Crazy in Chicago

by Norah-Jean Perkin

  CRAZY IN CHICAGO

  Paranormal Romance

  by Norah-Jean Perkin

  Kindle: 978-1-58124-242-3

  ePub: 978-1-58124-482-3

  ©2012 by Norah-Jean Perkin

  Published 2012 by The Fiction Works

  http://www.fictionworks.com

  fictionworks@me.com

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced without written permission, except for brief quotations to books and critical reviews. This story is a work of fiction. Characters and events are the product of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

  Table of Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Epilogue

  About the Author

  “Ms. Perkin pulls the reader in from the first page and knows how to keep them enthralled. I highly recommend it.”

  —Reviewer: tteditor, Timeless Tales

  “Crazy in Chicago (is) an entertaining romp through the mythology of UFOs. Read alone or in conjunction with Blue Dawn (its prequel), Crazy is a satisfying venture into romantic paranormal.”

  —Katriena Knights, Escape To Romance

  Chapter 1

  Cody Walker sighed and rubbed the palms of both hands down his face. The prickle of stubble told him it wouldn’t be long before it was time to get up to shower and shave for work. He could smell the faint tang of the brandy he’d been downing every forty minutes or so in the hope it would lull him to sleep. But no such luck. He was more awake now than he had been at one a.m. when he’d fallen exhausted into bed.

  He sighed again. Finally he sat up and swung his feet to the cool oak floor. He glanced at the bedside clock. Four a.m. Four-oh-three to be exact. And still awake. Why couldn’t he sleep?

  It had been this way for the last six nights. He’d been lucky to get two or three hours of sleep, tops. That was fine for a night or two, but it couldn’t go on this way. He couldn’t even blame it on muggy wave of heat currently enveloping Chicago. His new apartment might be downtown, but it was also air-conditioned and close to Lake Michigan.

  In disgust, he stood up. By the faint light glimmering through the sliding glass doors to his bedroom, he found a pair of nylon jogging shorts and pulled them on. He might as well go outside. He’d read somewhere that looking at water was supposed to be relaxing. Hell, he had one of the largest inland lakes in the world almost at his doorstep. If that didn’t work, what would?

  He slid open the door to his small rooftop garden, one of the benefits of living on the top floor of an award-winning apartment building. The muggy air hit him with a shock, sucking the air from his lungs and almost propelling him back into his room. Taking another breath, he stepped outside and shut the door. He could understand why anyone without air conditioning might have trouble sleeping tonight. But him? He shook his head, casting away the faint sense of uneasiness rising inside.

  The dark sky hung heavy with clouds, obscuring the moon and stars and holding the heat down to the earth like a thermal blanket. Beneath it, the lake visible from his garden was a black, silent mass. Only the faint sounds of distant traffic, and a closer squawk of a horn broke the quiet.

  The niggling sense of threat, an unease he couldn’t put his finger on but which had been there for days, reasserted itself in the heavy heat. Cody frowned and advanced towards the railing of his garden. He had a full day’s work tomorrow and had to—

  “. . . me.”

  An indistinct voice coming from the other side of the hedge bordering his garden stopped him. He turned and looked. Over the shoulder-high hedge, he could see light streaming from the sliding doors of the apartment next door. He shrugged and continued on.

  “Take me. Take me, please.”

  A female voice, soft and musical, reached through the heavy air. Cody grinned. Well, at least somebody was putting the night to good use.

  But Cody had no intention of eavesdropping on his neighbor’s love life. He turned to go back inside.

  “Take me, goddammit!”

  Vibrating with frustration, the demand hung in the night air. Cody stopped again, his curiosity growing. Obviously things weren’t going so well for his unseen neighbor.

  “Take me, take me, take me,” the voice crooned again, this time more calmly.

  Cody’s curiosity got the better of him. Could it hurt to take a quick peek over the hedge? He’d confirm the presence of the lovers he expected to see, then slip back into his room.

  He stole over to the hedge and looked. To his surprise, he saw only one person in the neighboring garden. The small figure lay on a chaise lounge and gazed up at the sky, her arms outstretched. She wore what looked like a tank top and boxer shorts. Light from the door reflected off a mop of golden curls.

  Cody suppressed a chuckle. Why, it was just a teenager, playing at some fantasy.

  Unconscious of his presence, the girl sighed heavily, then shook her fist at the sky. “Take me, goddammit. Why won’t you take me?”

  Cody grinned again. He should leave, and leave now, but he couldn’t resist. He leaned forward. “If that’s what you want, ma’am. At your service.”

  The small figure shot upright, upsetting the lounge and toppling onto the patio. She squirmed about for a moment before untangling herself and scrambling to her feet.

  Clutching a pillow, she looked around wild-eyed, her chest heaving under the skimpy white tank top. “Who’s there? What do you want? I’ll call the police!”

  Cody chuckled. He had trouble not laughing outright. “I’m over here. I’m your next-door neighbor. I didn’t mean to frighten you. I’m not a burglar. I got up because I couldn’t sleep, then I heard you talking.”

