Rush spent his time avoiding Katrina after their dinner and tour of Asmute the next day. He’d have been lying if he’d said he didn’t care about her inquiries. He cared way too much. He needed space from her to clear his head, so, what better way than to immerse himself on the repairs and upkeep the Javelin needed?

None of them were emergencies, though some were more urgent than others. But it didn’t matter to him. He had nothing but time on his hands while he waited for Caayn’s return and for the governor to collect Katrina and deliver her to her betrothed, whoever that might be if Maz’n didn’t return.

So he worked.

And worked.

The day turned to night, and he’d steered clear of the area of the Javelin that housed Katrina, and made sure to be stealthy as he traveled from one part of the ship to another.

Seeing her would have served to reignite feelings he had to quash—immediately. It would have served to remind him she belonged to another man, a man she was clearly thinking of while she’d probed Rush for answers about communications on Janus.

* * *

Night turned into morning, and this night, like the one before it, had been sleepless and restless, tossing and turning, tangling linen about his legs while having thoughts of a dark-haired, dark-eyed beauty.

In exasperation, Rush flung the covers from his body and jammed his feet into pants as he dressed. He was being silly, avoiding Katrina as if he were a lovesick schoolboy. What if she needed something or had a question? He had made sure he wasn’t around to help with that. Again.

Foolishness, really, to be this way.

He glanced at the clock. It was well into morning. He’d make a nice breakfast, perhaps something similar to what one would find on Earth, and he’d take her a plate.

It would be like extending an olive branch. But it wasn’t as though he was at war with her. No. He was at war with himself. And with his own emotions.

* * *

Rush juggled the plate he’d prepared for Katrina. Truly, nothing much like the food he’d seen pictured in a video from Earth—yes, he’d done some research before going into the galley to cook, but it wasn’t half bad, if he had to admit to himself.

He’d sampled a bit of everything, just to test for palatability.

He knocked, one hand holding the plate and a glass.

No response. Nothing. Not even a yawn.

He knocked again.

And waited.

And still, no response.

Tentatively, hoping not to interrupt her in the middle of some sort of girl preparation, he turned the door’s handle and opened it a crack.

Peeking in, he called out softly. “Katrina. I have breakfast.”

The bed was made.

Odd.

He slipped inside and set the plate on the table then went to her restroom facilities.

Empty.

Even odder.

Damn. Where could she be? Didn’t she know better?

In the hopes she’d be somewhere, just outside the ship’s door—and how would she do that? Without the codes?

He refused to panic. She was a smart girl. She wouldn’t do anything stupid. She wouldn’t—

No, not going to think that.

He made his way toward the ramp, certain he’d run into her along the way. That was when he noticed the slightly open door to the armory.

What? Why?

He opened it wide, took down the clipboard with the inventory checklist, but he didn’t need it, now did he? He could see immediately two blades were missing.

Still, he double checked.

Then he wondered if one of the crew members had taken the weapons.

He shook his head. He’d kill them. It didn’t show anything checked out. They knew better. He knew Caayn would probably kill them, too, for this.

He didn’t allow himself to panic. First, he did a thorough check of the Javelin. Room to room, quarters to quarters, chamber to chamber, every nook, every corridor.

No Katrina.

Now, he began to panic. He was already breathing hard from running up and down the ship, calling out for her. He was also becoming hoarse from yelling.

Easy, he cautioned himself. She’s probably outside, sunning herself. Or looking at plants or…

He didn’t care what the or was. He wanted her found. Now.

He jammed the code into the panel and didn’t give the ramp enough time to lower before he’d sprinted down it and jumped off the end without even looking.

And slammed straight into a body.

“Hey!”

Rush righted himself then helped the stranger up. “Sorry.”

“You should’ve waited until the ramp was down fully befo—”

“I know. I’m sorry. I’m looking for someone.”

“Who?” the man asked.

“A—” Rush was stuck. Should he… could he… say Katrina was missing? What if word got back to Caayn or the governor, or Smyrna? “A friend. Sorry.”

After a friendly and apologetic clap on the man’s shoulder, Rush was running toward the other end of the Javelin. First, he’d check the perimeter of the ship, then he’d go farther and farther out, in circles, until he found her.