Invaded

by Jennifer M. Eaton

“I’m here,” she whispered. “I’ll listen.”

  The butterfly found a friend and they swirled through the air together. Sean seemed to study the pair, concentrating. How could a past like that affect a person, having something so horrible fester that long, with no one believing him? His ribcage expanded before he sat back down beside her.

  His eyes seemed to have lightened, now lost and maybe a little frightened. “I was about ten the first time my mom came to me in the middle of the night. I woke up and she was tickling me with her tongue. I had this funny feeling. It scared me.” He paused, looked at the ground. “She giggled and left me there.”

  Oh. My. God!

  “That was it for a few weeks, but then she came back. I woke up again in the middle of the night. I was already hard in her mouth. I remember that one vividly, the tenseness, the building, and then the explosion—and that look on her face—that satisfied, knowing expression.” He trembled. “She patted my head, and said if I was a good boy, she’d do it again.”

  Jesus. “You should have gone to the police.” But he was so young. Too young.

  He shrugged. “At the time, I didn’t know it was anything bad. And by the time I started to feel weird about it, dammit, I was scared. I didn’t know what to do. I mentioned it once to my aunt, but she said I was having wet dreams. Said I was oedipal.” He shook his hands, as if trying to cleanse the memory from his skin. “When I grew up and finally got away from her, my body was so used to coming every night that I started to go crazy. Masturbating worked for a while, but I wanted more.” He leaned against the back of the bench. “So, I started to go to bars. I looked for slutty bleached blondes, just like her. And I used them. Like she used me.”

  Holy damn. Tracy reached for her hair and twisted the ends. She knew she wasn’t blonde, but she checked just in case. “Sean, I think you need help. What you’re doing, it’s going to make things worse.”

  “Believe me, darlin’.” He ran his fingers down her cheek. “I’m far past getting any help.”

  She remained perfectly still, letting him touch her skin. Her heart throttled but not in excitement.

  He drew away. “And then there is you—a perfectly nice girl, nothing like my mother.” He spat the word mother like a curse. “Normally, I would have walked right past you. I have my pick of sluts on any given night, but thanks to my new alien counterpart, I was drawn to you.” He smiled a half-grin. “And you end up giving me the most intense sex of my life and I didn’t even get my pants off.”

  She inched away. “But that’s done now. You know that, right?”

  He nodded. “John.”

  Tracy gulped. “Yes. I never tried to hide my relationship from you.”

  “I know.” He stood, dragging his fingers through his hair. “I don’t even know why I told you all this. I guess I thought…” His face hardened. “I don’t know what I thought.” He turned and headed down the hill.

  This time, Tracy didn’t stop him.

  43

  For the first time John could remember, he was the one handing Art a cup of coffee. His friend’s sunken gaze rose to the cup before returning to his folded hands.

  “You look like shit,” John said. “Now I wish I added a shot of espresso.”

  Art choked a laugh.

  John settled at the table. “Your dad?”

  He nodded. “Long night. Touch and go for a bit.”

  “Then what the hell are you doing here?”

  Art finally looked up. “I can’t sit there and look at him lying in that hospital bed anymore. I need to work. I need to think about something else.” He pointed at the war board. “I’ve reviewed all of the domestic disturbances and about half of the tickets Doogan issued. Anything that smelled of motive I printed and tacked up for you.”

  Dozens of papers hung at haphazard angles among photographs of the crime scene. That much data would have taken hours to go through with a team, let alone one man.

  “How long have you been here?” John asked.

  “You don’t want to know.”

  But he did want to know. How awake had Art been while he reviewed those files? Was he in the right mindset to not miss anything?

  Art walked to the war board and shifted one of the sheets that had partially covered Doogan’s bruised face. “I think you were right about the aggravated assault. This bastard either hated Doogan, or hated cops.”

  “Then let’s figure out which.”

  After three hours, names and traffic violations blurred together.

  John rubbed his eyes. He needed a break.

  Across the table, Art downed a fourth cup of coffee before grabbing another stack of papers. His partner would bottom out sooner or later. Hopefully later, once they’d sifted through all the files.

  *Things went nicely with Tracy on Friday.*

  “Friday?”

  Art looked up. “Huh?”

  John gaped before realizing he’d spoken aloud. “Sorry, talking to myself again.”

  His partner slid right back into his perusal of the documents before him: a testament to how often John spoke to himself on the job. It was a wonder John wasn’t under constant psych evaluation.

  Dak slithered below John’s skin, just like he had when Tracy dragged her fingers through his hair. John licked his lips, relishing the softness of her kiss and the sound of her sigh when she tilted her head back.

  John blinked, taking in the paperwork strewn across the table: the tangible things he was supposed to be thinking about. Nicely played, Dak. But I need to get back to work.

  The entity chuckled inside him as John flipped over the last sheet in his pile then grabbed Doogan’s moving violations from last week. Even the pages Art flagged before John arrived didn’t spark any credible leads.

  He tried to rub the sting from his eyes. Maybe if he took a few minutes away, he’d be able refocus and come up with something.

  Grabbing his empty cup, John stood. “More crappy coffee?”

