Rebels and Lovers Read online

  He would not end up like Ethan.

  “Devin. Good to have you home.” His father, already in business attire of dark pants and a pale-blue collared shirt, rose from his chair at the glass-topped table and clasped Devin’s shoulder in a firm grip. He was only slightly shorter than Devin, his straight posture belying his years—as did the thick dark hair that he wore combed back from a craggy face. His brows were bushy, more silver-tinged than his hair, which Devin suspected benefited now and then from retouching. But his father was almost eighty, and if he wished to indulge in a little vanity, Devin would not be the one to take that from him.

  Devin leaned into his father’s half embrace, patting the old man on the back. That was about as demonstrative as the men in his family were known to get. He took the chair on his father’s right.

  “Mr. Devin, good to see you again, love!” Audra, the Guthries’ longtime head chef, appeared at Devin’s elbow with a pot of Mountain Gray, his favorite tea. Unlike the rest of his family, he wasn’t a coffee drinker.

  “I’ve missed your cheese biscuits,” Devin told her honestly, and received a wide smile in answer. He turned to his father. “How are you?” For once, it wasn’t an idle question. J.M. was never a muscular man, yet he felt somehow frailer, lighter, during their brief embrace. Devin reminded himself to ask Jonathan later if their father hadn’t been well lately. He knew their mother would tell him nothing unless J.M. authorized it.

  “Life’s good,” his father answered as the stocky head chef slipped back toward the main kitchen. “Your mother’s busy with the latest yacht-club charity ball. It’s getting to be that time of year. Ah, Jonathan!” J.M. turned as Devin’s brother strode casually into the patio dining area. “Audra! We’ll need more coffee.”

  Jonathan rested one hand briefly on Devin’s shoulder as he walked by, then sat on J.M.’s other side. Like J.M., he was in business clothes, but his collared shirt was a darker blue and his blue-and-gold silk scarf was already threaded through the collar loops. Audra appeared silently, poured fragrant coffee—“Leave the pot,” J.M. ordered—and disappeared just as silently.

  A stack of sweet rolls already graced the middle of the table. Jonathan chose one, impaling it on an elegantly scrolled silver fork. Devin found he had no appetite.

  “I know Jonathan explained we’d like to see you and Tavia married in the next few months,” J.M. said without any preamble, as usual. “You are thirty-five, Devin, and while I know it’s clichéd to say, ‘It’s about time,’ the fact of the matter is, it is. With the recent turmoil in the Empire, it’s important that Guthrie Global and our family appear in all manner united, strong, and respectable.”

  Intending to muzzle Ethan? Devin thought but didn’t dare say. Although with Ethan, a chastity belt would be needed in addition.

  But no doubt Ethan’s excesses were one of the reasons J.M. needed another strong, respectable son to ensure the continuation of GGS as a force in the Empire.

  “Additionally,” J.M. continued, “your mother and I aren’t getting any younger. She’s pushing me again to retire. I’m giving it serious thought. So we have plans, not just for ourselves but for all of you. And it’s time to set those plans in motion.”

  “But I don’t—”

  J.M. raised one hand, stilling Devin’s words. “You know how much grandchildren mean to your mother. What happened with Philip almost killed her. He and Chasidah had no children. Your mother’s grief at believing he—that any part of him—was gone forever was heartbreaking.”

  More than Valerie grieved over the early—and erroneous—reports of Philip’s death. Devin took the news as if someone had sucker punched him in the gut. He was closer in age to Ethan than to Philip, but mentally, emotionally, and intellectually, Devin had attached himself to Philip since he was small. He went to Philip with his problems at school or at camp. He looked up to Philip, first in a Fleet cadet’s uniform, then as a lieutenant, then captain.

  Philip was, quite truthfully, more than his brother. He was Devin’s close friend—a friendship that had expanded several years ago to include Trippy. Just as Philip had seemed to sense Devin’s isolation as youngest son, Devin saw Trip’s isolation as eldest grandchild. Different sides of the same coin.

  The best times he had lately were when he, Trip, and Philip were together.

