emotion that was threatening to overtake him. As much as he hated it, there just wasn't enough time for two stories: the truth to Mary, and a concocted version to Tressa. Besides, if Mary were to know the truth, Tressa would take one glance at her face and the entire plan would be blown.

Firmly reminding himself that at this very moment there was a ship waiting in port to take Tressa to safety, Jonathan once again bolstered himself for the task ahead.

"First question," he began. "Yes, unfortunately, Tressa is the only one besides myself. And second: the name of the man she will be traveling with is Captain Nick Banner." He had thrown in the title with the intention of reinforcing a mental image of honor and respectability. "And yes, before you even ask, I trust him."

A look of anguish crossed Mary's face. "She'll be all alone with this man?"

"Yes," he replied, knowing his air of nonchalance was totally out of character in this instance. He was opening himself wide for criticism...and for Mary's special gift.

"For three weeks?" she stressed. "I can't believe what I'm hearing."

"Tressie's responsible, Mary. Besides, there's nothing hard about this. It's just a matter of signing a few--"

"If everything is so up and above board, why are you nervous?"

Jonathan groaned inwardly, hating the truth--hating the lie and hating the air of nonchalance he had to fight to maintain. More than just women's intuition, more than reading body language, Mary was right one hundred percent of the time when it came to understanding his emotions. She didn't just know them, she felt them the instant he did.

He had learned long ago the art of masking his vulnerable side when it became necessary to protect her. Usually he hid behind a bright, cheerful façade. Sometimes he even hid behind anger. And if he concentrated real hard, either worked.

"You're nervous, Jon. What is it you're not telling me?

"Hey..." He laughed lightheartedly. "You act as if I'm sending her off with an Arian mountain wolf."

Swallowing hard, Mary looked away. "I want the truth."

"I just told you. I need her to--"

"So what kind of a man is he? How old?" she asked softly, still without looking at him.

"I know him, Mary. He's a good man." His tone grew serious. "One of the very few to whom I can give a responsibility and know it will be done right." Again he rallied his sense of humor and added with a silly smirk, "As for his age, I'd say he's about ninety, bald, walks with a cane, and has--"

"Jonathan."

Still grinning, he shrugged his shoulders. "He's in his early thirties, I'm guessing." Jonathan paused, fighting for self-control in the face of Mary's intense scrutiny.

Tough it out, Loring. You've got to do this.

He knew what she was doing--looking for a weak link in the jovial persona he was working so hard to maintain. Yet as much as it repulsed him, the lie in this instance was worth it.

"You're holding something back. I can feel it inside. Number one, if he's so praiseworthy, why isn't he able to affect that special security clearance himself?"

"Simply because it takes a principal of the Corporation to release it," he lied. Offering her a tender smile, he continued. "You see, this shipment isn't just a usual security pickup, it's--"

"Oh, I see, and Tressa is one of the principals, is she?"

Jonathan hesitated. "No," he replied at last. "But she's being groomed for a position down the road." He held himself still under her study, praying she couldn't break through the mask he had erected.

Some called her talent a gift, the ability to experience another's emotions. Creohens called it a curse. And a spouse called it an intrusion. Whatever; Jonathan was especially thankful at this moment that the gift--if you could call it that--didn't also include mind reading.

"Jonathan..." she said finally, her eyes piercing the distance between them, "please, what is it?"

He crossed the room, coming to a halt before her. "Mary," he said, reaching for her hand and kissing her open palm, "you know me better than that, darling. Besides, when have I ever been able to keep anything from you?"

Oh, how he longed to unload the burden he carried. Eventually he would tell her the truth, but only after Tressa was safely off-planet. Like it or not, Nick Banner was the only man he trusted this side of the Milky Way to take his daughter to a safe haven. He had nothing to worry about. And Tressa would never know about the bogus shipment through Nick. Thank goodness she had tested negative for her mother's special talent.

"I might be only half Creohen, Jon, but I know what I'm feeling inside. And these are your butterflies in the pit of my stomach. Not mine. And I want an explanation!"

