Parallel Seduction Page 13

  "Do you smell anything?" she asked Jake, tilting her head up curiously, and he sank onto the bed across from her.

  "What do you smell, Hope?" he countered.

  "I asked the question."

  He seemed to shrug, zipping up his parka. "Honestly, not sure what you're even talking about."

  But she knew he was concealing something: that whatever she'd just experienced with Scott, the strange and very real dream, was tied to the scent still infusing the small motel room.

  "You're Antousian. Do your people have some way that their scent changes? Something significant?"

  But he ignored her question, pretty much his modus operandi, she'd been figuring out, and stood abruptly, car keys jangling in his hand. "We've gotta hit the road, and fast. They're going to close in on us soon, and they're not going to have mercy on me. Not for a minute; at least, not if I know Scott Dillon like I think I do."

  "Do you sense them? Are they nearby?" she asked, cursing herself for sounding so breathless.

  He released a low, soft chuckle. "You always did have a soft spot for Lieutenant Dillon."

  "You should know that he and I are.…" Lovers? Not. In love? Maybe.

  "Yeah, Hope?" he prompted, a strange smile in his voice.

  "I'm with him, that's all. You should know that."

  With two quick steps he had pulled her against his massive chest. The heat of his breath fanned against her cheek as he bent low and whispered in her ear, "I never said I expected anything to happen between us. Only that we were together. Once."

  Her body tightened in reaction to his, and she didn't dare make a move, not forward or back. But he released her just as suddenly as he'd taken hold of her. Instantly she missed the heat of his body—not like she'd miss the warmth of a lover; no, that wasn't it. His natural body heat had comforted her on the deepest, most cellular level, as if nothing would ever harm her again, as if nothing ever could. Her trust was not misplaced; in that moment she knew it for certain.

  "Tell me what I need to do," she whispered, reaching toward him. "I'll do whatever I can to help you."

  "When do you need another insulin shot?"

  She thought about the shots she'd stored in the room's small fridge. "Probably right now."

  "Go ahead, then; take it. Because I've got a plan."

  Chapter Eleven

  "Lieutenant!"

  Scott was dimly aware of a presence. Perhaps Anna. Perhaps Hope. But still connected with him somehow, linked in that half place where his spirit met the night wind.

  Body! Need my body.…

  He grew more alert, more cognizant of the fact that he was still in his natural Antousian form. A ghost, nothing more. Pure spirit, he'd have said, if he were in a generous mood, but most days when it came to his own species he wasn't nearly that kind. It was exactly as Hope had whispered inside him during their dream meeting: He didn't have compassion for his own people, and least of all toward himself.

  He groaned, the soft sound a whining moan of wind across the hoary field. Fresh snow swirled toward the ground, almost more than he could bear as each and every flake splintered through his essence. Never so nothing, never so thin. Weightless, inconsequential. Dying.…

  "Scott Dillon," the woman's voice cried out. And inside of his center everything seemed to focus into a bright, scorching point of light. Is this death? Was I dying when I saw Hope?

  He couldn't possibly know, not like this, so ephemeral and lost.

  Scott Dillon!

  Perhaps that feminine voice belonged to All.

  Take me back to her, he prayed to the One who always circled him with protection and watched his back, no matter how bad the firefights got. Take me back. Let me enter her dreams again. Let me know that she's safe.

  There were people who needed him, were counting on him. Loved him. It was the one thought that kept circling his ghost self like a ravenous bird of prey. And that bird would not let him forget, kept screeching at him, nudging at him, demanding his attention like the far-off sputtering gunfire of his enemies. He thought of Trajsek, that night so many years ago when he and Jared had been cornered in an impossible firefight.

  Save her, the bird called out. Come back! Save her! Come back!

  The eerie cry was that of his own heart: There was no choice. To save Hope from Jake Tierny, he had to find his way back from this tenuous place—back into physical form.

