Trouble In Mind (Interstellar Rescue Series Book 2)

by Donna S. Frelick

  “…(Trouble in Mind) skillfully blends alien abduction conspiracies, political intrigue, space battles, and epic romance into a psychic police procedural that also packs an emotional punch.” – Publishers Weekly

  “If you are a fan of Star Trek, Firefly, The X-Files then you will love the world that Ms Frelick has created, and of course want more of it too!” – Nerd Girl Official

  “…a gripping story packed with plenty of action, suspense and science-fiction-style creativity.” – RT Book Reviews

  Books by Donna S. Frelick

  The Interstellar Rescue Series:

  Unchained Memory

  Trouble in Mind

  TROUBLE

  IN MIND

  By

  Donna S. Frelick

  This book is a work of fiction. Any references to historical events, real people, or places are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places, and events are products of the author’s imagination, and any resemblance to actual events or places or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  Copyright © 2016 Donna S. Frelick

  All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form whatsoever. For information address INK’d Press at inkdpress@gmail.com.

  First INK’d Press edition February 2016.

  ISBN-13: 978-0692460955

  ISBN-10: 0692460950

  To the far-seeing children of both past and future.

  Fear not, for your courage can vanquish all monsters.

  CHAPTER ONE

  Nashville, Tennessee, Earth, Sector Three

  A phone buzzed, intruding in the intimacy of the darkened living room. Alana struggled to escape the languid embrace of her companion. “That’s mine.”

  “Don’t answer it.” Mark’s voice was a breathy murmur in her ear.

  “You know I have to.” She wriggled in his grasp. “I’m on call this weekend.”

  “Oh, hell.” He exhaled, letting her go. “Probably just some 7-11 robbery that skipped over the state line.”

  She reached for the cell, confirmed the display read “FBI Nashville.” “Matheson.”

  “Hey, Lana, this is Cheryl in Dispatch. I’ve got Sheriff Thomas Radford of Cheatham County on the line. Says he has a kidnapping.”

  Lana felt a swift kick of adrenaline as she went into professional mode. “Put him through.” She made signs for a pencil and paper. Mark grabbed them off the kitchen counter. “Sheriff?”

  “Well, look who drew the short straw tonight.” Radford’s drawl was deep and familiar. “At least I won’t have to break in somebody new.”

  “After all we’ve been through together, Tom?” A meth bust. A nasty porn ring. “You ought to be tired of me. Dispatch said something about a kidnapping?”

  “Yep, looks like it. Details are a little hinky, though. I’ll fill you in when you get to the scene.”

  “Works for me. Tell me where you are.” She wrote down the directions, then ended the call.

  Mark almost looked sober. “I’ll go with you.”

  Jamisky was an experienced agent, but Lana declined. “Two martinis and wine with dinner, Mark. Besides, you know Ballard is going to stick me with the kid as soon as this is logged in.”

  “Shit, the boss still has you babysitting that rookie?”

  “Somebody has to do it.” Lana moved to her bedroom to change out of her date-night clothes into something more appropriate to a rural crime scene. Mark was at her back as soon as the dress hit the floor, his hands warm on the bare skin of her shoulders. She leaned into him, tolerating his kiss on her neck, but she couldn’t suppress a tiny flare of annoyance. Her mind was already on the job ahead.

  “I could wait around. Save something for you.” He pressed against her, making it clear what would be there for her when she got back.

  She turned into him and forced a smile. “It’ll probably be a long night, babe.” She gave him a quick kiss and pulled back.

  He watched her as she finished getting dressed and tamed her unruly blond curls into a disciplined French twist. “Ever thought about giving all this up, Lana? Taking on a normal lifestyle?”

  She didn’t even spare him a glance as she sat to lace up her hiking boots. “Do I look like the desperate-housewife type?”

  “No, you look like the desperate-agent type. You let these cases get to you—the murders, the kidnappings. You take them personally. If I was the Supervisory Special Agent around here, you’d only be allowed to use that famous intuition on white-collar crime.”

