Every part of her tried to deny what the agents had said. The whole thought of an alien race that you couldn’t see, it was ridiculous. But they’d shown her the X-rays. She’d seen where her Ambient had repaired more fractured bones than she could keep track of, not to mention, that faint hue that had shown up alongside her lungs. The shadow that moved freely within her.
She shuddered. Was this why her muscles twanged when she walked? Was her body trying to drive that thing out of her?
The door opened and Laini appeared. “I thought I heard something!” She threw her arms around Tracy’s shoulders. “It’s so good to see you.” She leaned back. “And it looks like you’ve lost weight. That’s cheating!”
Tracy laughed. “Yeah, that’s why I walked in front of a truck: to lose weight.”
Laini hugged her again. “Damn, girl, you scared the shit out of me, you know that?”
“I think I scared the shit out of myself.” In more ways than one.
Her mother helped her inside. “That nice Mr. Kremmer called this afternoon.”
Tracy cringed. Her Mom had been talking about Miles’s ass since the company picnic last year. She couldn’t get it through her head that Tracy couldn’t date her boss.
“Seems to be, they’ve already fired two people that they brought in to replace you. I told him not to worry, that you’d be back as soon as the doctors cleared you to work. He was thrilled!”
Of course, he was. Miles wasn’t the type to pick up and do someone else’s work. It was nice to know she still had a job, though.
Walking through the house, Tracy scanned the light fixtures and glanced at the television. Clark said they’d be keeping an eye on her. Did that mean cameras? Bugs? Was her every move going to be recorded for the rest of her life?
And if she did tell someone, would Agent Clark come barreling in to arrest her, Laini, Mom?
A tremor ran through her. The not knowing, it was horrible.
“I’ll get some coffee brewing.” Laini headed toward the kitchen. “I got some apple turnovers to celebrate.”
Apple turnovers: Tracy’s favorite. There was some chocolate syrup in the refrigerator. She could warm the bottle up, drizzle some over the pastry and…Tracy blinked.
“What?” her mother asked.
“Oh, nothing. I was just craving chocolate syrup.”
Her mom’s brow furrowed. “Doesn’t chocolate give you a headache?”
Tracy nodded. “Yeah, I know. Weird.”
Setting her hand on the wall in the foyer, Tracy stared at the floor where she’d fallen weeks ago. There was no sign that she’d been dragged away by uniformed men with guns. The table where she always dropped her keys was pushed slightly to the left, but other than that, home was exactly how she left it.
Well, maybe a touch cleaner. Good old Mom.
Tracy walked into every room, checked behind every door, and flicked every light switch on and off. A giggle flittered through her lips as she sat on her bed with a bounce.
Her mom propped herself against the doorframe. “Are you sure you’re okay? You’re acting like you’ve never been here before.”
Springing from the mattress, Tracy stared at her indent on the comforter.
Dread slithered through her.
She’d certainly been here before, but the thing inside her hadn’t.
She rubbed her temples. Thinking this way was going to make her psychotic.
Her mother continued to stare, her brow furrowed.
“I’m fine. It’s just been a while, you know?” Tracy smiled. “Come on. I smell coffee, and a turnover has my name on it.”
Laini slid a pastry onto a plate as they entered the kitchen and placed the cookie sheet back on the stove. She couldn’t cook to save her life, but she had that reheating thing down pat.
Mom sat behind a plate while Tracy grabbed the chocolate syrup and some milk from the refrigerator.
“Thanks,” Laini said, grabbing both from Tracy’s hands.
Frowning, Tracy clutched the syrup to her chest.
“Umm, are you gonna let that go?” Laini asked.
Tracy’s fingers had whitened around the bottle. “Oh!” She released her grip and fought the desire to grab the bottle back and hug it.
What the hell? A tingle fizzled over her cheeks, as if something moved beneath her skin. Oh God!
“Dude,” Laini said. “You just turned pale as a ghost.”
“She’s right.” Mom stood and helped Tracy to her seat.
