Tied up in Customs (The Department of Homeworld Security Book 4)

by Cassandra Chandler

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Dedication

  One

  Two

  Three

  Four

  Five

  Six

  Seven

  Eight

  Nine

  Ten

  Eleven

  Twelve

  Thirteen

  Fourteen

  A Note for the Reader

  About the Author

  Look for More Titles by Cassandra Chandler

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Dedication

  One

  Two

  Three

  Four

  Five

  Six

  Seven

  Eight

  Nine

  Ten

  Eleven

  Twelve

  Thirteen

  Fourteen

  A Note for the Reader

  About the Author

  Look for More Titles by Cassandra Chandler

  Tied up in Customs

  The Department of Homeworld Security

  Book Four

  Cassandra Chandler

  Copyright Page

  You are a good person! You know that stealing is wrong. Remember, eBooks can’t be shared or given away. It’s against copyright law. So don’t download books you haven’t paid for or upload books in ways other people can access for free. That would be stealing.

  And you’re better than that.

  This book is pure fiction. All characters, places, names, and events are products of the author’s imagination or used solely in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to any people, places, things, or events that have ever existed or will ever exist is entirely coincidental.

  Tied up in Customs

  The Department of Homeworld Security, Book Four

  Copyright © 2017 by Cassandra Chandler

  ISBN: 978-1-945702-23-5

  All Rights Reserved. No part of this book may be used, transmitted, or reproduced in any manner or form without written permission from the author, except for brief quotations used in critical articles and reviews.

  First eBook edition: June 2017

  cassandra-chandler.com

  P.O. Box 91

  Mission, Kansas 66201

  Dedication

  For Holly A.—an awesome Earthling.

  Chapter One

  “What is Brendan getting me into now?”

  Eric mumbled the words under his breath, scanning the diner as he pretended to read his menu. He made a mental note of the access points of the room—doors, windows—possible lines-of-sight for snipers, items that could hide threats. Everything was cataloged.

  Booths lined the seating area, and the central space was filled with a maze of tables. He had asked for a spot near the back wall, where he could easily see all the entrances and exits, as well as the patrons and staff.

  The diner didn’t use tablecloths, which helped his survey. And it wasn’t a place he visited often enough that it would be easy for anyone to predict him being there. Brendan had been very specific that he wanted to meet in this place, but had hedged about why. Which meant he was up to something.

  Once, he had roped Eric into being part of a zombie walk. Only once.

  Even though Brendan had made Eric swear he would be unarmed when they met, he’d still nearly dislocated a civilian’s shoulder trying to protect Brendan from what Eric perceived to be an attack. Brendan had thought it would be okay because zombies “weren’t real” and Eric “should have known it was just for fun, since it was his day off…”

  For a genius, the guy could be an idiot. Much like Eric was starting to feel.

  This was going to be another zombie walk. He just knew it. Especially since Brendan had once again made Eric swear to come unarmed. But if that’s what it took to get Brendan back to work on the communications array, so be it.

  Honestly, Eric kind of thought Brendan’s weirdo play-acting games were…fun. Not that he’d ever admit that to anyone.

  Eric was looking forward to this entirely too much. Maybe he did need to take more time off. He could even try to find someone who shared his interests.

  Let’s see, that would be protecting people, maintaining peace, finding a way to improve everyone’s standard of living without compromising what each specific country has achieved, understanding that I’m absolutely dedicated to my job…

  At least, he used to be.

  He and Brendan had been talking about Eric’s single-minded dedication to his job way more than an asset and handler should. Eric chalked it up to building a good rapport with Brendan, but they had come dangerously close to crossing into friend territory.

  Crap. They were totally friends.

  Eric should ask for a reassignment. Hell, maybe he should retire, like Brendan was threatening to. Find a job in the private sector. With the way his superiors were handling Brendan’s project, he might even be able to do more good there.

  Eric tossed the menu down on the table just as the door opened. His train of thought stopped when he saw the woman who entered the diner.

  Her skin gleamed a rich gold and her dark brown hair fell past her shoulders in thick locks. She was wearing an unbuttoned red-and-black checkered flannel shirt with the sleeves rolled up. Her forearms were corded with muscle. She had on a nondescript gray T-shirt underneath that was tucked into crisp jeans that hugged equally muscular legs. Her hips and chest looked soft and full, though.

  Eric shifted in his seat a bit, his mind already primed to be looking for…something. Even from across the room, he could see that her eyes were pale gray, clear and piercing.

