He tensed and for a moment froze her with a long, taut silence. Clearly, Cade had to force himself to speak, and when he did, his pain made her ache for him.
“Slaves are kept weak by Jamar and his ilk.” Carefully he set her sculpture down.
She’d heard pitches before, but never with such desperate sincerity. Either he believed this slavery business was real—or worse, it was real. But it couldn’t be real. That would be outrageous. How committed was he to his delusion? “Why do you want to open a portal from Rama to Earth?”
“Lack of salt keeps the slaves weak. I plan to extract salt from your oceans and send it back to my world.”
She recalled his licking the salt from his lips when he’d first recovered from his fall and his satisfied smile. He’d even asked how she’d gotten the salt into her ocean. His statement about being weak certainly made no sense at all. “You don’t look weak to me.”
He looked like a Greek God. Fit. Fabulous. Noble.
“We planned this journey for years. And my friends, and other rebels, sacrificed their salt just so I would have a chance to make things better.”
“How will you make things better?”
He arched a brow as if she was being dense. “I’ll engage the portal and send sea salt back to Rama. The salt will make us strong. Free us.”
Oh, this was just insane. “To free your people from slavery, you want to take our salt?”
“I don’t intend to steal it. The substance is so plentiful on your world that I’m sure we can reach a trade agreement.”
He had it all figured out, seemed to have every angle covered. Was that why she was inclined to believe him? Or had he brainwashed her? Come on, Shara. Poke holes in his story. “Oceans cover seventy-five percent of Earth’s surface. As you’ve noticed, there’s no shortage of salt there, but I only have a little here. So why did you come to my asteroid?”
“Synchronous orbit and Lamenium.”
“Huh?”
His expression stilled, his lips tightened in a serious tension. “I must build the portal at a spot equidistant between the Earth’s poles and the equator to create a proper balance. Then, the Lamenium that’s left inside your asteroid will power the portal.”
“But the Lamenium is almost gone. That’s why the mine was abandoned.”
He shook his head. “The mine was abandoned because it was no longer profitable. Our sensors indicate there’s still enough Lamenium left to power the portal for centuries.”
She eyed him with suspicion. “So tell me, Mr. Alien Spaceman—”
“Cade.” He repeated his name through gritted teeth.
“How did you fool our long range scanners? How did you sneak past the U.S. Space Force, the new Hubble telescope, UNASA, and the UNSA? Surely one of our agencies must have seen you violate our solar system?”
Cade waved his hand, a dismissive gesture of their defense systems. “Our technology’s superior. We cloak our ships.”
Her nerves tensed, determined to poke holes in his preposterous story. “So this Jamar, the guy who shot up my home, is he also from Rama?”
“Yes. He’ll try to stop me from building the portal.”
“Why?”
Cade showed no sign of backing down from his story. As he spoke his eyes flashed with resentment. “Jamar’s social class on Rama enjoy all the advantages of the current status quo. Their luxurious lifestyle requires them to keep my people sick and helpless and dependent on the salt that they control. We are literally slaves. On Rama, salt is rationed. There is never enough for all . . . so we searched for a planet where the supply was great.”
She fought her natural inclination of sympathy, fought her attraction to the sparkle in his eyes and the tender sadness in his voice when he spoke of his people’s plight.
She raised her chin and locked gazes with him. “Do you have one shred of proof that you are who you claim?”
Disappointment flickered in his eyes. “I had the verification you seek on my spacecraft.”
How convenient for him that his only proof was gone, but she refrained from pointing out the obvious. “You speak English on Rama?”
“After capturing your entertainment signals, I taught myself your customs as well as English.”
“Why not Russian or Chinese?”
“Haven was always my primary destination, and besides, your people use English for space communications to navigate the solar system.”
“You did all that research yet you know nothing about me?”
“While I was still on Rama, the research was confined to data our scientific instruments could gather. I only had access to your language and customs during the journey here when I got closer and could pick up your communication signals.”
“How long did your journey take?”
“A year.”
She took a deep breath and altered her line of thinking. “So your plan, before Jamar shot you down, was to come here and . . . ?”
“Buy the asteroid,” he said matter-of-factly.
“If I refused to sell?”
“I assumed you would accept an offer for more than the going price. You need only go somewhere else and make a new life.”
Make a life? What a joke. Over the years Shara had met many handsome men. None had interested her. The stabbing loss from her past had yet to lessen. But, like having a bad back, she’d learned to live with the constant ache and the deep throbbing agony that penetrated straight to her soul.
She could never forget that the entire tragedy could have been prevented if she’d listened to her best friend Jules’s psychic vision.
Oh God!
Another memory flooded back. Another warning from Jules. A ridiculous warning or so she’d thought. What had her friend told her exactly?
Something about danger. A mission. So long ago. Back then she’d been in deep mourning—but Jules’s prediction of a man coming to Shara from the sky had sounded so dire, so strange, so haunting, that the sudden need to find the recording from that session burned through Shara.
She’d learned the hard way that failing to believe in Jules was unwise. Her past unwillingness to listen had already cost her too much. She could hardly ignore an earlier prediction that seemed to be coming true, no matter how bizarre.
