FrankenDom

by Rotham, Robin L.

  Horror cramped in her abdomen. The compound was gone. Her workout equipment, her plants, her DVDs, her computer…all toast.

  And if the Garathani hadn’t beamed her aboard, she’d be toast too.

  Cecine’s voice snapped her back to attention. “Until diplomatic relations have stabilized, you will all remain aboard as our guests. If the process takes more than a few days, we will house you on Garathan until we are certain that you will suffer no undue consequences upon your return as a result of your association with the Garathani.”

  “What!” She struggled again. “There is no way I’m going to Garathan. I mean it, Shauss—I have to go home.”

  Shauss didn’t respond, and the minister waited for the candidates’ dismayed reaction to die down before he went on. “Since mating assignments have not been completed, it will take time to work out living arrangements, but we will endeavor to make you all comfortable and address your most pressing needs. There are Terran physicians aboard to see to your medical care and we can replicate any medications you require.”

  Jasmine cringed. What about her nasal spray? There wasn’t enough left for a few days, much less a scenic cruise to Garathan, and no way could she let them replicate it.

  Shauss suddenly released her and the field dissolved. “Your name will be called when your quarters are assigned,” he said. “Now mind your manners so I don’t have to come back.”

  He walked off while her brain was still wrestling with the nasal spray problem, saving her the trouble of formulating a withering reply. While it was a relief to have him away from her, and certainly much easier to think, she felt a ridiculous sense of abandonment when he disappeared from view. She did not belong among all these women.

  Then she noticed them all staring at her and blushed.

  “Everything’s fine, nothing to look at here,” she said under her breath, picking up her sweater, which she’d dropped at some point.

  She had to get off this ship or die trying.

  Available Now!

  Seniorella - Robin L Rotham

  Ellora’s Cave Publishing

  Copyright 2007

  Chapter One

  Grace Hendrick blushed furiously when the doorbell snapped her out of an all-too-familiar daydream at ten to noon.

  “Oh for God’s sake,” she muttered, setting aside her faithful old laptop. It wasn’t like whoever was at the door had caught her masturbating. So she was slightly worked up over her fantasy—few would suspect a woman her age even had such fantasies, much less did something about them.

  Taking off her reading glasses, she stood up and stretched, wincing at the ache between her shoulder blades. If she didn’t get back into an aquaerobics class soon, she was going to petrify like so much aging wood. And if she didn’t finish grading those essays, she was going to be out of a job. Then she wouldn’t be able to afford an aquaerobics class.

  Stepping into her slippers, she tightened the belt of her robe as she headed for the front door, pausing only to straighten the doily on the entry table as she went by. Who in the world would be out in a snowstorm?

  Opening the door just a bit, she peeked out through the crack. The young lady who stood on the porch was certainly dressed for the weather—only her pink-tipped nose, rosy cheeks and pretty blue eyes showed between her sparkly purple cap and scarf. “Yes, may I help you?”

  “Happy Valentine’s Day, Grace,” she said, holding up a pink-frosted cupcake with a candle on top. “I have a birthday present for you.”

  Grace’s eyes widened. Although the wind was gusting and snow fell hard enough to obscure the house across the street, the candle’s flame never flickered. Just as she opened her mouth to marvel, it occurred to her that it must be one of those trick candles that had to be put out in water.

  “I’m sorry,” she said, opening the door wider. “Do I know you?”

  The young lady laughed. “No, I’m just getting acquainted.”

  “Oh, I heard a young couple had bought the Murray place,” Grace said, stepping back and pulling the door wide. “Won’t you come in for a while?”

  “Thank you, but I can’t stay.” She held out the cupcake. “Would you mind trying a bite before I go? It’s a new recipe and I’d really like to know what you think.”

  Grace smiled as she took it. “It’s so sweet of you to come around in weather like this.” In fact, it was almost unbelievable that any of the neighbors had known or cared enough to tell the newcomer today was her birthday.

  “Don’t forget to make a wish before you blow out the candle.”

  Grace laughed. “My dear, I’m sixty, not six.”