  Veckus paced the deck of his battle cruiser, annoyed to the extreme. None among his ground troops had offered any insights about the Antousian, the one he'd detected breeching the time wall. Now, here aboard his main cruiser, even his officers seemed thoroughly dull-witted. Was it always up to him to intuit their enemies' every move? Granted, he'd been gifted as a gazer since childhood, but still … it grew tiresome to be the most insightful out of their entire force. Then again, he was the leader of that same force, so perhaps it was only fair that he should see the most.

  Some days, however, his position was more than wearying. Some days he just wanted to be a grunt, not in charge of the entire Earth conquest, but alas, that was not his fate.

  Stopping at the main console, he pulled up his carefully drawn diagram, turning to face his under-lieutenants. "So, it's as I have described," he told the small group of women and men gathered on the cruiser's deck. "All the energy radiants indicate this area." He jabbed at the mid-air holographic display with his pointer, outlining a one-hundred-mile-square area inside Yellowstone Park. "This is where the first inter-dimensional breach occurred. And then, yesterday, the time wall was traversed here again. Right here, in the same position on the maps."

  The only one of his lieutenants who possessed a shred of initiative, Dayron Lenlalt, spoke up. "And how are you certain of this fact, Commander?" the auburn-haired soldier asked, his keen blue eyes focused and sharp as he studied the hologram. "What served as your criteria?" Dayron frequently tested him, and usually Veckus respected that fact. Today, however, it simply bored and exasperated him.

  Veckus turned on Dayron, grasping him by the shoulders. "Because I felt it. That's how. I'm the only gazer on this ship or in our midst. Gods knows why, but the fact remains true"—he jabbed his pointer emphatically, spearing it through the hologram's center until the image wavered—"and this is where we will corner our Antousian brother. Find out if he's on our side … or theirs."

  "We've known that area was significant for a long time, but we've always come up empty-handed."

  "Do you suppose I've liked coming up 'empty-handed', so you put it, Dayron?"

  "No, sir. I don't suppose you have." Dayron kept his tone and facial expressions bland, as if the entire interchange hadn't stirred his unflappable nature in the slightest. Veckus should have had the young warrior shot long ago for his outspoken ways, and made a mental note to put that execution on his calendar for sometime next year—pending, of course, a performance review. As irritating as Dayron could be, he was also quite useful on occasion, and it wouldn't do to make a hasty decision about his fate.

  "Let's be certain that results—and I do mean proper ones—do not elude us this time." Veckus took his pointer and tapped it lightly atop Dayron's head for emphasis. "This, Lieutenant, is the only outcome I will accept."

  Jared sat on a large throw pillow in his upstairs study, meditating, which really amounted to staring into the fire, blankly wondering why everything he knew about the present had become so ineffably muddled by the future. Scott and Anna had yet to return, hadn't called or contacted base at all, and now the first pink of morning light had begun cresting over the valley below the compound. Remaining calm required a tremendous amount of discipline when he really just wanted to send an entire legion after his two missing soldiers.

  It was bad enough that Kelsey's life had been directly endangered just hours earlier, after they'd had shattering, heat-induced lovemaking in their shower. Jared shifted on the pillow, rubbed his jaw, and wondered—wondered if, against all that seemed possible—he and Kelsey might not have created a new
life together. With a slight shake of his head, he brushed off his personal ruminations, focusing instead on the immediate problem at hand: That a fugitive, an Antousian from the future who claimed to be an ally, had penetrated their supposedly impenetrable fortress. The evidence implied that the man might just be what he claimed to be, someone with intimate knowledge of their workings, their rebel faction, and—most important—of their enemies' future plans.

  On the other hand, given the dangerous mitres data that was fused within Kelsey's mind, the intruder might well be after her. That man might want to kidnap her, link with her, hoping to steal the codes lodged inside of her essence. Jared shuddered at the thought. That Kelsey was the sole key to powering their greatest weapon had unsettled him from the beginning. That she now welcomed it—embraced it—well, he didn't like that fact one bit. Yet their efforts to remove the codes had proved fruitless, revealing one sure and certain fact: His love was, quite simply, the keeper of their greatest weapon and power. She was, as the prophets had foretold, the Beloved of Refaria.