Jonathan winced. This wasn't the first time he rued the day Terra Three had been colonized, opening the lid on Pandora's Box with its damn Creoh mines. Mary's father had been just one of the many young miners affected by the raw mineral. By the time they discovered the irreversible brain-altering side effects of Creoh, the damage had been done. And by the time they were discovering that the disorder was almost always passed on to the offspring, Tressa had been conceived.

* * *

Tressa knew something was amiss the minute she entered the room. Despite her mother's serene countenance, the air was thick with tension. "You wanted to see me?" she asked, her eyes falling upon her father.

"Yes, Tressie, please come in. Have a seat, honey." Jonathan motioned to a nearby couch.

Tressa sat down, glancing first at her mother and then back to her father. "Is something wrong?"

"No, no dear," Jonathan replied casually. "I just need your help with an important errand, that's all." Tressa's face lifted slightly as Jonathan went on. "There's a crucial piece of equipment that needs to be picked up. I need you to accompany one of our pilots to Shaiel and sign for the clearance on the shipment."

"Shaiel?" Tressa's mouth dropped. "Dad, that's a ten-day voyage from here."

"Yes, it is, honey," Jonathan admitted. "I'd go myself if I didn't have to be here for that board meeting coming up in a few days. I'd hope that with your security status you'd go in my place."

It seemed strange--the whole idea of being the only one qualified to go. Nevertheless, Tressa's devotion to her father was stronger than any sense of doubt. She focused on the excitement of an off-planet flight. "All right," she agreed.

"Good. Now I want you to go and quickly pack a couple of travel cases. We don't have much time, sweetheart."

"Pack? You mean I'm to leave now?"

Jonathan stepped forward, tenderly wrapping his arm about her shoulders. "Tressie, honey, listen to me: As we speak, there's a ship waiting in port for us. Yes," he confirmed softly, "it's critical that you leave tonight to make schedule."

For a long moment there was silence as Tressa digested his words. At last she nodded.

* * *

Nick was in the process of tapping information into the ship's NAVCOMP when a soft chime announced the arrival of company. Engaging the surveillance camera, he saw Jonathan and Tressa approaching. "Smart female," he whispered, noticing she had only two small travel packs.

Although he couldn't quite make out her expression, from the set of her shoulders and her rigid gait, she didn't appear any happier about this trip than he did. R e a l smooth, Loring. Folding his arms across his chest, he leaned back in the command seat and continued to observe them on the ship's monitor. Suddenly Tressa stopped mid-stride about a hundred feet from the ship. "Now what?" he muttered, watching as she spun around to face her father.

* * *

"How could you?" Tressa all but stamped her foot. "I can't believe you would do this to me. You conveniently never mentioned the Victorious because you knew what I'd say, didn't you?"

"Tressa, I'm sorry," Jonathan offered lamely. "Despite all the things you've heard, Captain Banner is one of the most honorable men I know."

"Honorable? Ha! Dad, do you have any idea--"

"Believe me sweets, I'd never send you off with him if I didn't believe that with all my heart."

Tressa turned and faced him squarely. "Maybe you know something I don't, but honorable doesn't exactly coincide with what I keep hearing." With that, Tressa whirled back around and continued her resolved trek toward the awaiting Victorious. "I have half a mind to turn around and forget this whole thing."

"Wait a minute, baby." Jonathan picked up his pace.

"You might as well have thrown me into the den of an imperial snapper," she muttered, not waiting for him to catch up.

Wincing at her words, Jonathan moved quickly, spinning her around to face him. "And just what is it you keep hearing? Huh? Are they firsthand stories, Tressa, or dreamed-up rumors?" Jonathan studied her. "You think I'm old, don't you? Too old to pay attention to the rumors about the notorious Nick Banner? Too old to notice the way women throw themselves at him--and maybe even too old to understand?"

Tressa lowered her eyes. "I never said that."