  She shrugged into her shoulder holster and kept her mouth shut. She refused to apologize for loving her job.

  She pulled her Glock 23 down from its spot on the shelf, loaded it and slipped it into the holster. Then she scooped up some extra ammo, threw it into her bag with her credentials and her cell phone and turned to go.

  Mark frowned at her from his post against the doorjamb. “Now you’re mad.”

  She closed the distance between them and brushed her lips over his. “No. Just grumpy at having to go out. Call you later?”

  He smiled a little. “If I don’t answer, it’s because I’ve found somebody else to occupy my time.”

  She grabbed his crotch and gave him a squeeze. “Y’all have fun.”

  Purple night was gathering in the hollows as Lana and her partner rounded the bend in Highway 70 and saw the little store that was the staging area for the investigation. Cars filled the cramped gravel parking lot in front of Dalton’s Market and lined the curve on that side of the road. She pulled off the opposite roadside and parked her FBI-issue Chevy sedan behind a State Police car.

  Her nerves hummed with anticipation. Catching a major case on complaint duty had made her night. She felt a brief flutter of regret over Mark, but it didn’t last. Anyway, if she had any sense, she’d be looking outside the Bureau for dating material. Way outside. Like maybe Mars.

  Her partner sat up in the passenger seat and yawned. “Looks like the locals are having a party. I bet the scene’s a freakin’ mess.”

  Rick Mason was still on probation, fresh out of Quantico. He had a lot to learn, and Lana was tired of teaching him.

  “You forget I’m a local, too, rookie.” She’d grown up around Nashville, spent hours on the back roads of Middle Tennessee. She was the reason a man like Tom Stafford could call the Feds for help without choking.

  The kid rubbed a hand across his buzz cut. “I didn’t mean—”

  “Just follow me and pay attention.” Lana grabbed her creds and cell phone and led Mason across the road to the store. Inside, in a cluttered space that smelled of country ham and coffee, she found the controlled chaos of a police command center: State Police, sheriff’s deputies, fire and rescue squad volunteers, a couple of suits with Tennessee Bureau of Investigation badges, store personnel and one guy who looked like he’d been worked over pretty good—the victim who’d been left behind to tell the tale. No media yet, though, thank God.

  A tall, beefy redhead in a brown uniform separated himself from the group. He grinned and stuck out a hand.

  “Good to see you again, Lana.”

  She answered the grin and took his hand. “Hey, Tom. This is my partner, Rick Mason.” She waited for the nods and handshakes to be done before she asked, “So where are we?”

  Radford handed her a clipboard with the preliminary report. “Victim, Dr. Ethan Roberts, found wandering along the road just outside the store here, injured and mentally altered. No phone, no ID. Folks called 911. EMTs called our office when the guy finally remembered what happened, at around 4:47 p.m.”

  Lana glanced from the rep
ort to the battered man on the stretcher in the corner of the room. “Altered how?”

  “Couldn’t remember any details about what had happened to him until the EMTs got here. He’d been hit in the head bad enough to have been unconscious for at least an hour. Should be in the hospital, but he wouldn’t let us take him.”

  Ah, hell. Her heart contracted as she read further. “His wife and child were taken?”

  Radford nodded. “TBI Crime Lab is already at the river where he says they were attacked, but there were at least four or five vehicles down there today. Not unusual in the summer. Lots of folks use that area as access to the river. We’re canvassing for witnesses. Nothing yet. My guys found what looks to be his car about two miles from there. Torched.”

  “He’s got a lot of blood on him.” She kept her voice steady. “All of it his?”

  “Haven’t gotten that far.”

  “We’ll need his clothes, samples. Think he’ll agree without a warrant?”

  Lana saw sympathy on the sheriff’s ruddy face. “Whatever happened down there, I don’t think he’s part of it. I think he’ll agree to just about anything if it’ll help.”

