Page 127 of Sky Song
“Well, yes, a shootout thatyouinstigated.”
“Not really.”
Paloma gave Lyle a pointed look. “You see, it doesn’t even matter. In the eyes of society, you’re the villain.”
“Because I’m an alien?”
“That’s a contributing factor. But maybe the forty dead peacekeepers also have something to do with it.” Paloma pointed at each of them, one by one. “The three of you can no longer walk around freely.”
Another thing dawned on Cricket. “Wait. I can’t go home?”
“Are you serious? And run into Sulys who will report you faster than you can say hello?”
Cricket slumped in her chair, drained and dumb. Some things were simply too much to absorb at once, and her brain refused to fully comprehend the magnitude of their situation.
A soft hand gently brushed Cricket’s wrist, bringing a warm tingle in its wake. “Don’t think now. Everything will come together at the end. A good end.”
Surprised, Cricket looked up to find Rosamma standing over her. The touch of her pale fingers was like Mother Nature herself blew in her ear, infused her with strength and… hope. She wanted to believe this strange woman’s words about the happy ending. Oh, how she wanted to believe her…
After Zaron and Paloma left, Ren moved the table aside and settled in for the night on the floor, giving up his bedroom for Cricket. She thanked him, numb and uncaring about comforts or privacy. Nevertheless, she dutifully turned on the water in the narrow corner shower and scrubbed up, lathering and rinsing her hair thoroughly, meticulously, relishing in the familiar ritual. She used a soft towel that smelled like Rosamma and put on a set of clean clothes that Ren’s sister shared with her, all creamy whites and soft beiges.
Afterward, she lay in Ren’s bed and stared at the low ceiling, her eyes dry and her mind fixated on random thoughts. Mama. She had to find a way to send a message to mama. And her toothbrush. Cricket had nothing to brush her teeth with. Somehow, these two problems became equal in their importance. Her heart beat out even and slowthu-thumps, and walls themselves pulsated along with it…
She woke up a short time later. The room was dark, and without looking, she knew Lyle was here. Blinking the clinging sleep from her eyes, she turned silently to see him standing by the window with his back to her, peeking out from behind the curtain.
Lyle.
She lay still, taking in the outline of him. The weak whitish moonlight barely penetrated the gloom inside the bedroom, allowing her to see just a shadow of his sleek bare torso. He must have just finished a shower as he was holding his shirt in one hand, the hem of it touching the floor. Even with his stunning face turned away, he painted a lovely picture, such a strong male with his bulky shoulders and a thick neck under the hair he pulled over one shoulder.
Her eyes sharpened. Something about him was different. She raked her eyes up and down his form. He hadn’t lost weight, no, but without his shirt, it seemed like he carried it differently.
But it was just the night playing tricks on her bleary eyes.
A sound from outside startled her, and she sat up. “What is it? Peacekeepers?”
“No, some late-night revelers are straggling home. Sleep, my hearts. I’ll keep watch.”
She lay back down and even closed her eyes. But sleep had abandoned her, and random thoughts returned. This time, they were about Lyle. How many times had he kept watch just like this, a fugitive in the night, waiting, alert, ready to pounce?And their crazy flight last night. Ever since he’d taken control of their rider, he made no mistakes. Not one tiny miscalculation. Not once. Had he been nervous? Had he felt unsure of himself even for a moment? She would never know because he didn’t like sharing himself with her.
She sat back up. “Was this how you used to fly when you pirated?”
He turned slightly. “Of course. Speed and maneuvering are all that’s between your life and death.”
“I have to say, you handled it beautifully. By killing everyone in the process.”
“Why, thank you. I admit, experience is a wonderful thing.” The corner of his mouth tilted in a self-deprecating little smile as he said it, a gentle reminder that he had been, and remained, a trained, vicious felon.
Cricket cocked her head. “Did you ever get scared?”
“On the missions, you mean?” He turned fully to her, and she could see the glitter of his hard eyes. “No. We were conditioned and ready to take a hit if we fouled up.”
“I was scared yesterday,” she admitted.
“Yesterday, I was scared, too. Yesterday, it wasn’t a mission.”
“What was it, Lyle, when your presence here, on this planet, is one big fat mission? This goddamn hospital bust was a mission.” She was working herself up. “Iam a mission to you.”
“Not you. Not in a sense you mean.” His voice was quiet. His eyes glittered with dry-ice fire.
