As long as the woman didn’t open any of the crates the delivery would be fine. It was a risk picking the Cross, but they were the fastest of the smuggler gangs, and fast was what he needed.
The bar Stiev had chosen to meet this particular woman in was one of the cleanest he’d found on this windblown hell of a planet, although that wasn’t saying much. Clean was relative.
He had to wrap this up and return to the warehouse to plan the new shipping routes, not waste his time nursing his second shot of Telale gin waiting for a smuggler who was over a standard hour late. But he had suggested using the smugglers to speed up the delivery schedule, so he had to make it work.
“Never trust a man who nurses his drinks.” The pale-skinned woman who sat down opposite him placed her half-empty glass on