  A knock interrupted his internal ramblings, sounding sharply in the silence of his study. This place was his sanctuary, and only rarely did any of his soldiers bother him here.

  "Come in," he called, keeping his gaze on the fire.

  Behind him he heard heavy footfalls and, without even looking, recognized them as belonging to Marco McKinley, his personal Madjin protector.

  "My lord," he began cautiously, "I apologize for the intrusion."

  Jared gave a slight wave, glancing over his shoulder. "I am lost in my own mind, Marco. Come, join me."

  Marco studied him with an inscrutable, almost cautious expression. "My lord?" he asked uncertainly, but Jared indicated another pillow beside him.

  "I have need of my Madjin," he said with a quiet laugh. "Come, sit with me and speak freely."

  Marco smiled at him, not quite meeting his gaze, which was the way with all the Madjin protectors. They believed it a supreme transgression to stare into the eyes of their king and queen, although this particular Madjin was certainly part of a new breed. From what Jared had gathered, the young man had been raised mostly on Earth, taught by Jared's own mentor and protector, Sabrina. Still, there was something very different in the way he behaved around Jared. Familiar, traditional, but … refreshing. Beyond that, the man had made Jared's cousin Thea Haven happier than he'd ever imagined her to be. And their marriage made Marco not only his personal Madjin, but his cousin as well.

  Marco settled his rangy frame beside Jared, crossing his legs in the familiar Refarian way, and stared thoughtfully into the fire, mirroring Jared's own expression.

  "Talk to me, Marco," Jared encouraged with a brisk nod. "I sense that something is heavy on your mind."

  Marco cut his gaze sideways. "The Antousian … I can't shake what he said, sir."

  There was a pregnant pause as Marco waited for Jared's reply. "Go on," Jared encouraged with a slight nod.

  "He knew about my other self, the dark one that came here to hurt you—" Marco made a slightly pained sound, a kind of strangled gasp, and Jared felt his protector's pain as if it were his own.

  Jared turned to face the man. "We have already discussed this, you and I," he said. "I trust you completely, Marco."

  "But he knew. All of it." His face twisted into a mask of pain. "And even if it doesn't matter what I might have done, sir, that man came from that same world. There's no other way he could know."

  "I agree."

  "So you believe he's what he claimed?"

  "I'm not sure. I believe he's come from the future, but it's his intentions I'm uncertain of. You're an empath—what did you detect from him?"

  Marco bowed his head, his black eyebrows quirking together in concentration. "It was very … unusual, sir, but there was a great deal of confusion inside the man. Fear, loyalty, anger." He shook his head slightly. "I don't think he actually meant you harm, despite my initial impression. The longer I've thought about it, something about him keeps disturbing me a great deal, but not because he wants to hurt you or my queen."

  "Tell me what you mean."

  "I … I'm not sure. Maybe it's nothing, but it was as if he's a twin, sir. As if he's brought someone else through time with him, and maybe it's that person who is our major threat. But that man? The one named Jake Tierny? I think he genuinely came here to kill me—the other me—and now that he's wound up empty-handed, he's not sure what to do or where to go. But it's this other man, the one he's linked to, that has me disturbed, because of the dark connection between the two of them."

  "Perhaps Jake didn't realize someone followed him through inter-dimensional space."

  "That would be ironic—that he was trying to follow me through time, but in the process someone else tailed him. Without his knowing, I mean."

  Jared scrubbed an open palm over the top of his head, thinking about the implications of what Marco was saying. "It's a distinct possibility."

  "We need to bring this Antousian back into the compound," Marco continued. "We need to question him and find out what he really knows."

  "Lieutenant Dillon is still tracking him."

  "It's going to take a larger team, sir. We both know it, and that's a risk, out in the open like that, among the humans. But capturing him should be our top priority."