"Of course you didn't," he said softly, "but it's what you meant. Let me tell you what I do understand," Jonathan continued with fatherly gentleness. "Judging from what I see, and given the fact that none of those eager young ladies--particularly the ones down in Shipping--have yet to personally boast of her social experiences with Nick Banner, I'd venture to say it's more hot air and wishful thinking than anything." He smiled. "Though I'm not dismissing nor defending his reputation, neither am I blind or deaf to what really goes on. I've heard them all, Tressa, and believe me there's a lot more rumor than truth in what you've been hearing."

He didn't need to say more. It was true; not one of those stories she had heard were first hand. And to the best of Tressa's knowledge, none of the LorTech girls down in Shipping had ever socialized with the illustrious Nick Banner, despite their attempts to catch his interest.

Defiance returning, Tressa lifted her chin. "Well, those rumors started somewhere. He's just too smart to try anything right under your nose." Once again she resumed her march toward the ship.

* * *

With a frown and a heavy sigh, Nick headed for the main entry port. At a touch, the inner hatch cycled open. Palming the outer lock, he met Jonathan and Tressa as they made their way up the boarding ramp. A set of recessed lights in the ceiling of the entry snapped to life as the two guests stepped over the threshold.

Mahogany highlights danced in Tressa's rich brown hair as she passed beneath an overhead beam of light. Despite Jonathan's presence, Nick was finding it difficult to drag his eyes from her. He had forgotten how pretty she was, and he'd be willing to bet there was a heart-stopping body beneath that liquid-soft jumpsuit she was wearing.

It took every ounce of determination he had to suppress his amusement as Tressa gazed about the cabin, surveying the compact and painfully limited living quarters.

"Nick, you remember my daughter, Tressa," Jonathan said, breaking the tension.

Tressa offered her hand. "Hello."

"Tressa." Nick took her hand. "It's been a while. Welcome aboard." Immediately releasing her, he turned to Jonathan. "For now, just stash her things back there under the bunks."

With a nod, Jonathan turned and headed toward the berths just astern of the main entry. There was a moment of silence then..."Uh...Nick? Can you come back here for a moment?"

Excusing himself, Nick turned and made his way down the narrow corridor to where Jonathan waited. "Is there a problem?"

"That's an extensive inventory of ale you have stashed back here," Jonathan said in undertones.

"Yeah, it sure is," Nick agreed.

"I realize it's none of my business, but--"

"You're right, Jon. It is none of your business." Nick grinned. "But to set your mind at ease, it's not mine."

* * *

The moment he'd taken her hand, the connection was instant, unlike anything in Tressa's experience. As though coming out of nowhere, the sensation jolted her into an unfamiliar awareness of this man.

Had he felt it too? Striving to separate her jangled emotions Tressa remained just inside the main hatch, her eyes on Nick. He was engaged in conversation with her father--just far enough away that she could only make out part of what was being said. From the look on her father's face, however, it was clearly something unpleasant.

Arms folded, Nick braced a shoulder against the bulkhead and responded in a voice also too low for her to understand. Occasionally he would nod his head, and Tressa could only imagine what sort of idiotic stipulations were being laid down.

Unable to resist, she drank in the sight of the legendary Nick Banner. Starting at his booted feet, she slowly worked her way up long, muscular legs, past a broad chest, and finally came to rest on a ruggedly handsome face. He simmered with a sensuality that Tressa barely understood. In truth, he took her breath away. Always had. Trouble was she thought she had outgrown her childish infatuation.

Eight years had passed since that first day when he had come to see her father. She was sixteen at the time, and Nick was by far the most gorgeous man she had ever laid eyes on. When the rumors began, she was not immune. She had heard each story at least a dozen times. And in her innocence, Nick's fast life-style and innate sexuality made the stories seem almost romantic.

How many times had she given in to the secret fantasy of imagining his arms drawing her close, his low voice murmuring love words in her ear. Reality was, they barely knew each other. Not that she was his type anyway. She could only imagine what he considered appealing in a woman. Blonde and experienced probably topped the list.