Lifting her chin, Shara met Cade’s direct gaze and ignored the questions in his eyes or the heat that warmed her from his glance. “How long before Jamar returns?”
Cade shrugged. “Not before midday tomorrow.”
“You’re certain?”
“Yes.”
“In that case,” she said, struggling to keep from rudely rushing to the privacy of her room to find that recording, “I’m going upstairs. The guest room’s down the hall. If you’re hungry, help yourself to whatever you find in the kitchen.”
“What about you?” he asked, his expression concerned.
“There’s something I have to do.” She turned, glanced over her shoulder at him, sensing he wanted to follow. “Something I need to do alone.”
5
During the time that Shara’s mind had been hazy with grief, shock, and the loss of Bruce, she’d recorded her sessions with Jules. It took twelve tries before Shara found the session she wanted.
After opening the correct vid file, she leaned back onto her bed, closed her eyes, and let Jules’s mesmerizing and alarming voice take her back to that day.
Many psychics used crystals to help them focus, but Jules employed her outdoor patio, the sound of the ocean, the palm trees in the breeze, the birds that nested around her yard—and oddly enough, the whir of her serving robot Clarence, his metal skull sporting a palm-frond hat.
Of Hawaiian descent, Jules’s ancestors had migrated to New L.A. after volcanic eruptions had destroyed their island home. She tied back her dark hair in a thick braid. That day Jules had worn an old T-shirt with a picture of a red-and-blue feathered parrot, threadbare jeans, and pink beaded flip-flops. Thin, tanned, and physically fit from surfing, she’d picked up
a plate of cookies, and her brown eyes urged Shara to eat one of her delicious chocolate chip marvels.
“I’ve had a very strong vision about you.” Jules set down the cookies, took a seat beside Shara, and sipped from her glass of sweet tea. Her cat, Kapuna, leaped into her lap, curled, and settled.
“And?” Shara prodded.
“It’s so strange . . . that I hesitate to tell you more.”
“But?”
“The urgency that came with this vision . . . won’t let me keep silent.”
If Jules saw a vision to help someone, she didn’t hold back. Shara leaned forward to make sure she didn’t miss any of Jules’s words. “Tell me.”
“You’ll meet a stranger, a man who will fall out of the sky.”
“Fall from the sky? Seriously?” Ever since Shara had disregarded her advice, inadvertently causing Bruce’s death, Shara hadn’t dared to ignore her friend’s predictions. She adjusted her attitude. “Continue.”
“You know I rarely see the big picture. This time I only have three flashes.”
“I’m listening.”
“First, he’ll tell you his outrageous mission—one you won’t believe.”
“Great.” Shara bit into her cookie and allowed the chocolate to soothe her. “You’re going to have me believing every crazy person I meet. It’s a good thing I left Hollywood—everyone there is nuts.”
Jules grinned and then grew serious once more. “Second, only you have the power to stop his mission, and it’s vital that you do.”
Shara’s stomach lurched, and she prayed that this was one of Jules’s false predictions. Some flashes never panned out. Others were preventable due to Jules’s foreknowledge.
“And third?”
“This man will find you extremely attractive. Use your wits and your beauty to stop him.”
“Stop him from what? Completing his mission?”
“I don’t know.” Jules had shaken her head.
They’d never spoken about the stranger again. It had been four years ago, and Shara had forgotten the conversation until Cade’s appearance had jogged the memory.
Gut deep fear had her shaking.
Another of Jules’s visions could be coming true.
Oh, God. Her breath was like slicing razors in her chest. She had no idea what to do. The idea of stopping Cade had her panicked.
Shara went to her go-to person. She opened a vidlink to Jules. Her friend answered immediately, but on privacy mode, so Shara only heard her voice and couldn’t see her. “I’m in the tub. What’s up?”
“Remember that vision where you warned me about a man falling from the sky?”
“Yes.”
“Well, he’s here.” Shara filled in Jules, then asked, “So have you had any more visions about him?”
“Nope. As far as I know, you’re still supposed to stop him.”
Shara’s stomach knotted, and her mouth went dry. “But Jules, he says wants to open a portal to free slaves.”
“For all we know he wants to open the portal so Rama can invade Earth and make us the slaves. What’s scary is that I can’t tell you more. He could send anything through that portal. An invading army of robots. Electromagnetic bombs. A deadly virus.”
“I feel so much better now.”
“Sorry.” Jules sighed. “The possibilities are endless. And I’m not always correct. Why don’t you call the authorities?”
“Who would believe me? Sane people don’t believe in aliens.”
“Most people don’t believe in psychics, either. That doesn’t mean I don’t exist. Call the UNFBI.”
“Thank you. No. I lost faith in the authorities when they arrested me for murder.”
“You fired the bullets that killed your husband,” Jules muttered. “What did you think was going to happen? They did eventually figure out it wasn’t you who switched the blanks in that gun for real bullets.”
“The law didn’t figure out anything. They read a confession in a costume designer’s suicide note.”
“I know, sweetie, but this is different.” The sound of water splashing from Jule’s bath reached her. “We aren’t talking about murder fueled by a jealous bitch, but—”
“They can’t get a murder investigation right, and you have faith they can be trusted with the entire fate of mankind.”