  “Okay. Amber Alert?”

  “Yep. He’s given us pictures of his wife and son.”

  Lana turned to her partner. “Rick, you stay with the locals putting in the Alert. Call it in to HQ and provide whatever help they need. I’m going to talk to our man.”

  Disappointment crossed Mason’s youthful features before he nodded and followed the sheriff. Lana turned to look at the man she would be interviewing.

  The two black eyes, the busted lip and the bruises on his face made it difficult to imagine what he actually looked like, but the strong jaw and the cleft in his chin were still visible. Maybe he’d started the day out a handsome man, maybe late thirties, early forties. Despite his injuries, he had fought back—his knuckles were scraped and bruised. They’d finally had to hit him from behind to take him down.

  The real question was why they hadn’t just killed him outright. She knew the usual answer, though she hated it. Whoever had done this wanted him alive to come up with the goods. The wife and son were just the collateral. The thought of the boy, only six years old, defenseless and terrified, brought old panic screaming up from where she kept it hidden. She shoved it back down and went to work.

  The man lay propped up on the stretcher, the IV still counteracting his dehydration. “Dr. Roberts?”

  He opened his swollen lids, revealing bloodshot blue eyes.

  “I’m Special Agent Alana Matheson of the FBI, here to help with the investigation.” She showed him her credentials. “I have a few questions for you, if you’re up to it.”

  He nodded. “Have they found anything?”

  “We’re doing everything we can. Can you remember anything about the men who attacked you? What they looked like? The vehicle they left in?”

  Roberts exhaled slowly and closed his eyes again. “I’ve tried. I don’t remember anything beyond being at the river with Asia and Jack this morning. I asked for a blood test. I think they may have drugged me.”

  “Before or after hitting you in the back of the head?”

  “After. I think I was out a long time—longer than the head injury accounts for.”

  “Interesting theory. What kind of doctor are you again?”

  He looked at her, his gaze sharp despite his puffy lids. “A psychiatrist.”

  She smiled. “So you would know, huh, Doc?”

  “Yeah. I would.”

  “How long do you estimate you were out?”

  A muscle jumped in his jaw. “At least two hours, maybe longer.”

  She stared at him. “Damn. That’s quite a head start. Did you tell the sheriff this?”

  “I tried. Not sure he believed me.”

  She turned to look for her partner. “Hey, Rick!”

  “Yo!”

  She moved her head to bring Mason over. “Dr. Roberts says he thinks he was out at least two hours, maybe more, down by the river. By the time he hiked all the way up here, the perps were probably gone with Asia and Jack for three-four hours. They may even be out of state by now. We need to expand the search net.”

  Mason nodded. “I’m on it.”

  “Doctor, if you want to help your wife and your son, you have to be honest with me. Can you think of any reason why someone would want to hurt you by taking Asia and Jack?”

  Roberts looked at her for a long moment, and in his face she saw anger flicker and be extinguished. “No.”

  “Do you owe anyone money? Are you involved with drugs or gambling?” She asked the questions, but somehow she couldn’t believe this man would answer yes. He was too self-possessed, his emotions too tightly controlled. If he was into anything like that, he was in deep and at the top. Psychiatry wasn’t the usual cover career.

  “Why ask me these questions again, Agent Matheson, when you know if I was involved I’d lie? You’ll be looking into my background anyway.”

  “And what will I find when I look into your background, Doctor?”

  “Nothing that will help you find my wife and son.” He was growling now, everything about him showing anger and bone-deep fatigue. “This is not about drugs, or loan sharks or my first wife, who is dead, by the way, or my wife’s ex-husband, who she hasn’t seen in maybe five years.”

  “All right.” The more questions the man answered, the more issues he seemed to raise. “What about your patients? Any of them crazy enough to want to hurt you?”

  He appeared to consider it, but at last the question seemed to defeat him. “I don’t think any of my patients are capable of this. They’re harmless neurotics, not dangerous psychopaths.”

