Page 6 of Naughty List Delivery
The way she used to handle the rare artifacts we’d liberate from corporate transports, items too valuable to risk damaging.
“These aren’t standard weapon containers,” Kex observes, running his scanner over the nearest package. His voice holds a note of confusion that mirrors my own growing uncertainty. “Shielding’s too sophisticated for guns. And the power signatures...” He pauses, four eyes blinking rapidly. “Captain, I can’t get a reading through the quantum locks.”
“Nova never did anything standard.” My voice is rough with memory and something that might be pride. She’d always been three steps ahead of everyone else, seeing angles nobody else could imagine. It was what made her such a perfect partner—in every sense of the word. “She always had plans within plans.”
I run my scanner again, trying to pierce the quantum shielding. Nothing. But there’s something about the containers themselves—the way they’re designed, the priority markings, the careful padding visible through the transparent sections. This isn’t how you ship weapons. This is how you ship something fragile. Something precious.
Something that matters more than credits.
As I examine the magnetic coupling systems where the containers interface with her ship’s cargo bay, my enhanced hearing picks up something that makes me pause. A faint electronic chirp, so subtle most beings would miss it. One pulse every thirty seconds—too regular to be random system noise.
“Clever girl.” The words rumble out as a purr, equal parts admiration and arousal.
My claws trace the coupling interface with careful precision. She’d managed to plant a tracker while I was stealing her cargo, probably during those moments when she’d been close enough to touch. Close enough that her scent had filled my lungs and made my pupils dilate with want.
I should be furious. Should be concerned about operational security. Instead, heat coils through my chest like liquid fire. She’s still in there—the brilliant, dangerous woman who’d been my perfect match in every way that mattered. The tracker proves she hasn’t gone completely soft.
Which means she’s coming for me.
The realization hits me like a cold blade between the ribs. What if she’s telling the truth? What if I just stole Christmas from innocent families because I couldn’t accept that Nova Jaxson might have actually changed?
My claws extend involuntarily, scraping against the container’s surface. The sound echoes through the cargo bay like a death knell. If she’s running legitimate courier work, then I’m the villain in this story. The monster who destroys children’s Christmas because he can’t let go of the past.
But if she’s lying—if this is another one of her brilliant cons—then she’s using innocent families as cover for something that could get her killed. Either way, she needs protection. Either way, she needs me.
The packages were bait. Had to be. No one pays that much for simple deliveries unless they want someone to notice. Someone to follow. The question is: who’s hunting her, and do they know what I know?
That Nova Jaxson is alive, brilliant, and exactly as beautiful as the day she tried to steal my heart along with my ship.
I could have taken her. Should have, maybe. One word to my crew and she’d be in my brig right now, safe and furious and mine. But Nova cornered is Nova desperate, and desperatepeople make catastrophic choices. She’d rather die than be caged—proved that when she faked her own death rather than face whatever drove her away.
No. Better to let her think she has options. Let her believe she’s still in control while I eliminate the real threats hunting her. The cargo gives me leverage without forcing her hand, and the tracking beacon she planted tells me she’s still thinking like a thief. Still planning three moves ahead.
Still the woman who could match me step for step in the most dangerous game in the galaxy.
Half the packages keeps her mission alive while proving my point. If she’s really running charity work, she’ll complete the deliveries and prove me wrong. If she’s smuggling weapons, she’ll lead me straight to the buyers.
Either way, I’ll be close enough to protect her when the real hunters make their move.
“Captain,” Raith’s voice cuts through my growing doubt. The kid’s barely old enough to vote, let alone run with pirates, but he’s got good instincts. “What if she’s telling the truth? What if these really are just courier packages?”
I turn on him with enough predatory focus to make him step back. “You think Nova Jaxson—the woman who helped me plan the Meridian Station heist, who could crack any security system in the galaxy—you think she’s suddenly developed a conscience?”
“People change,” Kex says quietly, and there’s something in his voice that makes my tail still. “Two years is a long time, Captain.”
“Not that long.” But the doubt is there now, worming its way through my certainty like acid through hull plating.
The Christmas music shifts to something with sleigh bells and children’s laughter, and suddenly I’m drowning in memory.
Five years ago. The first time I saw her.
I’d been docked at Havana Station, a lawless rock in the Outer Rim where questions weren’t asked and credits talked louder than conscience. The Shadowhawk had taken damage in a skirmish with corporate security, and I’d needed supplies that couldn’t be traced back to me.
I’d been in my quarters, reviewing tactical data for our next raid, when the ship’s proximity alarms had gone silent. Not shut down—silenced. The kind of professional work that suggested someone very good at what they did.
I’d found her in my cargo bay, dressed in black synth-leather that hugged every curve, her dark hair pulled back in a practical braid. She’d been studying the weapon lockers with the focused intensity of an expert, her fingers dancing over the security panel like she was playing a musical instrument.
“Most people who try to rob me end up spacing themselves to avoid what comes next,” I’d said, stepping out of the shadows with my plasma rifle trained on her back.
