Free Thief by Anitra Lynn McLeod Page A

constantly groomed his blond locks and riveted his pale blue eyes to her. Ripe with his boyish crush, he determinedly made room for her at the table, but she refused.
    “The cook does not eat at the table.”
    Crestfallen, Bailey sat beside Charissa with a pout on his rounded young face.
    “I’m not shunning your hospitality or your kindness, Bailey. I’m simply following a tradition long in standing. The cook serves herself last and eats in the kitchen. But if all are so inclined, I can converse from here.”
    “The cook speaks when spoken to.” Heller, sitting to the right of Jace, rammed a fork-full of food into his mouth as he glared at her over the swollen purple of his broken nose.
    “No, that’s children,” Garrett said from the long end of the table, directly across from Jace. “That would be you, Heller, not her.”
    “Huh?” Heller turned his attention to Garrett.
    “You’re acting like a child with a diaper full of piss and vinegar.” Garrett took another bite of his supper.
    Heller glared, flexed his hands into fists and plunked them on the table, rattling the plates against the metal surface.
    For all Kraft could see, Jace sat at the head of the table and continued to eat. What kind of a captain was he? She would have put a stop to this squabble as soon as she got wind of it.
    “Don’t get bristled with me, polecat.” Garrett set aside his fork and looked at Heller like a father disciplining his son. “Since you can’t seem to grasp, let me lay it out.” Garrett took the napkin from his lap, tossed it on the table then stood. “Kraft has gone above the bend to get along with you, but you just keep sticking burrs in her boots. Get over it.”
    “Got nothing to get over.” Heller settled in his chair, crossing his massive arms over his bulky chest.
    “Kraft bested us,” Garrett said. “Not just you or me or Jace. All of us. Get over it.”
    “Yeah, well, look who got bested now.” Heller shot her a malicious snarl.
    Not wishing to change the beat, Kraft continued to watch Garrett dance with Heller. Jace had to step in, not her. She couldn’t believe Jace sat at the table calmly eating his supper while two of his crew members geared up for a show down.
    “Bested? You think her bested?” Garrett laughed. “Who the hell do you think made the food you’re shoveling into your greedy, gaping maw?”
    “Jace’s cook-whore.” Heller tossed off the insult like a gauntlet, then stood. At seven feet and a good three-fifty, he almost filled the galley with his mass. Heller’s eyes, rimmed black like a raccoon from Jace’s punch, challenged her.
    Garrett tapped the table with one gnarled finger. “You stop glaring at her and look at me, Heller, since I’m the one talking to you.”
    Heller’s head swiveled like a haunch of pork on a meat-hook. He sized up Garrett with the cunning eye of a beta dog probing for weakness in an upper pack member.
    Even though Garrett was a tall, thin drink of water who was half Heller’s size and twice Heller’s age, Garrett stood and faced Heller unafraid. Garrett’s stance spoke volumes. Kraft knew without a doubt that if Heller physically challenged Garrett, Heller would get beat down. Not by force, but by skill. Garrett might come off as simple and ambling, but the man had dexterous speed where Heller had only bulk. Experience counted on the Fringe, and Garrett had a lot more than Heller.
    Jace barely looked up from his dinner at the drama unfolding before him. As pleased as Kraft was that Jace found her cooking so distracting, she wondered if Captain Lawless really was the alpha dog on the ship. Garrett certainly seemed to be taking that position at the moment.
    Payton waved her hand in front of her face. “Could we tone down the billowing clouds of testosterone? You two are spoiling an exceptional meal.”
    Kraft wanted to applaud Payton for bringing the moment from a swift tango to a waltz.
    “I agree.” Garrett plunked himself down and tossed