  “Fill ‘er up.” Art handed John his mug.

  The halls had returned to their normal, deserted quiet. Only a year ago this building overflowed with law enforcement officials and the lines for too-old coffee made a fix of java a social event. Now the café lay empty, the hum of a half-full coffee-warmer the only clue that anyone else had been there today.

  John took a sip and pursed his lips against the bitter grinds. Maybe he didn’t need coffee as bad as he’d thought.

  The cappuccino he’d had with Tracy on Friday tasted gourmet compared to this, and they’d made fun of being able to chew it. Damn, she was beautiful when she laughed. She had a way of making him forget the job that consumed his life. She was patient enough to give him time to wind down, and not take it personally when he got lost in his own thoughts.

  Tracy seemed to understand, despite having no clue what it was like to have people depending on you to save lives or solve deaths. Sitting with her, even in silence, drained the weight of his responsibilities away.

  John stretched his neck, loosening the ache in his muscles. That kiss seeped back into his thoughts, the feel of her body pressed up against him.

  The way Tracy had moved, the way she kissed, shit if she wasn’t making her intentions more than clear. It had taken every ounce of his control not to draw her into his arms, push her through the door and give her what she wanted—what he wanted. Setting his mug down, he adjusted the stupid bulge in his pants.

  This line of thought wasn’t going anywhere. It certainly wasn’t helping the case. But Tracy wasn’t about the job. She was far more important.

  John blinked and straightened.

  Tracy was more important. They hadn’t known each other long, but she’d become a distraction—a good kind of distraction. The kind of distraction he wanted more of.

  “You coming with that joe?” Art called from down the hall.

  John smiled. Definitely a distraction. He pulled out his phone and tapped Tracy’s name.

  Good luck on your presentation today.
Knock em dead.

  He pressed send and slipped his phone into his pocket. If she answered, she’d be even more of a distraction, and Art needed his coffee.

  44

  Tracy had barely gotten any sleep last night. Every time she closed her eyes, she envisioned a young boy and a mother with a far too knowing smile. How could a woman do that to her own son?

  As hard as it was, though, she needed to push Sean out of her mind. Too much rode on today.

  Her phone buzzed, and she drew the case out of her pocket.

  Good luck on your presentation.

  A warm tickle spread through Tracy’s stomach as she headed down the hall toward the executive conference rooms. With everything on his plate, John still remembered how nervous she was about this meeting. She adjusted her slacks and straightened, feeling a touch taller than she had a few moments ago.

  “Ready?” Kyle asked, grasping the handle on the conference room entrance.

  “Ready as I’ll ever be.”

  He pushed the door open. “Good afternoon gentlemen.”

  Everyone in the room shuffled, some taking their seats. How many times had she been in one of those chairs, waiting for the Olsons to arrive? She never imagined arriving fashionably late with one of the bosses at her side.

  Tracy set her presentation on the table, overly aware of the colonel at the far end of the room, tapping his pen on his leather-bound notebook. Even though he’d only entered the room seconds before them, she could feel his eagerness to get started.

  She turned toward the easel, but the corner where she’d placed the tripod that morning lay empty. Everything they needed had been in the room. She’d triple checked, but McNulty had passed her in the hall after she’d left for lunch.

  He wouldn’t have. Would he?

  She refused to turn toward him, worried her alien-inflated anger would start spurting curses at him, or worse.

  Kyle reached for a marker in the tray below the dry-erase board but that was empty as well. His brow furrowed. Sweat soaked Tracy’s blouse as his gaze trailed to her.

  McNulty shifted in his chair. “That’s okay, Kyle. Why don’t you get started? Seavers can get anything you need.”

  Kyle stepped closer to Tracy. “You did say you’d stocked the room for us, right?”

  She tried not to grit her teeth. “Of course, I did. Everything was here.”

  A slight twitch touched Kyle’s lips before he turned. “You know what, McNulty, why don’t you go grab the easel from my office.”

  McNulty sat up. “Me?”

  “You have a problem with that?”

  The egotistical ass’s gaze flicked from the colonel to Kyle. “N-no, I guess not.”

  Kyle gave a curt nod. “Good. And while you’re at it, why don’t you run down to the warehouse and get us a box of dry-erase markers. Seems the ones I put in here this morning disappeared.” He grabbed their presentation pad. “We’ll get started so we don’t waste everyone else’s time.”

  Oh snap! Totally burned. Tracy hadn’t known Kyle for all that long, but he was her new favorite boss ever!

  McNulty grimaced before he stood. Tracy refused to meet his gaze as he passed and closed the door behind him.

  Kyle plugged his laptop into the monitor and called up the PowerPoint they’d worked on. “While we are waiting for our supplies, let’s go over some very interesting forecasts.”

  Everything worked as they’d rehearsed it, only backwards since they didn’t have everything they needed. When it was time to make their pitch for the charity box tops, Kyle held up Tracy’s posters since McNulty still hadn’t returned with the easel. He kept quiet, but his eyes kept darting to his father, probably waiting for the expected blow-out over the fiscal liability of printing fifty million double-point box top labels.