Sweat beaded Tracy’s brow. She breathed deeply, and the tingling subsided. “Wow, that was weird.”
“You should rest,” Mom said. “You’ve been through a lot.”
Tracy sighed. “Rest? I’ve been cooped up for weeks. I want to get out. Do stuff.”
“But, Trace,” Laini said. “You look like you got—”
“Hit by a truck?”
Laini shifted. “Well, yeah. Don’t rush it, okay? Not having a roommate sucked. And I don’t want to be hauling your ass back to the hospital.”
Fat chance of that happening. She wasn’t going anywhere near that place ever again.
She took in another deep breath and the tingling disappeared. Maybe that was it. She had to remember she was breathing for two. Extra deep breaths once in a while. If that’s all it took, she could do that.
“That’s it,” Mom said. “I’m bringing you up to bed. Laini, help me.”
Tracy’s roommate appeared on her other side, and she and Mom hoisted Tracy up to a standing position. Taking another deep breath, Tracy held out her hands. “I’m fine, guys.”
“No, you’re going to bed.” Mom tugged her arm. She’d used the voice, and Tracy knew better than to argue. Within five minutes, she was tucked into bed and feigning sleep, just like she’d done as a kid.
“I can’t help but worry,” Mom whispered outside Tracy’s door.
“I get that,” Laini said, “but you’re going to make yourself sick. Go home and get some rest. I’ll keep an eye on her.”
After a short argument, Tracy waited for the front door to open and close. When the sound of Mom’s car faded into the distance, she sat up in bed.
She was home. Safe. The last thing she needed to do was lie around and feel sorry for herself. She needed to get back to normal. The sooner the better.
When the sound of music and the thump of Laini’s sneakers on the treadmill carried through the air vents, Tracy padded down the steps, grabbed her keys, and headed out to her car.
After being cooped up inside for so long, the steering wheel tingled like sweet freedom. Normalcy. That’s what she needed. And chocolate. Yes, chocolate.
A chocolate croissant and a chocolate latte with an extra pump of chocolate syrup. Oh! Maybe two pumps!
Salivating, Tracy pulled into a free spot on Merchant Street, a few blocks from The Treehouse Coffee Shop. She turned off the car and grabbed her purse. The succulent smell of coffee quickened her step. Maybe if she asked nicely, the girl would give her three pumps of syrup. She skidded to a stop, studying a crack in the cobblestone beside her right shoe.
Chocolate again. What if this craving was all in her head? What if the headaches came back? It wasn’t worth the risk. A nice non-migraine-inducing chai tea would do fine.
11
John shoved his hands into the front pockets of his jeans and stared at the red bricked sidewalk. This was his third trek up and down Merchant Street today. The shopkeepers were probably starting to worry that he was casing the place.
The familiar bricks, old-fashioned black lampposts, and decorative railings soothed him and gave him a clean slate to think. Ever since leaving Audubon after high school, he’d found himself drawn back to the smells, the sounds, the small-town atmosphere, and to the very streets where he’d hung out as a kid.
Somehow, the comfort of home washed away the deluge of unnecessary data riddling his mind. It brought him back to the basics, back to when times were easier.
The muscles in his legs
contracted and he stopped. His shoe hung in midair over the sidewalk. He struggled to place his foot down, to no avail.
John grimaced. Sometimes, living with another person inside your body had its drawbacks.
“Dak, what’s wrong?” he whispered to himself.
His Ambient swirled along his ribcage without answer.
“Okay, buddy. Can I please put my foot down?”
He fought against Dak’s hold until the Ambient gave way and John stumbled forward, tripping into a poor, unsuspecting girl. She toppled backwards and fell on her ass. The entity chuckled inside him.
Glad you think it’s funny. John offered the girl his hand. “I am so sorry. I’m a klutz sometimes.”
She grumbled beneath a blanket of dark hair shrouding her face. Ignoring his hand, she pushed herself off the red bricks and stood.
