Page 36 of Loka

“Thanks. I think so.”

They hurried away, following the curve of the station’s corridors, until they reached My Single Alien’s office.

“Let me go first,” Loka said. “The area might have been compromised by bots.”

Heather was more than happy to let him go first. She’d had enough angry bots and electric shocks to last the rest of her life.

The door slid open. Heather peered around Loka. Vegas, Nell, and Avril sat around the desk, piles of files in front of them.

Heather stumbled back as Diadora came into view. She hadn’t expected the big boss to be there.

Vegas spotted Heather. Her eyes widened before she shook her head.

It was too late for Heather to escape. Diadora saw her and strode to the door. “Where have you been? We have matches to make.”

“I’ve been trying to fix the station.”

Diadora glared at Heather. Her gaze ran over her. “What’s wrong with your arm?”

“Heather has been injured. I have been taking care of her.” Loka placed a protective arm around Heather’s shoulders.

Heather grimaced. That was never a good thing to do in front of Diadora. She hated her staff dating.

“Who are you?” Diadora’s gaze turned icy.

“He’s with me.” Heather shuffled to the side, inching out of Loka’s warm grip.

“You are needed here. You don’t have time to spend with this alien.”

“I had a situation to deal with.”

“I care nothing for your situation. Get in here and help with these matches. You have targets to meet.”

“Is the database running?” Heather asked. “We have access to the algorithms?”

“Don’t try to argue about this,” Vegas muttered. “We tried and failed.”

“You were able to make matches before you had access to our database. Don’t tell me you’ve forgotten your old skills?” Diadora asked.

“No! But using the database makes it easier and faster.” Heather took a step back. “I’m helping Loka. We found a code—”

“This Picar does not require your help.”

“Actually, I do.” Loka stared down at Diadora.

“What do you need from this human?” Diadora sneered. “She works for me.”

“Her skills are required elsewhere. She has been helpful in identifying the problem with the space station.”

“Heather can fix the station? Highly unlikely. She can barely make a good match, without getting extensive help.”

Heather opened her mouth to protest but saw Vegas shake her head again. She snapped her mouth shut. “I think I can help.”

“Help us by making more matches. I have a report to complete for the Council of Representatives. They want to know why a disproportionate number of Draxdans have received matches over others.”

“Because they’re kind and friendly and sweet to their mates,” Heather said. “There you go, report complete.”

Diadora raised a hand. It was her cybernetic hand. The one that could snap necks.