  The pointer shook in Tracy’s hands; but a calm, swirling sensation spiraled from her stomach, around her ribs, and settled in her chest. Thank you, Adonna. “Even though offering double points puts the company at risk of a ten-million-dollar charitable payout, I am suggesting committing to this program for five years.”

  “Five years!” The colonel’s face reddened. “We don’t commit like that. We never have, especially harboring that kind of risk.”

  Adonna sparkled, settling the bile rising in Tracy’s gut.

  Kyle’s gaze flicked toward her. His lips opened, but she shook her head. She didn’t need him to dig her out of this.

  “Let me explain, sir.” Tracy balanced her presentation pad on the shelf below the white board and flipped to the last page. “I spoke with purchasing, and if we can make a bulk purchase of labels, buying a five year supply rather than four months, as is their current practice, plus hedging steel purchases, we will save eleven cents in packaging costs. That alone will pay for the charitable donation every year.”

  Her former boss, Miles, shifted in his seat. “We’d need more warehouse space. The labels aren’t a problem, but the steel?”

  Tracy nodded. Kyle had already proposed this question. “Remember, statistics show that only one in seven grade school homes, and even fewer in higher grades, bother saving box tops, even when they intend to use them when they buy.” She turned to the colonel. “That means you will gain the extra sales.” She highlighted the sales on her pad. “Plus, the prestige of being the first company to double their box tops, and the net after liability, will be an additional twenty-seven million dollars over five years.” She pointed at Miles. “More than enough for additional steel trailers in the lot.”

  Her former boss’s gape was wildly satisfying.

  Tracy scrolled $27,000,000 net profit across her pad and underlined the words. “Twenty-seven million dollars of additional profit and one-point-five million donated to America’s schools. It’s a win for Olson’s, and it’s a win for the kids.”

  A harsh silence hung in the room.

  The colonel leaned back, arms folded. His expressionless gaze carried over each person in the room before leaching onto his son. “You came up with these numbers?”

  “Not me. Cost avoidance never even occurred to me. But I did check the math and I confirmed with purchasing. She’s spot on. Those savings are real, and they’ll go straight to the bottom line. And that’s a low-ball figure. I think we’ll annihilate those numbers with increased sales.”

  Colonel Olson stood. His hands fisted, then released. Tracy could almost feel him calculating the advance funding in his head. The silence pressed in on all sides.

  What they’d proposed was huge for this quiet, conservative company. Olson’s had become the second-largest soup manufacturer in the country by letting others take risks and adopting what worked. They were followers, not leaders. This had worked for them for generations.

  Even though Tracy’s numbers were sound, this was a very risky endeavor; at least in the eyes of the guy who was putting the money out. But he had to see the potential and the fantastic PR opportunity.

  A smile spread across the colonel’s lips. Tracy gasped. The man actually smiled!

  “Nice work,” he said. “I’d like to see you both in my office at noon tomorrow. We’ll discuss this in more detail over lunch.”

  “Did I miss anything?” McNulty pushed through the door, a box in one hand and the easel under his shoulder.

  The colonel grunted and left the room. Someone snickered.

  Kyle shook Tracy’s hand as McNulty dropped the easel on the floor.

  “Your office was locked,” McNulty said to Kyle. “And Rogers in the warehouse said he gave you the last box of dry-erase markers this morning.”

  Kyle’s face remained serene. “He did tell me that was the last box of markers. I forgot. Sorry you had to walk all the way down there. Quite a trek, isn’t it?” He gave McNulty a man-punch in the shoulder. “Good for the old cardio, though.”

  McNulty pretended to laugh, dropped the box on the table, grumbled something, and left with the others. The group had made it halfway down the hall before his voice boomed: “We’re go
ing to do what?”

  Kyle held up both hands and Tracy double high-fived him.

  Wait until John heard about this! They’d have to get together and celebrate.

  She hesitated as she gathered her things. Anytime something good happened, she’d always called her mom or Laini. Was it weird to think of John first?

  Her stomach fluttered, and she held her hand over her belly, allowing the smooth, comforting sensation to sink in. Maybe more than one of them was excited at the thought of seeing John and Dak again.

  45

  John’s phone vibrated as he pulled it out of his pocket.

  Tracy Seavers: Break out the bubbly! Col. Olson is even more excited about my marketing plan after today’s meeting!

  A smile burst free. He tapped out a message.

  See? And you were worried. That’s amazing.

  John checked his spelling and hit send.

  Tracy Seavers: We HAVE to get drinks tonight. Celebrate!

  A night with Tracy? Damn, that sounded good. Everyone else had lives outside the precinct. There was no reason he couldn’t, too.

  He grinned, running his thumb over her name on his screen. For the first time in his life, he actually looked forward to his life outside the job. He started typing:

  I’ll take those drinks and raise you a dinner?

  The longest ten seconds of his life passed before the icon flashed to show she was typing. Was he actually nervous?

  Tracy Seavers: You’re on!

  John held himself back from fist-pumping in the air like an overzealous teenager.

  Pick you up at 6:30.

  Tracy Seavers: I’ll be waiting.