  Once he knew he had her attention, he cast a cursory glance around the patio. “Who were you talking to?”

  Under the golden curls, her face flamed with an embarrassment he couldn’t miss even in the dim light. Her round eyes momentarily screwed shut. Although she was small, not more than five foot two, he realized that she must be older than he’d thought, likely in her mid-twenties.

  She opened her eyes, but her gaze avoided his. “No one,” she gritted out.

  He raised his eyebrows, unable to prevent his amusement from surfacing. “No? I distinctly heard your voice.”

  She clutched the pillow as if it she might crush it. Light glinted off a silver chain around her neck. “I . . . I was practicing.”

  “Oh? You’re an actress?” Cody asked innocently.

  “Ahh . . . not exactly.” She hesitated, shifting her weight from foot to foot, unwittingly drawing his attention to the shapeliness of her bare legs. “Look, I really should go in now. I’ve got to get some sleep.”

  She turned to retreat. For a moment he watched the sway of her rounded hips. His neighbor displayed an enticingly feminine shape. A tingle of anticipation and a faint stirring in his lower parts took him by surprise.

  “What’s your name?”

  It was clear from her expression when she faced him again that she desperately wanted to escape. But good manners—and her obvious wish to pretend nothing embarrassing had happened—prevented her from fleeing.

  “Bobbi. See you around.”

  Before Cody could say another word she dashed into her room and shut the door. A second later the lock clicked shut.

  I
n the darkness, Cody shook his head and smiled, surprised to find his fatigue evaporated. Bobbi, was it? So this was his new neighbor. Well, well, well.

  Thoughtfully he turned towards his door. He’d never bothered to get to know his neighbors in the past. Maybe it was time he did.

  * * *

  “And now, I’d like to introduce Dr. Garnet Jones, the president of the Society of UFO Watchers, and the chairman of this conference.”

  Roberta Vandenburg nodded in the direction of her boss, the first of four panelists to discuss the phenomenon of alien abduction. She cleared her throat and stood as straight as possible, trying to maintain the aura of serious calm she believed essential for a moderator—and to utilize every inch of her small stature to lend authority to her position. “Dr. Jones will now tell you about his most recent abduction experience, and what he believes it means.”

  Straightening her skirt, she sat down and watched Garnet rise. However unusual Garnet’s beliefs might be, his appearance projected a reassuring measure of normalcy, an important factor in a field often associated with the lunatic fringe. Garnet wore his steel gray hair and beard short and trimmed; the wire-rimmed glasses, gray trousers, and navy jacket over a white shirt and classic school tie could have been worn by any tall, spindly, English professor.

  Roberta turned her attention to the audience of about one hundred. For that matter, the people here looked pretty normal too, with a balance between men and women, scattered throughout all age ranges, and wearing conservative suits, summer dresses, or jeans and T-shirts. They were here—academics, scientists, cultists, proclaimed abductees, doctors and members of the general public—along with another four hundred people from across the country, to attend the society’s third national conference on UFOs. So far the conference, which had begun this morning, had attracted only muted and balanced publicity. Thank goodness.

  In a manner that Roberta recognized as customary, Garnet focused his piercing gaze on the audience until he had their full attention. A hush fell over the room, and he began.

  “As many of you know, I have interacted with extraterrestrials several times, starting when I was a child of seven. The most recent incident, however, frightened me the most. Not only did the aliens subject me to a painful physical examination, but their actions revealed to me for the first time their sinister plans to enslave and use mankind.”

  Garnet took a deep breath and launched into the story Roberta had heard at least a hundred times in the last two months. She couldn’t help but notice the embellishments that had crept in, the layers of meaning he had added since his first terrified recounting of what had happened. Gazing at her boss as he held his audience spellbound, she wondered if he even realized what he’d done. Or perhaps, a small, cynical voice at the back of her mind said, he knew perfectly well.

  After a few moments, Roberta stopped listening. She glanced at the other panelists, a female hypno-therapist from Los Angeles, a psychiatrist from Denver noted for his work with air force pilots, and a chemist from Phoenix. She could hardly wait to hear what they had to say, particularly the hypno-therapist.

  Garnet had just begun the ascent to his frightening conclusion when the squeal of an opening door at the back of the meeting room cut him off. Scores of heads, Roberta’s among them, swiveled to see who had dared to interrupt the acclaimed expert on alien abductions. Garnet glared at the latecomer.

  The man, tall and dressed in a tailored gray suit and white shirt, did not appear the least bit cowed by Dr. Jones disapproval. With a faint shrug and a nod of his dark head, he sauntered over to a table holding water and glasses. As he settled himself, he reached into his breast pocket and drew out a pen and notebook. Only then did Roberta note the buff card identifying media on his lapel.

  Garnet recomposed himself and continued. At the same instant, Roberta noted something alarmingly familiar about the reporter’s appearance and easy smile. Last night’s encounter in her apartment garden flashed through her head. She shuddered. No. Oh, no. It couldn’t be! Could it possibly be her neighbor? The man who’d interrupted her frustrated pleading to any listening aliens?