"Tressie," Jonathan's voice broke into her thoughts, "I'm going to leave now, honey." Both men came forward and farewells were exchanged. Within minutes Tressa was seated in the passenger seat to the left behind Nick, her heart pounding as a mixture of emotions raced through her mind. Banner's very presence was both disturbing and exciting as she watched him go through the process of sealing the ship.

Careful that you don't go dropping at his feet in worship like all the others.

Tressa had no sooner formed her plan of immunity when Nick swung about, regarding her with an intensity that made her insides flutter. Leaning forward, he pulled a safety harness across her lap, fastening it in place.

"You ever been off-planet before, Tressa?" The smoky timbre of his voice quietly broke the silence.

"Only once. I was nine at the time." She laughed nervously, quickly adding, "but I have flown many times to neighboring ports here on Terra Four."

"Uh-huh." Nick nodded politely, but Tressa caught the look of suppressed amusement. His eyes danced with it. "Well, this will be just a little different than port-hopping," he said. "I'll explain what to expect as we go along. In the meantime," he grinned, "relax."

"I am relaxed. Thank you."

Languid laughter filled his tone. "No, you're not." Turning his attention back to the controls, he ran through the pre-lift procedures.

Tressa swallowed hot words of denial. Judging from his expression, he found her inexperience entertaining. Glancing out of the viewport, a tiny pulsing strobe light caught her eye as it marked the very tip of the port wing. Four high-intensity landing beams came to life, instantly bathing the LZ in bright light.

It was dark outside and Tressa pressed closer to the window, blocking out the refection of the ship's interior. Cupping her face with her hands, she peered out at the surrounding spaceport. The docking bays were occupied with everything from large freighters to small mail boats. Several docks in particular were a bustle of activity.

When a subtle vibration became the low rumble of ignition, she turned to watch as Nick flipped an overhead switch. In response, a bank of tiny green lights came alive on the console. And when he tapped a final button, the low rumble slowly began building into a muffled whine.

He opened the com-link. "This is the Victorious, Delta Beta, Six-Niner-Four, requesting clearance for lift."

A sudden wave of apprehension swept through Tressa. Turning toward the viewport, she searched out the landing zone in a desperate attempt to glimpse her father just one last time.

Chapter Three

"That's an affirmative, Victorious," came a feminine voice. "You are cleared for vertical lift to twenty-thousand feet. After that you're on your own. See you on your return trip, Nick."

The controller had no sooner given clearance than the sound of the ship's thrusters began escalating. Though the sound was muffled inside, Tressa knew that on the outside, the noise level was rising first to an ear-piercing scream and then a deafening roar as the Victorious lifted.

Pinned to her seat, she watched in fascination as the lights of Port Ireland became smaller and smaller, gradually disappearing into the distant horizon as Nick set the course for Port Canada.

"I've got a couple of stops to make first; then we'll put into space," he said without taking his eyes off the console.

Tressa's gaze shifted back to Nick, perusing every virile inch of his profile, from glossy black hair that curled over his collar, to the way his shirt clung to the corded muscles of his back. Slowly her gaze traveled southward, visiting a flat-planed stomach and hip, settling at last on a hard muscled thigh. Her own stomach tightening in response, she looked away, silently denying the surge of feminine awarenes.

Tressa, what are you doing? Put your eyes back where they belong. Your engaged. Besides, this one's a heartbreaker. You've heard the rumors.

Yes, she had. She had heard them all--and more than once. Nick Banner left no question in anyone's mind but that he was a rogue with his own damnable ways of doing things.

Settling in, Nick swiftly finished entering the coordinates into the NAVCOMP. His swarthy features were illuminated by the orange glow of the console, and Tressa found herself still drawn to him, in spite of the inner turmoil going on. Clenching her hands in her lap, she straightened her back, reminding herself that she was no longer an infatuated teenager.

At last finishing a final procedure, Nick turned to face her and the knot in the pit of her stomach tightened. "Feel like taking a little tour?" There it was, that easy little boy smile that had charmed her from the first day she had laid eyes on him.