  Lana let the silence hang between them for a moment. “Everything all right between you and your wife, Dr. Roberts?”

  His reaction was immediate—but it wasn’t the outrage she expected. He closed his eyes and drew in a quick breath, his face frozen in a mask of pain. Unable to hide his misery, Ethan Roberts simply lay on that stretcher and tried to breathe. Lana found it damn hard to watch.

  At last he opened his eyes to look at her, and she saw nothing but truth. “I love my wife, Agent Matheson. I would have died to protect her and my son, if I could have. She loves me; she wouldn’t have left me. She and my son were taken. Tell me you can bring them back.”

  Lana looked at Roberts’ battered face and thought maybe Mark had been right about her. Because this hunt had just become more than a case. For no reason she could explain, it had become personal.

  Xorinxe Spaceport, Savagne Planetary Governance, Sector 13

  Gabriel Cruz stood in the understated luxury of the XEX Corporation lobby, the sweat trickling down his spine the only outward sign that he did not belong there. His visitor’s badge had already survived examination at the security desk, helped along by a discreet pass over the guard’s mind. Gabriel knew he couldn’t blend in here. Whatever impression he made while he waited for his client had to be the right one. He’d made sure his clothing showed plenty of credits and class; his face wouldn’t show up on any criminal databases, so he was just vain enough to consider his dark good looks a valuable asset.

  Outside, past ten centimeters of clear, protective trans-steel, Savagne’s incessant wind howled. The phosphorescent sand lifted off the dunes and rode the swirling gusts, painting the night sky in riotous color. Those winds, the scouring sands—that was the reality of this planet, not the pampered life XEX had made possible beneath the environmental domes and the planet surface. Something in Gabriel that wouldn’t be tamed watched the raging desert and howled along with it.

  The elevator chimed its arrival from the lower levels, and Gabriel turned to meet his client at last. Martin Blake was a smallish human, nearing middle-age, hardly impressive. Yet Gabriel knew if this unassuming genius escaped the planet tonight as planned, the biggest corporate giant in the quadrant would wake in the morning to find its golden-egg-laying goose missing.

  He me
t Blake halfway across the lobby with a big grin and a firm handshake. “Martin! Good to see you again. When was the last time—that nanovirals conference on Prena, wasn’t it?” He sent a subtler message directly to the communication centers of Blake’s brain. Easy now. Remember the plan. We’re colleagues, remember? This is a social call. Go through your usual checkout. I’ll handle the guard.

  The guard monitored them closely, suspicious that the employee under his watch might attempt to pass sensitive material on to this “friend.” Gabriel backed off to a proper distance and urged Blake forward.

  “Yes, uh, excuse me just a minute, John.” Blake indicated the guard. “I’ve got to check out.”

  “Oh, sure, sure. Do whatever you need to.” Gabriel sauntered up behind him while the checkout proceeded, appearing only to be ready to follow his friend through the exit gate.

  At the last minute he laid a casual hand on the guard’s arm. “You don’t need me for anything do you?” He sent a light suggestion through the man’s mind, erasing the details of his face and name. In minutes, the guard would not be able to recall his presence at all.

  The guard shook his head as his eyes glazed over.

  Gabriel guided his man through the gilded doors leading out into the dome. “Let’s go.”

  Stealing Blake from right under the nose of the CEO of XEX had been the easy part. Keeping him safe from Chairman Xe, who’d come out of Savagne’s desert and had all the instincts of his sandcrawler ancestors, would be a different matter.

  Like XEX Corporate, the workplaces and playgrounds of the elite sat on a broad thoroughfare around the outer rim of the dome, each claiming a wedge of stark desert view above and multiple levels below ground. But Gabriel sought fewer lights on a street less traveled. He ducked into a dusty alleyway and led his lamb across the less-fortunate center of the dome. No place inside the domes was truly wretched, but behind the restaurants and prosperous businesses, the garbage still stank and the shadows were thick enough to hide in.