  Roberta shut her eyes, then forced herself to open them again. She had to be wrong. Another look would surely prove her wrong. Swallowing, she turned her attention to the man taking notes at the back of the room.

  The reporter was tall, at least six feet, about the same height and build as her neighbor had appeared to be in the few seconds she’d seen him this morning. In addition, the man at the back of the room had those careless good looks she associated with the Mediterranean—the olive complexion, eyes as black as night, rich sable hair, and a full, sensuous mouth. But was he the man next door?

  Roberta groaned inwardly. She forced her gaze back once more. Maybe she was wrong. After all, she’d been so surprised and embarrassed she’d hardly looked at her neighbor. What she remembered most was the hint of banter in his deep voice. And that wasn’t something you could tell just by looking.

  The man at the back of the room raised a tanned hand to cover a yawn. Yawning meant he was tired. And hadn’t her neighbor said he couldn’t sleep? Roberta grimaced.

  Nervously she continued to watch for anything that would reveal the truth. She nudged her glasses farther up her nose and patted the blonde hair slicked back from her face. Well, even if it was him, he wouldn’t recognize her. After all, Roberta Vandenburg, with her neutral makeup, trim business suit, glasses and severe hairstyle was about as far removed as you could get from Bobbi, the half-dressed, embarrassed girl her neighbor had enjoyed teasing. Perhaps looking like a teenager when you weren’t dressed for work had its advantages after all.

  Roberta relaxed a little. Even if it was him, he’d never recognize her. She turned her attention to the panelists only to discover Garnet had finished and was staring at her impatiently.

  She jumped up and introduced the hypno-therapist. During the spattering of applause, she noted the man at the back hadn’t spared her a glance. She sat down, relieved.

  Soon Roberta lost herself in the hypno-therapist’s comments on hypno-regression. Hypno-regression was a process whereby a hypnotist helped someone regain blocked or forgotten memories. In his investigations, Garnet often used it to help uncover the details of the commonly blocked experience of alien abduction. But what Roberta found disturbing was the woman’s contention that not only forgotten memories but forgotten fantasies could be recovered through hypnosis. The question was, of course, how did one distinguish between fantasy and true memory?

  The chemist’s talk about analysis of soil samples and vegetation growth patterns near UFO landing sites was more clinical, but certainly supported the society’s contention that aliens had been visiting Earth for centuries. The psychiatrist presented a number of common character traits among abductees, though he was careful to refrain from committing himself to a belief in UFOs or alien abductions.

  As usual, the question period included everything from scientific questions to descriptions of strange experiences thinly disguised as those of a “friend.” After fifteen minutes, Roberta cut it off, thanked the panelists, and reminded everyone of the lunchtime speaker.

  As the room emptied, Roberta packed papers into her briefcase. She had to get back to the conference office. At least two tracks of workshops ran throughout each day, and it was her job to ensure they proceeded without a hitch. There were a thousand details, each crucial to the success of the conference, and all lacking in glamor or recognition. Not that she cared, she reminded herself. But it would be nice once, just once, if someone noticed how much or how well she did her work. Perhaps one day she’d lead an investigation into a fascinating case of alien abduction. Then everything would be different. She visualized an attentive audience hanging on her every word as she outlined how she had doggedly pursued and proven every aspect of an extraterrestrial abduction.

  “Miss?”

  The mellow voice cut into her imaginings and set off a shudder of recognition. With great reluctance Rober
ta raised her head—and looked directly into the smiling black eyes of the man she knew she most wanted to avoid.

  “It’s . . . it’s Miss Vandenburg,” she stammered.

  The beginnings of a smile she didn’t think she was going to like played around the corners of the full, sensuous mouth she had noted earlier.

  “Can I help you?” She rushed on. “If it’s Dr. Jones you’d like to speak to, I can—”

  He didn’t let her finish. “I could have sworn you were my neighbor.” His eyes, a brown so rich and dark it appeared almost black, danced with laughter. “Bobbi, isn’t it?”

  The use of the childhood name she’d reverted to in her embarrassment this morning made her feel as if she were standing there in her tank top and boxers all over again. A flush raced up her neck.

  “No one calls me that any more,” she sputtered.

  “But you are the Bobbi I met this morning?” he persisted. “In your garden right beside mine? About four a.m.?”

  Roberta almost groaned aloud. “Yes,” she muttered. “Now, if you’d like I can—”

  “My name is Cody. Cody Walker.”

  He put out his hand. Roberta stared at it, then finally she reached forward. His tanned hand closed around hers, quickly and crisply, then released it.

  He bit his full lower lip. He was laughing at her again, damn him! Before she could say anything, he continued.

  “I’m a reporter with The Streeter. I’m attending the conference, but it’s really just a starting point for a series I plan to write about UFOs, aliens, and conspiracy theories.”

  Roberta’s sinking heart hit bottom. The Streeter! It was bad enough a newspaper reporter had caught her venting her frustrations. But a reporter from The Streeter, a paper that always played up the most sensational angles? She didn’t even want to think about what that might mean.