"Sure."

Tressa found the Victorious to be efficiently compact. The main entry port through which she had first entered was located on the starboard side toward the bow of the ship. From there forward was an open helm.

Next came the sleeping quarters, located just aft of the main entry port. It consisted of two bunks, a stationary lower bunk and an upper one that had yet to be unlatched and let down from the bulkhead. The berths were boxed-in by two floor-to-ceiling partitions, one at the head and one at the foot.

Dogging her steps, Nick drew her attention to the lavatory. Despite its compact size, the "head", as he called it, seemed complete. Tressa was glad to note it even included a shower, a triangle-shaped unit situated in one corner.

"Small but functional," he said in a tone that was anything but apologetic. Crossing the cabin to the port side of the ship, they came to the entry of a small galley.

"Well, it's certainly cozy," she said cheerfully.

"That's one way of putting it."

As they stepped into the galley, interior lighting responded, illuminating the room. "Have a seat, Tressa." He motioned toward the small lounge situated in front of an octagon viewing port.

Remembering Jonathan's advice about laying down ground rules, Nick turned for the kitchenette along the aft wall as Tressa took a seat. "Would you like something hot to drink?" he asked, already reaching for a couple of mugs.

"Thank you. That would be nice."

Nick opened a container and began spooning green crystals into both mugs. "Ever heard of Tenga Tea?"

She frowned. "Not that I can remember."

"It's made from the crystallized sap of a small bush. A friend in the importing business gave me a supply of this stuff." He positioned the mugs, one at a time, beneath a small spigot and began filling them with steaming water.

Returning to her side, he handed her one of the mugs. Tressa inhaled the aroma. "It smells good," she said, gazing curiously at the steamy green liquid.

Nick smiled and sat down beside her. "It's supposed to be better for you than Terran coffee."

Tressa took a tentative sip. "Umm, it's sweet. I bet its good iced."

"Never tried it iced." A moment of silence passed and then with a heavy sigh, "Tressa, we need to take a minute and go over a few things."

"All right." She looked up at him expectantly.

Nick shifted. "First of all," he began--not one to mince words, "I want to make one thing perfectly clear. Despite the fact that I freelance for your father, the name Loring pulls no weight on board this ship. You're a passenger. It's that simple." Steeling himself against her fading smile, he pressed on, "and as long as you remember that, everything should go smoothly around here."

Tressa's smile had turned cool. "I assure you, that won't be a problem."

"And another thing, if you've got a complaint I don't want to hear it unless it's life threatening. The Victorious is set up to haul cargo. She's not a luxury liner and you'll find the comforts around here painfully limited."

"I'm sure I'll manage."

"Good because we're talking three weeks of living with each other, and unless we get a few things straight...cozy just might not describe it by the time we reach our destination."

"You've made yourself clear." Dismissing him, Tressa looked away and took another sip of tea.

"Yeah, well I hope so, because with the exception of the head, privacy around here will be virtually nonexistent."

Tressa's voice cooled another notch as she turned to face him. "Then let me set your mind at ease." She smiled sweetly. "Despite the fact that you freelance for my father, the name Nick Banner pulls no weight with me either. You and your painfully limited cargo ship are a means of transportation. It's that simple."

Sensing somehow that he had just been outflanked, Nick was suddenly overcome with an urge to crack that shell of regal composure. One corner of his mouth lifted. "All right, Tressa," he began as though accepting a challenge. "The point is: I never take passengers on board, therefore, I'm not in the habit of exercising modesty. Like I say...the only way you and I are going to coexist and stay within the bounds of civilized behavior is if we set down a few rules and stick to them." Having said that, he leaned back, stretching his long legs out before him.

Despite her claim of disinterest, he'd noticed the stolen glances. Oh yeah--he'd noticed, and he knew that look all too well. Spoken for or not, Tressa Loring was going to be trouble if he didn't set down some rules.