  The girl’s eyes widened. “Oh but you have to!”

  She looked so worried that Grace was immediately contrite. “Well of course, that’s fine,” she said quickly. “What did you say your name was?”

  “I didn’t, but it’s Marina.”

  “How lovely.”

  The girl was still looking at her expectantly, so Grace put her mind to the task at hand. It wasn’t too hard to come up with a wish—she’d been living one in her mind when the doorbell rang. Closing her eyes, she drew a deep breath. I wish I could have one more night with Jared. Then she opened them again, puckered up and blew on the flame. Much to her surprise, it went right out.

  Marina clapped her mittened hands enthusiastically. “Oh goody! You’ll get your wish!”

  “From your lips,” Grace said, working to keep the dryness out of her tone.

  “Now tell me, how does it taste?”

  By this time, snow was beginning to accumulate on the rug, but Grace obliged the girl, peeling back the festive Valentine paper and taking a bite of the white cake. “Mmm, coconut. My favorite,” she said, licking a bit of frosting off her upper lip. “It’s wonderful, thank you.”

  “My pleasure.” Tugging off a sparkly mitten, Marina pulled a small white card out of her coat pocket and handed it to Grace. “Sorry to rush off, but I’m late for another engagement. Enjoy your birthday!” She trotted off down the sidewalk and disappeared into the snow just a few yards from the house.

  Tucking the card into her robe pocket with a bemused smile, Grace bumped the door closed with her hip while she peeled the cupcake. After she’d polished it off and disposed of the paper and candle, she went in search of her glasses. Finding them right where she’d left them, she sank back into her well-worn chaise and pulled out the card. On one side, her name was written in bold, uniform calligraphy. On the other was a short poem.

  You made your wish, and so polite!

  Now I will grant you one more night…

  Grace blinked. “One more night…” How could the girl possibly have known that she’d wished for a night?

  For just a moment, hope fluttered in her breast, but common sense asserted itself immediately. What did she think, that Marina might be some sort of fairy godmother? If anything, she would have to be her fairy goddaughter. And since when is your name Cinderella?

  “More like Seniorella,” she muttered under her breath. Grace almost laughed out loud at the visual. Well, she’d lost nothing by making the wish and she wasn’t going to complain—after all, it was the only birthday cake she’d had in years and pretty damn good, to boot. The card might be a bit out there, but beggars couldn’t be choosers.

  Speaking of cards, why hadn’t she grabbed the mail while she was up?

  Even knowing there was probably nothing but bills and sales circulars, she scurried back to the door and stepped out onto the porch. When she reached into the mailbox, she thought at first that it was empty. But then her fingers found a postcard.

  Yes, Seniorella, you guessed it right—

  Now love them ‘til the stroke of midnight.

  Her knee-jerk English professor response was, Another trite little rhyme. Then her eyes widened. Seniorella? She whipped her head from left to right but the girl was nowhere to be seen. Shaking like a leaf, she turned to step back into the house and slipped on the frosty concrete. The last thing
she saw was the card flying out of her hand.

  Available Now!

  BIG Temptation - Robin L Rotham

  Ellora’s Cave Publishing

  Copyright 2008

  Prologue

  Maybe he should call Dad.

  Barrett fidgeted with the candy-wrapper bracelet Kristi Farnham had fastened on him at recess, scooting it around his tanned wrist over and over as he stared at the white-painted panels of his parents’ bedroom door. The only sound in the sun-speckled hallway was his own loud breathing. He’d knocked and yelled at her about four thousand times, but Mom wouldn’t answer.

  Riding his bike home from school today, all he’d wanted was to Hoover down the rest of the Oreos with about a gallon of milk and watch cartoons. Now all he wanted was for his mom to open this door and tell him everything was okay.

  Why wouldn’t she answer him? She never slept through the baby crying. Even when she was having a really bad day, she never just let him cry.