Shara knew one thing for certain. She most certainly didn’t want the responsibility of stopping . . . Cade. Just the thought of going up against his kind of determination made her tremble.
“Come see me in person so I can do another reading. And never forget—our knowledge of the future can alter the outcome.”
Shara added a second pillow behind her head. “All right. I’ll see you soon. In the meantime I think the best thing for me to do is pretend to help Cade—until we know more.”
“Sounds like a plan. Just be careful. Love you.”
“Love you, too.”
6
A knock on her door interrupted Shara’s thoughts. “Yes?”
Cade turned the knob, shoved open her door with his foot, a tray balanced in his hands, and her heart rate accelerated. “I thought you could use some nourishment.”
Shara hadn’t been hungry, but at the scent of eggs, toast, and crisp bacon, her stomach unknotted. She scooted over on the bed to make room for the tray. “You made breakfast foods for dinner?”
“Sorry. I’m unfamiliar with your ingredients and thought I should start with something simple.”
Wow! There was nothing sexier than a guy who knew how to cook. She was caught up by the deliciousness of having a man serve her food in her bedroom. He was so much better on the eyes than her robo-cook. With his hair tousled and his color back, he looked yummier than the food. The thought of tasting that spot on his neck where his pulse throbbed brought her up short.
Looking at him might be a pleasure, but that was the one thing she shouldn’t do. Focus on the food. She sniffed a combination of savory scents. “Did you fry up onions and put them in the eggs?”
“And I added cheese.” He sounded totally satisfied. “We don’t have cheese on Rama. I found it quite good. Salty.”
He’d brought one plate, one glass of juice. She raised an eyebrow. “You already ate?”
“I experimented and tasted a bit, before I cooked for you.” He sat on the bed, hesitated, then admitted, as if he’d done something wrong, “I sprinkled extra salt on my food.”
“I told you to eat what you liked.” She took a bite of the fluffy eggs, and a mix of delicate flavors melted in her mouth. “Delicious.”
“Thanks.” He seemed as pleased by her compliment as by her willingness to share her salt. Looking out her window, he took in the view. With the early evening storm long gone, the full moon had risen, and moonlight glinted through the opening. His voice, deep and dark and sinfully rich, soothed her ragged nerves. “It’s difficult to imagine an entire ocean saturated with salt. Even though I knew before I came here, even though I almost drowned in your sea, so much salt boggles the mind.”
“Are you a chef on Rama?”
“One of my brothers was the chef until—” His voice broke.
She paused her fork in midair. With him sitting beside her on the bed, the setting was intimate. From the dark shadows in his eyes it was as if she had a private glimpse into hell. He’d frozen and didn’t make another sound. But his obvious pain was like a cold shock that made her shiver. “Until?”
“A salt shortage in the kitchen where he worked was blamed on him.”
Her food forgotten, the fork slipped through her fingers. “He was fired?”
“His employer sent him for . . . reeducation.” Cade’s hands closed into fists, his tone turned raw and lowered into a furious hiss. “They wiped his memory.”
“What do you mean?” Her throat closed, and she put her hand over his fist. The tension in him sizzled into her hands and up her arm. A few hours ago, she would have snapped at him, challenged him, but now, she wanted to stroke him, ease his p
ain.
Cade’s eyes bore into hers. “After reeducation, he forgot his entire life. His memories were gone. He even had to relearn how to talk, how to walk. All his previous schooling, years of studying to become a chef were taken from him.”
She ran her hand up and down his forearm, aware that his brother’s mind wipe was agony for him. It made her sad to see him in such pain. “I’m so sorry.”
“A week later, the new kitchen robo-maid found the missing salt behind a jar of jelly.”
“They couldn’t undo what had been done,” she guessed, her compassion an unwelcome reminder of how connected she already was to him. No matter how she reminded herself that his entire story might be a lie to win her sympathy, it didn’t stop his pain from hitting her hard.
“It’s been five years since my brother’s reeducation, and he’ll never regain his memories. He doesn’t remember playing ball with me as a child. He doesn’t remember our pet Banti. He doesn’t remember our deceased parents. He was just learning to read again when I left. During the years he couldn’t work, he lost his home. His wife left him and took the children. My former brother is gone. The new one is . . . another man.”
Cade didn’t look pissed. His anger was deeper. Frozen. Raw.
The scent of his distress, his loss, slapped her. But she was determined not to surrender herself to his need.
As much as she longed to comfort him, she didn’t. She already had Bruce’s blood on her hands, already had been a pawn in someone else’s murderous game. This time her faith in Jules wouldn’t falter. According to Jules, she had to stop him. She couldn’t risk the consequences if she didn’t stop him.
Not that derailing Cade’s plan would be easy. He was so passionate about his cause. So determined and strong. Anyone with half a heart would feel for him.
Knowing she would find it easier to stop him if she kept him at an emotional distance, she removed her hand from his arm and tried to shut down her feelings. “We have many injustices here, too.”
Lunar Heat: 1 (The Heat Series) Page 4