Tressa cleared her throat. "Your lack of modesty isn't surprising. Studies reveal that for some men, self-control doesn't really develop until maturity."

Nick grinned, his interest escalating. "Is that right."

She rose from the lounge and made her way to the sink where she calmly rinsed the mug and placed it on the counter.

She was pissed as hell at him. He'd bet his paycheck on it. Yet so far he couldn't seem to break through that veil of propriety. "I'll tell you what, Tressa," he said, trying a new tactic. "I'll make you a little deal."

With a small sigh, she cast him a retiring look.

"Over the next few weeks I'll try my damnedest to maintain a semblance of modesty and self-control. But you must promise to do the same, and that includes, sweetheart, making sure I'm not subjected to your intimate belongings drip drying off every hook in the lav." Clasping his hands behind his head, he remained in his sprawled position and waited.

Calmly turning for the exit, Tressa glanced his direction and drawled, "Only in your dreams, little boy."

Nick bolted upright. "What'd you say?" But she had already exited the galley.

"Tressa," he shouted. "Get back here. We're not finished."

"But I will tell you one thing," she added, returning to poke her head around the corner. "I really don't appreciate being subjected to an over-sexed, under-hung fly boy.

He barked a laugh. "What...?"

"I'm no happier about this than you are. In fact," she went on, "to be perfectly honest, I want to stay here only marginally more than I want to die trying to escape. The only reason I agreed is because my father asked it of me. You, on the other hand, surely could have come up with a thousand and one reasons for declining this run."

"Go on," he coaxed, intrigued.

Tressa's mouth thinned. "Your immaturity obviously will make things a bit difficult, but you needn't spare me a moment's concern. I've brought enough reading material to relieve the tedium of witnessing your bare backside.

"Oh and just so you know," she added, "expecting special treatment for any reason, let alone because of my last name, has never, ever been my style."

Nick grinned, completely unrepentant. "Terrific. Everything should be just wonderful then, shouldn't it? Like I said, I don't want any misunderstandings between us."

"Misunderstandings?" she repeated with a knowing smile. "Oh Captain Banner, I understand you perfectly."

He was the image of cocksure arrogance and Tressa had an overwhelming urge to march over and kick him in the shins. Squelching the impulse, she turned once again to exit the galley.

"By the way," he called after her, "the name's Nick. You can drop the captain part."

Tressa quickly headed for her place at the helm. "Swamp rat suits you even better," she mumbled to herself. It was perfectly clear that he didn't want her on board and had every intention of making her life hell for the duration of the trip. Arrogant, chauvinistic, over-sexed and...

under-hung flyboy! a silent voice filled in.

Instant heat rushed to her cheeks at the memory of her hasty retort. Dear God, had she actually said that? To Nick Banner of all people?

How many times had she laughed at her friend, Sara, who was forever mumbling that particular phrase under her breath. But to actually come out and say it to someone. Well, it was too late to do anything about it now, and she certainly wasn't about to apologize. Not after his baiting lecture. Anyway, tomorrow it will all be--" Tomorrow! Instantly Tressa's thoughts turned to the sleeping quarters. Quickly glancing toward the bunks, the shock of discovery hit her full force--there were no privacy curtains!

By the time Nick finally strolled up front, Tressa was sitting in the passenger's seat, quietly stewing over the sleeping arrangements and meticulously examining her perfectly manicured nails.

"Under-hung, huh?" With a snort he dropped into the command seat and began making a few adjustments on the console.

Ignoring him, Tressa turned toward the viewport and stared out at absolute blackness. With the cabin lights fully lit, all she saw was the mirrored image of the cockpit, and in the reflection she watched "swamp rat" go through what seemed a practiced routine. No words were exchanged between them, least of all, the apology she felt she deserved.

* * *

Cord Wheeler rounded the corner and headed away from his office. Another day was coming to an end. Starting down the duracrete walkway, he had the unmistakable feeling that he was being followed. Whipping around, he scanned the open street with a glance. No one looked particularly suspicious. But then, what did he know? Having grown up in the sheltering shadow of his grandfather, he had always known the finer side of living, and dealing with questionable people had never been part of it.