  When Barrett bounded through the front door a while ago, he’d heard his little brother screaming his head off and found him right here in the hall. Dusty must have finally made it over the gate because there was a big carpet burn on his forehead. Barrett had picked him up and hugged him, rocking and talking to him until he calmed down. Then he’d taken him downstairs and planted him in front of the Looney Tunes with some Cheerios on a paper towel and a sippy cup of milk.

  He’d been up here trying to wake Mom up ever since, but she wouldn’t and his stomach was starting to hurt. His knuckles were hurting, too, even though he’d switched hands a couple of times.

  He gave the doorknob one last try but it was still locked. “Mom!”

  Not knowing what else to do, he headed back downstairs on shaky legs and wiped his palms on his jeans before picking up the telephone in the kitchen. Gripping the receiver hard, he ran a finger up the phone list on the wall and dialed the third number from the top.

  “Good afternoon, Mahoney, George and Butcher, how may I help you?”

  “May I please speak to Anthony George?” Barrett winced. He’d used his most grown-up voice but he still sounded like a ten-year-old kid who was about to start bawling.

  “May I tell him who’s calling, please?”

  “His son, Barrett.”

  “Hi, Barrett. Hold for just a moment and I’ll put you through.”

  It seemed like he spent forever twirling the kinked-up phone cord around his index finger before his dad answered.

  “Hey, big boy—what’s cookin’?”

  Relieved to hear that friendly greeting, Barrett blurted, “Mom’s asleep and she won’t open the door.”

  “Did you knock?”

  “About five million times. Dusty got over the gate, ’cause he was on the floor screamin’ in the hall and I got him some milk, but Mom still won’t wake up.”

  “Did you open the door and look at Mom?”

  Barrett’s stomach squeezed. Dad didn’t sound so friendly now.

  “It’s locked.”

  “Son, listen to me.” His dad talked really fast now. “Police and firemen are on their way to you right now, and I want you to let them in, okay? I’ll be there in five minutes.”

  He didn’t even say goodbye.

  Barrett hung the phone up and trailed into the living room. Dusty was climbing the stairs, so he picked him up and carried him back over by the TV. There were Cheerios all over the carpet and the napkin was shredded.

  “Hey, don’t eat that,” he groaned, swiping a ball of chewed-up paper towel out of his brother’s drooly mouth with a finger and wadding it up in the scraps. “Don’t worry—Dad’ll be here soon and everything will be okay.”

  Everything will be okay. Why didn’t he believe that? He had a bad ache in his stomach, like last Christmas when he’d puked up his guts and had the Hershey squirts for two whole days. Mom had been acting really weird for a long time, almost since the baby was born, and he missed her being happy. He missed her shooting hoops with him and watching him wrestle and singing that dumb song about the teddy bears having a picnic. All she did now was cry and yell and hide in her bedroom.

  The Roadrunner led Wile E. Coyote over the edge of another cliff, but Barrett could hardly breathe, much less laugh. His eyes kept wandering to the stairs. What was taking the firemen so long?

  Suddenly his dad slammed into the house. Leaving the front door hanging open, he raced past both of them and took the steps two or three at a time. Dusty tried to follow, so Barrett scooped him up and started after his dad.

  He was on the second step when he heard a loud crash. Tightening his grip on the baby, he hauled butt up the stairs.

  “Oh God, no!” his dad cried. “Jesus, Karen, please no!”

  Barrett was running now, huffing with the weight of the toddler in his arms, fear turning his bowels to water. It was really bad, he knew it was really bad. Stumbling over the splintered bedroom door on the floor, he landed in the middle of the room and stared into the master bath.

  “Jesus Christ, Karen, why? Why? Oh God, why would you do this?” His dad was hugging his mom on the bathroom floor, and he was bawling, too. “I love you so much, Karen, please don’t leave me!”

  Mom didn’t have any clothes on and there was red stuff all over the place. Was it blood? Barrett couldn’t see her face behind Dad’s chest, but she wasn’t moving.

  “Mommy?” He was too big to call her Mommy and he never did any more, but he was so scared…

  “Barrett!” His dad looked up at him, his face twisted and red. “Oh God, son, please take Dustin downstairs and tell the firemen where we are.”