Deep blue, startlingly familiar eyes challenged him as she swiped her bangs behind her ear.
John blinked, soaking them in. “Do I know you?”
“Really? That line is older than both of us put together.” She shoved past him, clutching her purse.
*Feisty. I like this one.*
Shut up, you. To the girl, John said, “I’m sorry, I know this sounds crazy, but I’m sure I know you from somewhere.”
“Nice try.” She continued on her way, her purse gripped against her right shoulder.
John’s gaze fell over the girl’s smooth contours as she navigated the cobblestones circling the decorative bars hiding a trash can. Dirt clung to her pink slacks, highlighting a perfectly rounded ass.
He’d gladly have dusted her off if he hadn’t made such an idiotic first impression.
She glanced back at him, her blue gaze latching on for a moment. He’d looked into those eyes before. The familiarity, the sense of need filled him.
“Shit,” John whispered. “That’s Tracy Seavers.”
He began walking after her. Dak quickened his pace.
She stopped suddenly, and before John realized it, he slammed into her again.
Her purse thumped to the sidewalk, and those bright eyes turned to fire. “What in God’s name is wrong with you?”
“Let me explain.” John reached for her bag the same instant she did. A sizzle of warmth shot through his hand as their fingers touched.
Dak quaked, enjoying the energy expelled by one of his own kind, confirming what they both knew had to be true: Tracy was no longer alone in her body.
“I’m sorry, but I do know you.” John handed Tracy her purse. “I helped coordinate the manhunt when you went missing.”
She clutched the bag to her chest. “You helped look for me?”
“First of all, let me prove I’m not a complete nut bag.” He drew his badge from the inner pocket of his blazer and showed her. “I’m a cop.”
“A badge doesn’t prove you’re not a nut bag.” She looked toward the concrete and a small smile began to form. “But thanks for trying to find me.”
“It’s my job.”
*Idiot. She’s cute. Tell her you felt compelled to find her.*
He slipped the badge back into his pocket. “You recovered quickly. What’s it been, three weeks?”
*Three weeks and three days to be exact, but who’s counting?*
John called up his concerned detective face. “No one could figure out how you walked away after an accident like that.”
Of course, John knew. And it killed him. Her gaze seeped into him, her eyes betraying the horror of those missing days. John wanted to step forward, take her into his arms, and let her cry the tears he’d been forced to keep inside five years ago. But he needed to be cool and collected, nothing more than a cop showing interest in his previous case. The last thing he needed to do was spook her.
“You have a good memory.” She took a step back. “It, umm, wasn’t as bad as it looked—the accident, I mean.” She looked over each shoulder.
“Apparently not.” But they both knew it was. Shit, he wished there was an easy way to ease into this. He took a steadying breath. “Anything odd happened afterwards, maybe involving a guy in a suit with a really bad attitude?”
Her fists kneaded the fabric of her bag. “Yes, but how…” Her eyes widened. “Are you one of them? Are you watching me?”
“No, nothing like that.”
She shrank back. “Then how do you know about the guys in suits?”
John lowered his voice. “They were there when I woke up, too.”
Her jaw fell to a wide gape. “You have one of these things inside you?”
He cleared the distance between them and struggled against placing his hand over her mouth. “Not so loud. You know, national security and all that.”
She nodded. “I’m, umm…” Her lips formed half a smile. “I’m Tracy.”
“I know.” He reached for her hand and shook. “I’m John.”
*And Dak. We’re thrilled to meet you!*
John looked toward the pavement. “I’ll introduce you in a minute. Let’s give the poor girl a second to breathe.”
“Who are you talking to?” Tracy stepped toward him. Her lips formed a perfect circle. “Oh my God. You can actually talk to it?”
“Yeah. His name is Dak.”
*Tell her how nice her ass swings when she walks.*
“He says hi.”
Her lips parted before she looked away. So much for not freaking her out.
