Page 93 of Escape Velocity

“Now you must attend the council and make sure you are heard when the men make their plans. If you contribute an idea, make them think it came from them.

Amber smiled, thinking the men here didn’t have as much power as they assumed.

Camille led her to the open area, which was near where they had eaten the evening before.

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Max picked at his plate of food he’d taken from the serving table, knowing he wasn’t going to eat much until Amber arrived. The head man had sent her away with the women to clean up. Then a group of guys had escorted Max and Rafe to the washhouse and kept guard while they cleaned up and put on fresh clothing. They were never allowed out of someone’s sight, and Max understood why. He, Rafe and Amber had come into the camp with a false story. Now they had another story. He knew the Swamp Rats hoped it was true. They saw the trio as a way to get rid of a man who had toyed with their lives for years. But they weren’t willing to completely trust the pretend traders.

Once again Max looked up. And this time he saw Amber. His breath caught in his chest as he watched her walking toward them. He’d been secretly afraid they would keep her away from the “man talk.” Now here she was—all cleaned up and looking breathtakingly beautiful.

She was wearing one of the dresses they’d brought to sell, but something about her seemed different.

After a moment he figured out that her hair was artfully piled up on top of her head with only a few seductive tendrils hanging down.

He crossed rapidly to her, glad to see that she seemed as relieved to see him as he was to see her. Instead of commenting on their feelings, he said, “I like the way you’ve done your hair.” “Camille helped me fix it.”

“It’s perfect.”

She flushed, hesitating for a moment, and he thought she was going to say something else about getting ready for the meeting. Instead, she asked, “Did you know she’s Gatroux’s wife?”

“No.”

“She’s got a lot of experience dealing with male egos. She told me to make sure the men listen to me—and to make them think that any good ideas I had came from them.”

He laughed. “I’m all for that.” He gestured toward the table “You should get something to eat. It’s all finger food.”

“Which is?”

“Food that’s easy to eat while we have a meeting. We’ve got chunks of fruit, cut vegetables and sandwiches.”

“Sand?”

“No meat or cheese between slices of bread so you can pick it up easily. I think a guy named Sandwich invented it a long time ago so he could eat while he was at the gambling tables.”

She knew about gambling. It was one of the ways the guards at her training camp had amused themselves.

“Okay.” She filled a plate.

“You may want the tea to drink,” Max said.

“You’re drinking beer?”

“No,” he answered. “I want to keep my mind sharp.”

“What kind of tea?”

“I don’t know, but it tastes good. Spicy and a little sweet.”

She poured from the pitcher into a pottery cup and took a cautious sip. “You’re right. It’s good.”

There were high tables scattered around the area, where they could set down their plates and cups and eat while standing.

They were halfway through the meal when Gatroux and several other men came in. Again, there were no women in the group.

One of the men had brought a rolled-up sheet of paper which was tucked under his arm.

He walked over and addressed Max and Rafe. “My name is Henri. I have some information for you.”

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