  Scott studied the faintest pink in the dawn sky, Anna kneeling beside him. He was a lucky bastard; he'd almost been unable to Change back into his physical body. In the end, though, his love for Hope had clinched the deal and he'd found his way back for one reason: her. Only for her … because she needed him, pure and simple. As he stared at the fading stars overhead, trying to regain his equilibrium, he thought about how close he'd come to letting go of this world altogether.

  His species had a word for what he'd just experienced, one that had no translation in English, but basically meant "spirit slipping." It was that point when an Antousian was in his nonmaterial form, and his hold on life itself became tenuous. When the spirit self and the physical body became so disconnected from each other, it was as if the line between life and death wavered. He'd read in his people's scriptures about the freedom one could know at such times, but it was always considered highly dangerous. He'd also read that when caught in that tremulous place, his people were often drawn toward those they loved the most. To the people and things that held the greatest power over them.

  Anna's face appeared in his line of vision, interrupting his ponderings. "A transport is on the way," she explained, studying him closely. Maybe for injuries, or perhaps just to verify he wasn't going to vanish on her all over again. "I've told them to touch down in the field behind us."

  "Don't risk that," he said, scowling up at her. "I'm all right." But he couldn't quite get his body to budge, even as he tried rousing himself to a sitting position.

  "You're bleeding out onto the snow, sir. It's a stealth craft; we're off the main road and we're getting you out of here. It's a done deal."

  "So you're issuing orders now?" Scott blinked up at her, slowly flexing his fingers. "To your commanding officer?"

  She gave a single, brisk nod of her dark head. "Man down, sir. I'm next in command."

  Closing his eyes, he clutched at his thigh and nodded. "Very well, Lieutenant."

  Jake surveyed the near-empty highway that spread out like the great unknown, both north and south, a long swath of white in both directions. Their snowmobile guide had parked at a diner on the highway to Yellowstone, then with a cheery, "Yo, bro, just a few," had hopped out of their tour van, and gone inside to check with the rental company.

  Hope had blinked up at Jake in the darkness as soon as it was only the two of them, the tick-tick-tick of the van's engine a perpetual question between them. "Why are we here? What do you want in the park? Why do you want me?" it seemed to ask, even as Hope didn't actually say a word beside him in the dark van.

  Finally, unable to bear the silence another moment, Jake had bounded out onto the morning roadside, mos
tly dark except for the flashing neon of the diner's sign. That, and the first pink of dawn colored the horizon line, and as he puffed out clouds of smoke, he wondered if Hope could even see the sky's color. That thought made his chest tighten, the pain of it almost more than he could bear, as the landscape's raw beauty stirred something dead inside his soul. With a shake of his head, he returned to keeping an eye on their guide, watching him through the windows of the diner that did double duty as both restaurant and guide company. He kept waving his arms and talking animatedly, and while his behavior seemed unremarkable enough, Jake still felt suspicious. Maybe the guy just loved his job as a guide, or maybe he'd had one pot of coffee too much this morning, and that explained the way he was jawing it up with the man behind the desk. Or, maybe he was speculating about the suspicious nature of Jake's unplanned—and highly paid for—private tour inside Yellowstone this morning.

  Of course, there were always logistics if you were going into Yellowstone in the middle of the winter, at least back in this time. Only a few hundred snowmobiles would be allowed within the park today, but even with that limit, you still couldn't go in without a guide. No way, no how. So Jake had arrived at this particular company, one of the smaller outfits, and essentially bribed them into guiding him in on a solo tour. They'd been booked for the day already, and it had taken more than eight hundred dollars to arrange for a private, all-day booking.

  Yeah, well, the guide had no idea that he'd be offered even more money once they were inside the park so that Jake could go off trail. But he'd cross that proverbial bridge when he got to it. Money could be plenty compelling, especially back in this time, before the paper became as meaningless as the government creeds and images printed on it. Jake had been sure to stuff his jacket with plenty of the bills before stepping into the mitres, knowing that it would come in handy. After he'd arrived, he'd double-checked the dates on the bills against the current year, just to be sure he wouldn't tip his hand.