“Shade Ganavan,” he answered, looking dead serious for the first time since we’d met. The rascal was gone for just a moment, and in his place, there was a man whose deep voice and assessing eyes caused a slight tremor to go through me.
I couldn’t tell if I wanted to step closer to him, or get the hell out of his shop. Usually, I wasn’t conflicted about that type of thing.
I opted for staying where I was. “Well, Shade Ganavan, I need someone to repair my ship. Do you know of anyone who has at least eight standard tiles of reinforced, space-worthy metal, welding equipment, and a way to get it all up to the three-hundred-and-fourteenth level of the Squirrel Tree?”
His head reared back. “You’re in the fucking Squirrel Tree? Shit, princess, I guarantee they’re ripping you off.”
I bristled. “It was the only place to land.”
“Says the guy who controls the tower, who’s paid off by the guy who owns the Squirrel Tree.”
He looked genuinely annoyed on my behalf. It was nice. I couldn’t remember the last time a stranger had stuck up for me simply on principle. This guy was such a contradiction. Shade Ganavan had oodles of arrogance, oodles of charm, and oodles of something that made me want to kick him in the nuts.
“So?” I prompted.
“I can take care of your ship for you.”
“You? Yourself?” I asked.
He spread his hands. “I’m a man of many talents.”
“There’s no shortage of cockiness, in any case.”
“Oh, there’s nothing short about my—”
I held up my hand. “Women from Sector 12 don’t like hearing that kind of talk.”
He grinned, a slow, sex-on-a-stick smile that made heat spark low in my abdomen. “Then what kind of talkdothey like?” he asked.
“Squeaky clean,” I answered, amazed that I kept a straight face while telling an enormous falsehood—in my case, anyway.
He smirked. “You mean boring as hell?”
My lips twitched. The scoundrel was back, and my pulse accelerated in response. I didn’t mind dirty talk, and I would have bet good money that Shade Ganavan did it really well.
“And I thought you were from 8,” he added abruptly.
My smile died.Shit.He had me there.
“How do you know so much about accents?” I asked, suddenly curious to know more about him. And also anxious to change the subject. It never hurt to shift the focus to the other guy, especially when he probably loved talking about himself.
“I travel, working, picking up stuff.” His eyes cruised over the crowded shelves on either side of us.
Mine did, too. But while he looked satisfied with his jumbled collection, the brief glance around us just raised questions in my mind. There was too much stuff here, and a lot of it looked like it hadn’t been touched—and by that, I meantcleaned—in months. It didn’t appear his business was doing very well.
“Picking up things for your shop?” I asked.
He shrugged. “Goods. Odds and ends. Some jobs. You know how it goes.”
My eyes narrowed. That was vague. And the quality of his clothing didn’t match the neglected feel of his shop. He wore rather technical-looking dark cargo pants and a snug-fitting black T-shirt, neither of which looked cheap or worn. His boots were solid and in good condition as well, with soles that looked thick enough to help him kick down theEndeavor’s current starboard door.
Thinking about the thin safety hatch that was left, I was shocked all over again that we’d made it out of today’s terrifying events alive. All things considered, maybe Jaxon was on to something with his Sky Mother beliefs.
In any case, Shade Ganavan was making money somewhere—even if it wasn’t here.
Uh-oh.“Don’t tell me you’re a pirate. Is all this stuff stolen?” I asked, thinking about Flyhole and all its corrupt bandits only a short jump away.
His mouth turned down. “Not a pirate, sugar. More like a space rogue.”