  But now Trip was at Montgomery University, and Philip was somewhere over the Baris–Calth border. There was an emptiness in the family circle, so Devin understood Valerie’s fears. He only wished his parents didn’t look to him for the solution.

  “Your mother needs to see all her boys happy and settled,” J.M. said with a nod to Jonathan. “Philip is always in our prayers. We respect his dedication to what we all know is inevitable—there will be changes in the Empire. But the life he’s chosen is a dangerous one. Your mother needs a distraction from that.”

  Devin turned his teacup around on the saucer. “And Tavia and I are to be that distraction.” It wasn’t a question. It was a statement of fact.

  “Tavia’s a lovely young woman from a well-placed family. We approved of her from the first time you brought her here. Is there anything about her that you now find objectionable?”

  “No.” Tavia Emberson was lovely—a natural beauty made even more attractive by her family’s money. Her shoulder-length black hair was thick and glossy, her dark honey-colored skin was perfect, and her tall, lithe body even more so. Like him, she had a passion for singles handball, and that sport plus her trainers kept her in top condition. Any number of men would trip over themselves to have Tavia Emberson. Devin wondered now and then what she saw in him: an antisocial number cruncher who had an annoying habit of inspecting his host’s computer data systems rather than making small talk with the other guests at the high-profile parties she invariably dragged him to.

  Then reality always kicked in. He was a Guthrie. And on the amateur sport circuit in Aldan, he consistently ranked as one of the top-five players in competitive handball. Plus, he was a better-than-average dancer—thanks to those lessons his mother had forced on all her boys. Three things he knew were important to Tavia Emberson.

  She never realized that dancing with her rescued him from having to chat with her friends at those parties she so loved.

  “My problem,” Devin said, stilling his movements with the teacup, belatedly realizing he was giving away too much, “is the timing. For one thing, I have several projects in my department that can’t be shunted aside while I participate in planning engagement parties or a wedding.”

  “Marguerite already offered to help Mother and Tavia,” Jonathan said. “So has Hannah.”

  “Marguerite and Hannah aren’t going to stand in for me at the parties,” Devin answered. “You’re talking not only Garno society but Port Palmero. And Aldan Prime, likely, if aunts and uncles get involved.”

  “You can have Nathanson and Torry handle the Webster merger, the Galenth Fund project, and the Baris–AgriCorp deal,” his father put in smoothly. “I’ve already had them clear their schedules.”

  Devin’s mouth opened but no sound came out. Nathanson and Torry … Shock roiled through him. Those were his projects, especially Baris–Agri, which had involved some delicate negotiations with the Englarian Church, whose farming cooperatives were a key producer. To be so summarily removed because he needed to appear at parties …

  “But—”

  “The reality is,” J.M. continued, “you haven’t taken a vacation in quite some time. Years. Take six months off. Enjoy your new bride. Start a family. Your brothers and I can handle everything else.”

  But … I don’t love Tavia. And she doesn’t love me. In desperation, the truth surfaced. This wasn’t a guess. Devin and Tavia had discussed the basis of their relationship, because she, too, was under pressure from her family to marry. Her relationship with Devin, their attendance at various handball competitions, their occasional nights together, were essentially damage control lest either set of parents hook them up with a partner n
either could stand. At least he and Tavia didn’t usually annoy each other. They had similar goals, similar outlooks on life.

  He’d talked to her immediately after Jonathan’s call yesterday. They agreed they had no problem being engaged, because it honestly wouldn’t change their schedules much. She had her job in corporate legal in her family’s business, her social circle, her friends. He had his. They’d get together for the next handball tournament, then likely not see each other for several weeks.

  But six months—six months with no office to go to, no reason to challenge his mind, someone else handling Baris–Agri and Webster. Nothing but him and Tavia and the constant queries about babies … No. He wouldn’t—couldn’t—live like Ethan and Hannah, whose four children had to deal with a drunk, philandering father and a clinging, neurotic mother. All products of a loveless corporate merger termed a marriage.

  A sharp trilling broke into his panicked thoughts.

  Jonathan pulled out his pocket comm, then frowned at the comm’s small screen. “Excuse me.” Jonathan rose and headed for the patio. The doors slid open silently when he was a few steps away, then closed just as silently behind him.