Now, against his will, here he was living in Port Ireland, running a subsidiary mining brokerage. He hated Port Ireland; hated Terra Four--hated the brokerage for that matter. He could still hear his grandfather's words: "Young man, if you want Wheeler Explorations when I retire, you'll settle down and prove yourself worthy to take over."

He groaned at the memory. Worthy meant coming to Port Ireland and spending two damn years of his life running a small brokerage and proving that he was capable of turning a profit.

It wasn't easy, but so far he'd managed to land several highly profitable contracts, yielding large commissions. So what if his methods were a little unethical? The figures he'd just finished entering in the books were impressive. And, after all, wasn't that the main objective?

Yes, the name-change from Cord Wheeler to Burke Sinclair had been a wise move. It had opened connections he never could have managed under the respected name of Wheeler, the name his grandfather had worked hard to build.

It was while he was living under this new identity that he met Jonathan Loring. With the charisma of a snake oil salesman he had sold Loring on both himself and the reputation of the brokerage. It wasn't long before he was sitting across from Loring and offering his bid for a large commercial mining contract: the very contract his grandfather had been striving to secure. The final decision, of course, was yet to come, but he felt sure they would be awarded the contract.

Another fringe benefit to meeting Loring had been meeting Loring's daughter. Tressa turned out to be an unexpected edge in his quest for "worthiness". What better way to satisfy his grandfather's wish, than to settle down and take a wife? And a wealthy one, at that. The only problem was, he had spent the last six months courting Tressa, and he was still seething over the fact that she needed time to think about his proposal of marriage. Back home there were dozens of women who would jump at the offer with a man of his standing, not to mention his looks and charm.

No, the entire plan was irritating, and if he had his way he would pack up and leave this God forsaken place now--head for home to slip back into the luxurious life he had been used to. But since he couldn't do that, he had devised a little insurance plan.

Just this morning he had made the final arrangements with Tressa's future kidnappers. Sinclair smiled at the thought of how grateful she would be for his timely rescue--how indebted even Loring himself would be for the display of heroism. It was all so simple. He'd win Tressa's undying love and no one would be the wiser: least of all, his grandfather.

Randy by nature, courting Tressa properly was taking its toll. Yes, he would continue his display of perfect gentlemanly manners, but he would also allow himself an occasional visit to a certain brothel where discretion was guaranteed.

He was headed there tonight. Dammit a man has his needs. Besides, a celebration was in order, and this particular high-dollar palace of pleasure offered him just what he needed--

"Mr. Sinclair?"

Burke drew in a sharp breath at the sound of the raspy voice intruding upon his thoughts. Turning abruptly, he faced a middle-aged man who looked as though life had been one long rugged road. Unshaven and filthy, he wore little more than rags in Sinclair's estimation. Steely gray eyes peered out from beneath bushy gray brows as he moved closer. He smelled disgusting, and Burke was intensely repelled. "Yes? What is it?"

The man snatched his cap from his head and clutched it to his chest. "Name's Toby McIntyre," he said extending a grimy hand.

"What do you want?" He wasn't about to touch that hand.

McIntyre retracted his outstretched hand, shoving it into a pocket. "Mr. Sinclair," he began again, "I wasn't sure what to do. I'm not one to be sellin' information, you understand, but got some news you just might be interested in knowin'..." His words trailed off.

In spite of himself, Sinclair's interest was piqued. Assessing the man, he hesitated for a moment, and wondered what information the old duffer could possibly have that would interest him. "Let me guess: You feel you've got something I'd be willing to pay for, right?"

"Oh no. But if you decide it's worth somethin'..."

Sinclair pointedly raked him from head to toe. "Why should I be interested in the first place?"

A grin began to spread across the man's pasty face exposing badly decayed teeth. "Because it involves a certain little missy leavin' in a big hurry. That's why."

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