  Barrett didn’t want to go. He took a step toward the bathroom, the baby in his arms fussing at being squeezed so hard. “Is Mom dead?”

  “Barrett, don’t look! Just go tell—”

  Masculine voices calling out and the thunder of running feet echoed up the stairs, but he couldn’t take his eyes off his mom’s body, so limp and white on his father’s lap, until he was shoved out of the way by all the men who crowded into the bathroom.

  His dad came out and plucked Dusty from his arms. Sinking to his knees, he held them both tight against him. His clothes were all wet and smeared with red, and he smelled weird and he was shaking so bad…

  “Oh God, Barrett, I’m so sorry,” he sobbed against Barrett’s neck. “So sorry.”

  Barrett’s stomach twisted as he stood there watching the men try to save his mother. It was too late. He knew it. He’d waited too long.

  Tears burned in his eyes and he blinked hard. It wouldn’t do any good to cry now—she was gone. His mom was gone and she was never coming back.

  Swallowing the sickness in his throat, Barrett wiped the back of his hand over his mouth and felt Kristi’s bracelet scrape his cheek. Without bothering to look at it, he tore the braided cellophane off his wrist and let it tumble down his father’s back to the floor.

  Chapter One

  Hotels were just like people—you couldn’t tell from the way they looked that something was seriously wrong inside.

  Shifting his Suburban into park, Barrett left the engine running while he inspected the Mahoney Tower Tulsa. Sunlight reflecting off the building’s copper windows made him squint even through his sunglasses, but from what he could see, it looked like business as usual. A few cabs and a limo were lined up in the parking circle, and a uniformed attendant manned the valet stand despite the brutal heat of an August afternoon. If the lush, manicured lawns and blossoming flower beds were any indication, other employees were hard at work, too.

  That didn’t mean there wasn’t some kind of weird shit going down in the hotel.

  Glancing at the dashboard clock, he put on his regular glasses and stowed the sunglasses in the overhead compartment. Then he gathered up the employee files from the passenger seat and shoved them into his soft-side briefcase. He’d had to skim them on the drive from Kansas City, since he’d barely walked in the door when Carla dropped the case in his lap, but judging f
rom what he’d read, there was probably more going on here than just the disappearance of the general manager.

  His stomach rumbled. Too bad he hadn’t stopped for something to eat on the way down. Burger King beckoned from across the street, but it was too late now. The staff meeting had started ten minutes ago. Not that he minded being late—employees’ reactions to his tardiness were always interesting—but he wanted to look around the common areas before he made his appearance.

  Tucking the briefcase behind the passenger seat, he braced himself and shut off the engine. Without cool air blasting him from the vents, he broke into a sweat before he even got the door open. Shit, and he’d thought Kansas City was bad. Why couldn’t it have been the San Francisco manager who disappeared? Or Seattle? The coast was great this time of year.

  By the time he made it through the revolving door, sweat was rolling down his temples. Fortunately, the lobby felt like a meat locker. It was a wonder his glasses didn’t fog over in the chill.

  Whistling through his teeth, he shoved his hands into his pockets and took a little stroll around the main level. The Tower was scheduled for a facelift next winter, but it still looked pretty damn sharp. From the high, coffered ceiling to the marble-tiled floor, everything gleamed like it was well taken care of. Shiny greenery fluttered in the breeze from the fountain, the cherry furniture in the conversation groups glowed from a recent polishing—hell, even the nap on the area rugs stood at attention like it had never been walked on.

  The scents of lemon oil and coffee filled the air, and as he passed Mirabella, his stomach growled urgently at the savory aroma drifting from the restaurant’s closed doors. Damn, he didn’t know what was cooking, but he sure as hell knew where he was eating tonight.

  The elevator dinged and the doors slid open. Inside, a blonde in a cheap business suit was too busy putting on lipstick to get out, so like the gentleman he occasionally was, Barrett stuck a hand out to keep the doors from closing. When she saw him in the mirror, her eyes widened. Rolling her lips as she put the cap on the tube, she looked his reflection over thoroughly before turning.