  Devin focused on his father. “With all due respect, Father, I think Tavia and I should be the ones setting a date for a wedding.” And for everything else.

  J.M. shrugged, but his dark eyes were unwavering. “I’m sure you feel we’re rushing you, but there are other things you must consider, things beyond your mother’s emotional state.” J.M. pushed his breakfast plate away, then folded his hands on the table, pinning Devin with his gaze. “The Embersons have an excellent relationship with Darius Tage. Their very lack of social prominence, as compared to ours, has kept them out of the political realm until recently. Yes, we’ve had Tage as a houseguest here, but we’ve also had Mason Falkner. Many times. Too many times, I’m sure, for Tage’s liking.”

  Devin willed all emotions from his face and his body. Mason Falkner, onetime Imperial senator from Dafir, was now the new head of the Alliance.

  “But Falkner wasn’t the Empire’s enemy when he was a guest here,” Devin pointed out. “And the Alliance will be granted legitimate political status by the council.”

  “That doesn’t matter to a man like Tage. What does matter is that Philip is now under Falkner’s command, heading Falkner’s fleet. Inferences could be made that the plot to have the Calth and Dafir sectors secede from the Empire were hatched in this very house, because Philip was also here some of the times Falkner was.”

  So were dozens and dozens of other people. His parents’ parties were gala affairs.

  The suggestion that a rebellion was planned under this estate’s roof was insane, almost paranoid. “I understand what you’re getting at, but your solution is illogical. If my marrying an Emberson is an attempt to keep us safe, then why not insist Jonathan and Ethan divorce their wives and we all go seduce Tage’s daughters and nieces?” Devin couldn’t remember if Tage had any daughters, but chances were excellent the man had nieces. “Then we’d be one big happy family.”

  Something flashed in J.M.’s eyes. “Your sarcasm is not appreciated.”

  “I’m sorry, but your plan is flawed. If Tage has made direct threats against us, then not only do I need to know that, but our security people need to know that. I sincerely doubt that anything Tage plans will be halted by my being put out to stud to the Embersons. And if—”

  His father slammed his hand against the table, rattling dishes and glassware. “Do not take that tone with me, Devin Jonathan!”

  Well. His father could raise his voice before breakfast. “I’m not trying to upset you, Father. I’m trying to make you see reason. If the situation is—”

  The patio doors slid open as Jonathan’s voice—harsh, frightened—broke into the room. “That was Rallman. Halsey’s dead. Rallman found his body when he came on duty. Campus security’s on it. But they can’t find—Trip’s not in his apartment or anywhere on the Montgomery campus.”

  Devin stared. Jonathan’s words and expression were so unexpected—so full of emotions—he couldn’t quite process them. Beside him, J.M. stiffened, his hands clenching into fists.

  Jonathan strode to the table and grasped the back of his empty chair, his face pale, his knuckles white. “I can’t believe I’m saying this. My son’s bodyguard has been murdered. And my son is missing.” His voice cracked. “How in hell am I going to tell Marguerite?”

  Devin, seated at the main deskcomp in his father’s elegant study, was in problem-solving mode. It was something he excelled at. He had Guthrie security personnel and private bodyguards on high alert, electronic surveillance across the estate’s palatial grounds in full sensor sweep, the house in lockdown, and the family physician on the way. His mother took the news of her grandson’s disappearance and bodyguard Ben Halsey’s death with frightening stoicism, the trembling of her hands as she clutched them in her lap the only outward sign of her distress.

  Marguerite Petroski Guthrie collapsed, sobbing uncontrollably. Jonathan carried her to his old suite, which was where he was now, while Devin worked with single-minded efficiency, confirming the status of the rest of the family, especially Trip’s siblings at their exclusive private school.

  Thana and Max—Trip’s younger sister and brother—were quietly whisked out of class by their bodyguards. The current question was whether to hold them in their own Port Palmero home or to bring them here, to the main Guthrie estate.