John pointed down the street. “There’s a coffee shop right over there. Would you like to sit for a few minutes and talk? I’m sure you have questions.”
She clutched her bag with both hands. Her eyes didn’t meet his. Smart girl. Even under normal circumstances, a woman alone should be cautious. If more people second-guessed strange guys they ran into, maybe less of them would end up dead.
John held out his hands. “You have every right to be nervous, and yes, in the interest of transparency, I do have a gun, but that’s for protecting the peace, I swear.” He called up his best smile. “It’s really uncommon to run into someone else in our situation. I thought you might want to talk. The Tree House coffee Shop is down the street.”
She nodded. “Yeah, I’ve been there.”
Her stance relaxed slightly, but her darting gaze told him she was still judging her escape routes.
Make that a very smart girl.
“If your experience was anything like mine, I’m guessing you have almost no information other than you should be dead, and keep your mouth shut.”
“Yeah, that was pretty much it.” She tucked a strand of long brown hair behind her ear. “I was actually already headed to the coffee shop. I’d love some company. Would you mind?”
*Of course he doesn’t mind. He’s hopeless and hasn’t had a date in months.*
“I’d love to.”
John slid into the chair opposite Tracy. The coffee house was slow for a Friday. Two other couples chatted near the door, so they’d chosen a table in the back where they could speak without anyone hearing.
Tracy settled into her chair and arranged her two chocolate croissants and double chocolate muffin beside her triple-pump chocolate latte. John suppressed a grin. With a figure like hers, that had to be either nerves, or an alien craving she was trying to feed.
She cleared her throat. “So, wow, how long have you had one of these Ambient things in you?”
Dak cringed, causing a flutter through John’s chest. “Dak doesn’t like that word. He prefers entity.”
She lowered her eyes. “Okay. Please tell him I didn’t mean any offense.”
“No harm done. Dak and I have been together for about five years.”
She leaned back. “Seriously? That’s a long time.”
“It’s not all that long. It’s not like I’m counting the days or anything.”
“So, it’s not bad? You don’t hate being a freak?”
*Freak?*
John narrowed his eyes. “I don’t feel like a freak at all. Well, only when people catch me talking to myself.” He wait
ed for the droning hum of the coffee machine to abate. “To be honest, I feel incredibly lucky. I mean, my number was up. I was dead.” He took a sip of his drink. “There were three bodies on the ground. I was the only one to get up. Dak could have chosen any one of them, and he chose me. I owe him my life.”
A smug warmth filled him. Dak’s emotion, not his.
Tracy’s shoulders hunched as she shifted her weight. “How did you, you know, die?”
Images of blood, noise, and sirens flew through John’s mind. Dak blocked the visions out, saving John a relapse. The last thing he needed was to have to go through another round of sitting on a couch and talking to a shrink about his feelings.
“I was shot three times in the chest at point blank range.” He tapped the lid of his latte, giving Dak time to keep his emotions at bay. “It’s funny. I always wore a vest on duty. I was running late that morning and I forgot.”
The color drained from Tracy’s face. Her hands slipped to the table. “How horrible.”
“Yeah, it wasn’t a red banner day for me.”
She curled up the edges of her napkin. “When you woke up, did they torture you?”
Shit. He half hoped the Feds had given up on that. Fucking bastards.
He nodded. “Short burst electrocution. Dak told me later that he’d been through that before. He knew not to challenge them.”
John waited, gauging her expression. They had her for over two weeks. Why? What had they done to her?
“Tracy, did your entity fight them?”
“I don’t think so. But they kept on…” She sniffed and blinked away a tear.
John gulped. Could they really have tortured her for two weeks straight?
This girl must be a fighter. He’d been ready to crack after a few hours. No one should be forced to go through something like that, either human or entity.
They sat in silence as Tracy finished her first croissant. She cleaned her fingertips on a napkin. “How long did it take before it started talking to you?”
“I’m not sure. At first, I thought the agents were full of shit. I didn’t feel any different. But then I started to have strange cravings.”
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