Free Ricochet by Sandra Sookoo Page B

face. “That was showing and preparing you for what’s to come.” Her slender hands tightened on the half-moon wheel. “It was also a modified Lingorian corkscrew. Chances are I’ll need to employ more of them.”
    He nodded, wincing at the residual queasiness. “Thanks for the warning.” Another couple of those and he’d be chucking his stomach contents onto her boots. One by one, he pried his fingers from the armrests and focused on the shifting images on his HUD visor. “What do you need from me as nav?” For one tiny moment, he wished she’d need him for something other than race-related duties. Two seconds later, he buried the thought under reminders of exactly why he was in the Nebulon Trike.
    Money. Cold hard cash that would always do what he wanted and would never leave of its own accord.
    Briefly, she glanced at him, her eyes hidden behind the smoky visor. “You taking this seriously is the first step. Thank you.” She gazed ahead once more. “Call out locations and coordinates. The basic thing is to keep up the chatter so I have an idea of what’s going on. If the asteroid field is boring, start talking about your life. Sometimes the sound of another being’s voice relaxes me enough to handle a stressful situation.”
    “Looks like Megaris-8 is toward the end of the Belt. Smaller rocks are constantly floating around it, so running the gauntlet will be tricky.” His stomach churned, only not from sickness or the corkscrew. Unease had set in and gained a foothold.
    “Nothing worth doing is ever easy.” A thread of amusement underlay the statement.
    Offhand, he wondered if she’d ever shared a genuine laugh, ever chuckled at stupid things that made no sense, like a normal person. Did she ever lose that tight control?
    “You’re right.” The colors on his visor blurred as memories came flooding back.
    Hadn’t he learned too many times to count during his life that nothing came easily? Like the time when he was eighteen and fought off a couple of six-armed Caringa fighters who’d molested a barmaid, his first successful bounty at twenty-five that netted him money to buy his first ship, the female alien he’d fallen for at thirty-two who’d broken his heart and had left him bitter for several years afterward. All very different memories but ones which had formed him into the man he was today—pushing thirty-seven and absolutely sure of who he was and what he wanted from life.
    “Hello? Need some feedback here.” Willa nudged him with a finger. “No daydreaming right now.”
    The sound of her voice yanked him into the present. Stratton cleared his throat. “All right, there are several small asteroids off our port bow. No more than two feet in length. One larger rock on the starboard. Proceed with caution.”
    “Aye, I see ’em.”
    Stratton kept one eye on the HUD images and the other on Willa as she handled the craft. Her hands moved from the steering mechanism to various buttons on her console with the confidence and ease of long practice. Her lips curled in a soft smile; obviously, she was enjoying herself.
    Willa seemed to be in her element as a pilot. As he watched her, he mentally kicked himself for not taking being a pilot more seriously. He’d taken the talent for granted, used the piloting knowledge as a means to an end. She handled the ship with the tenderness and care of a skilled lover and with a complete affinity for the ship. Never had he met a woman so at home in a spacecraft, let alone one who took on his arrogance and pride. True, he hadn’t revealed nearly all of himself to her. Even still, she’d thrown what he’d given her back in his face with a challenge of her own.
    What was he supposed to do with that?
    He frowned. Focus on the Belt, Sinnet. Women leave. Willa would be no different if emotions got involved.
    “Keep an eye on the larger ones. I’ll try and outmaneuver the little guys.” She moved the ship through the living obstacle course as if she’d done