  “Here,” Devin told Petra Frederick, GGS’s chief of security. Devin felt they needed to be with their mother, not sitting isolated and confused with only armed escorts to talk to. And their mother and father definitely needed to see them.

  Not all Guthrie marriages were like Ethan’s. Jonathan’s demeanor might be aloof, but Devin never doubted his brother loved Marguerite and their children. His brother’s barely concealed terror in the breakfast room wasn’t feigned.

  Guthrie men, when they loved, loved deeply. They were just horribly inept at showing it.

  Petra Frederick nodded. “I’ll have them on property in a half hour, Mr. Devin.”

  He signed off, turning his attention to Ethan, Hannah, and their children, confirming their locations with their personal security. From there, aunts, uncles, and cousins were alerted. And all GGS offices in Aldan and Baris.

  A less specific message, with perfunctory regrets, was sent to the Embersons, as well as to Tavia’s personal pocket comm: Family emergency requires delay of your visit. The Embersons didn’t need to know details at this point.

  Devin didn’t need to add more people in the line of fire.

  It hadn’t escaped him that Trip’s disappearance might be only the beginning of someone’s move against them—corporately, politically, or both. He didn’t share his father’s paranoia, but threats had been made, even before Philip changed allegiances.

  He also knew Ben Halsey wasn’t one to go down without a fight. A burly man in his late fifties, Halsey was ex-ImpSec—and Imperial Security Forces had a well-earned reputation for excellence and ruthlessness. For someone to get a jump on him … Devin could only liken it to a handball match where an unassuming and unknown player suddenly decimates a known athlete with years of experience.

  He needed to see Rallman’s log and the Aldan Prime police reports. And he needed the holos of Trip’s apartment at Montgomery. The answers to all the questions would be there.

  Halsey was tough, experienced, but Jonathan Macy Guthrie III was no idiot. Trip had made a point of studying every combat holo then-Captain Philip Guthrie ever authored. Philip was more than the ship driver he often joked he was. He’d graduated top of his class in the academy and he was an acknowledged authority in several forms of combat and tactical reconnaissance. When Devin was Trip’s age, Philip—ten years his senior and already a respected Fleet officer—had put him through a grueling boot-camp survival course on one of the Guthrie game preserves on Sylvadae. They’d both done the same thing for Trip, just last year.

/>   Devin didn’t have Philip’s love of weapons, but he could handle a high-powered Carver laser pistol. So could Trip.

  J.M. tried to protect the Guthrie clan through fortuitous marriages. Philip did so by teaching Guthrie boys how to survive. And, if necessary, kill.

  If someone had come after Trip, Trip would have fought back; Devin had no doubt of that. So he needed to see the police holos. He needed to follow the trail of blood.

  Kaidee threaded her way through the noisy crowd packed in Trouble’s Brewing, looking for a seat at the bar. Hell, she’d be satisfied to even see the bar. The throng was easily four deep, in various shades of gray, dark blue, and green—all standard freighter-crew uniform colors. She waved to three gray-suited crew from the long-hauler Wiznalarit. Another few steps and she nodded at more familiar faces, including Corrina and Rae from the Solarian Wolf, and received raised ale mugs in a silent toast. Tables in the popular pub on Dock Five’s Blue Level were packed, with patrons sitting on armrests, laps, anything.

  Trouble was, it wasn’t just Trouble’s Brewing.

  Dock Five was packed, with about every bay or berth taken. Even the regular shuttle and passenger transport docks were filled with cargo ships, captains moving their freighters only to allow the next transport to unload or retrieve passengers.

  As soon as the passenger transport departed, the captains moved their freighters back into the dock again.

  No one she knew was out in the lanes.

  Six hours ago, Tage had added another destroyer at Dock Five’s outer beacon and shut the lanes down—again—to all traffic other than scheduled passenger transports and the Imperial Fleet. Even the jumpgates were blockaded.

  So freighter captains and crew did the only thing they could do when there was no work: they drank. And Trouble’s Brewing always had a more-than-decent supply of ale, because it maintained a small brewing facility in its kitchen.

  But if Trouble’s ran out of grain, real troubles would begin. She could almost feel an undercurrent of tension, ready to explode.