Page 44 of Return to Sender
His eyes darken. “Among other things.”
The medical supplier turns out to be a small, efficient operation run by a six-limbed being who barely looks up from her inventory management as Wi’kar conducts the transaction. Professional, discrete, exactly what we need.
But watching him operate—the smooth confidence, the way he adapts his approach to the vendor’s preferences, the subtle authority even in his disguise—is doing things to my nervous system that have nothing to do with admiring his professional competence.
“Transaction complete,” Wi’kar says as we exit with a discrete package of medical supplies. “Phase one successful.”
“You know,” I say as we walk, deliberately letting my shoulder brush against his arm, “watching you work is almost as impressive as watching you... work.”
He nearly stumbles, his careful contractor facade slipping for just a moment as he catches my meaning. “Dominique,” he warns quietly.
“What? I’m simply observing that your skills are... transferable.”
His hand tightens on mine. “If you continue this line of commentary, we may need to find a storage closet for an emergency stress management session.”
The husky promise in his voice makes heat pool low in my belly. “Is that a threat or an offer?”
“Both,” he says with calm certainty that makes my pulse spike.
We’re making our way toward the fuel depot when I spot them through the crowd—a flash of crimson and gold that makes my blood run cold.
“Wi’kar,” I breathe, my grip tightening on his hand.
He follows my gaze and immediately shifts into high alert mode, his body positioning changing to shield me from view.
That’s when I see them clearly—Human Concord Royal Guards, moving through the commercial district with systematic precision.
And they’re heading straight for us.
14
Close Quarters
Dominique
Myhearthammersagainstmy ribs as Wi’kar’s hand tightens on mine. The guards haven’t spotted us yet, but their search pattern is methodical, thorough. We have maybe thirty seconds before they reach our section.
“This way,” Wi’kar murmurs, immediately guiding me toward a service corridor that bypasses the main thoroughfare. His tactical mind is already three steps ahead, calculating escape routes while maintaining the casual demeanor of our contractor disguise.
The lighting in the service corridor is dimmer, the foot traffic lighter—mostly station maintenance personnel who are too focused on their duties to pay attention to passing contractors. But more importantly, we’re forced closer together in the narrow space.
“They’re checking everyone,” I observe quietly, grateful for Wi’kar’s protective positioning as we navigate the cramped corridor.
“Systematic search pattern,” Wi’kar agrees grimly. “But our documentation is comprehensive. We simply need to avoid drawing attention.”
In the narrow confines of the service corridor, we’re forced into constant contact. Every step brings us together—his hand steadying me when I stumble slightly, my shoulder brushing against his arm, the warmth of his body in the cooler corridor air.
“This is torture,” I murmur as his hand lingers at my waist after helping me past a maintenance junction.
“What is?”
“Being this close to you and having to pretend we’re just professional colleagues,” I admit. “Especially when I can smell your scent and remember exactly what—”
His hand covers my mouth gently, but the contact sends fire through my nervous system. “You are going to compromise our cover with that line of thought,” he whispers against my ear.
When he removes his hand, I turn my head just enough to catch his earlobe between my teeth, a quick, gentle bite that makes him inhale sharply.
“Then maybe you should find a way to keep me... distracted,” I whisper back.
