Page 20 of Ren: Warlord Brides
“Is it the mechanic plan?”
“No,” Ren answered, even though disguising himself as a civilian mechanic was a good plan. He was a mechanic, after all.
“Don’t do the mechanic plan. You’re not a mechanic.”
“I am. I rebuilt this ship.”
“Those aren’t the laurels you want to rest on.”
He had no idea what that idiom meant, but he knew an insult when he heard one.
“Do not listen to her, my desert blossom,” he said, stroking the console as if soothing an irritated beast. The ship was far from perfect, but it was his—and Havik’s. Partly. It was the first thing that had been his entirely—if he overlooked Havik’s half—and had not belonged to the clan, the warlord, or his father.
Murder Mittens sank her claws into his lap, snagging his attention back to where it rightfully belonged. He scratched behind her ears, eliciting a satisfied rumble. Her tail thumped and her paws kneaded his lap, only puncturing his skin occasionally.
“Ugh, we are not calling the ship that.” Thalia rolled her eyes until the white showed. It was… disturbing, like she was possessed by a spirit.
“My ship, my decision. It is already in motion.”
“Our ship!” Havik protested from off-screen.
“Tell Zalis he will have much to do very soon,” Ren said. Zalis was the newest member of the team. Ren liked him, despite not knowing much about the male. He was quiet, which was more than could be said about Lorran.
“Fine. Give the Murder Mittens extra cuddles from me,” Thalia said, before terminating the connection.
In truth, his plan was needlessly complicated. Despite Councilor Oran’s insistence that he investigate a male named Nals, Ren dismissed the male as a suspect. In addition to Council responsibilities, Nals was an instructor at the Mahdfel Academy on Sangrin. The male simply did not have the means to misappropriate Council resources.
Pashaal, a merchant and Mahdfel widow, was a more intriguing target.
He flipped through the file, searching for leverage with the councilor. His team had compiled a list of Pashaal’s known associates, business and social, family, and staff. Zalis found information on her public appearances, charitable works, and even her favorite brand of soap.
He also uncovered an extensive list of known gambling associates, debts, the type of establishments that extended credit to her, and those that no longer welcomed her.
Ren flipped back to the list of staff.
He paused at the familiar image. Emmarae. Time had not softened her features. Her face seemed harder, more herself.
He liked it. He wanted to tell her as much, but he doubted the opportunity would arise.
The plan, as he formulated it, was already in motion. Accessing Councilor Pashaal’s schedule had been simple, as easy as strolling up to a terminal in Sangrin Station. Using a decryption program designed by Zalis, he gained access to the station’s central processing unit and, ultimately, Pashaal’s flight manifest. He knew when she planned to arrive and depart the station.
He had already located the ship and sabotaged the heat transfer.
An afternoon’s work.
He needed only to intercept the call for a mechanic to repair the malfunctioning unit.
At no point did the plan allow him to contact his mate.
There. The sands had decided. He could do nothing. The mission came first.
And yet, Ren read and reread the brief on Emmarae. He had memorized the words despite them telling him nothing he did not already know.
Emmarae LeBeaux. Mated female to unknown Mahdfel warrior. Separated. Never filed for divorce. Resident of Earth. Employed as private chef for less than a span. Leverage target: sibling on Earth. Complicity in criminal activities: questionable.
The words never changed.
Unknown Mahdfel.