  Her gaze landed first on the door to the kitchen, then slid across the open space between the dining area and the chefs, where they handed out food to the wait staff. Her glance briefly paused on the entrance to the hall that led to the bathrooms and again on the rear exit.

  She was surveying the room, like Eric had just been doing. She wasn’t even trying to be subtle about it, though. Eric leaned back in his chair, resting his hand in his lap for an easier draw—then remembered that he didn’t have a weapon.

  Shit.

  At least he had his handcuffs.

  She scanned the crowd, her gaze latching on to his with laser focus. And she smiled.

  Eric felt a tightness build in his chest. Not quite dread, but definitely anticipation.

  God, she was beautiful.

  She started to weave her way toward him, passing waitresses carrying plates filled with eggs and bacon. She stopped suddenly, her eyes going wide as she…sniffed the air. Outright sniffed it, like a hungry animal might.

  Beautiful and strange.

  Eric strained to make out her words through the jumble of noise in the busy diner as she spoke to a waitress.

  “What is that?”

  The waitress looked irked as she said, “The number seven special.”

  “Number seven special.”

  “It’s on the menu.” When the woman didn’t make any sign of moving out of the way, the waitress said, “Do you mind?”

  “If I minded your presence, I assure you that you’d know.” A near-feral smile twisted the woman’s full lips as she watched the waitress back away, then turn and take a different route to her destination.

  After a few moments, the woman headed toward Eric again, eyeing the plates of the other customers along the way. She stopped fairly close to him, standing in the empty pathway between the tables, hands at her sid
es.

  It would have been an innocuous pose, except for the way she kept her knees slightly bent and her weight evenly balanced on the balls of her feet—which were encased in black combat boots. From that stance, she could easily spring in any direction she needed.

  She held her fingers straight, palms toward him as if she was showing him that she was unarmed. It seemed an almost subconscious gesture, which unnerved him even more.

  His gut and his observations told him two things about her right away. She was dangerous and she was not local.

  “Eric Peterson,” she said.

  He waited a few moments before responding, trying to analyze how the situation might play out. He didn’t have enough data to form any theories. She obviously knew who he was, so he nodded.

  “And you are?”

  Her lips twitched up in a mysterious—and somehow taunting—smile.

  “Sorca.”

  “That’s it? Just Sorca?”

  Instead of elaborating, she lifted her arm and picked at her sleeve. “This is Brendan’s shirt. I wear it as proof of my…friendship with him.”

  What has Brendan roped me into this time?

  “And where is Brendan?” Eric asked.

  “Elsewhere. He wanted me to tell you that he’s safe.”

  “Why would he feel the need to let me know that?”

  “He said you would worry otherwise. I think he was also afraid you might eventually attack me if you were concerned for his safety.” She cast that feral smile at Eric, as if the idea delighted her. And waited.

  “I’m not… I’m not going to attack you in the middle of a diner,” Eric said.

  Her face fell. Was she insane? What kind of game was Brendan playing at, and who the hell had he invited to play?

  Sorca shrugged, and said, “I am also to give you this.”

  She started to reach for the pocket on the front of her shirt. Eric’s pulse spiked, his body tingling with adrenaline as he prepared to react, thinking of how to protect the civilians in the diner if she should draw a weapon.

  Even though he hadn’t moved, she froze, fingers extended again in that, “I come in peace” gesture, despite her seeming eagerness to fight. She kept her arms held out to her sides as she leaned forward.

  “Perhaps you would feel better if you retrieved the item yourself. It is in the left pocket of Brendan’s shirt.”

  Eric let out a sigh, a small bit of his tension leaving with it. He still kept himself absolutely ready for an attack as he carefully reached two fingers into her pocket for the piece of paper he could see within it. He did his best to ignore the heat from her body or the closeness of his hand to her breast.

  He pulled out the note and flicked it open, keeping her in his line of sight. The message was short and unhelpful.

  Eric, this is Sorca. I am safe, but our planet is not. Do as she says and she’ll bring you to me.

  Brendan

  P.S. Brown foxes like boxes more than oxes.

  Eric would have dismissed it immediately as one of Brendan’s games, except he ended it with one of the codes they had developed for covert communications—an official code meant to let each other know the message was authentic.

  Brendan knew he could only use this one once. Why would he waste it on a game?

  Talking to Sorca while she was standing next to the table was both awkward and drawing unwanted attention from the nearby patrons. Eric gestured to the empty chair across from him.

  “Will you join me?”

  One of her dark eyebrows hiked up her forehead. She stared at a plate sitting on a nearby table and licked her upper lip. Slowly.

  The tingling coating Eric’s skin turned from pre-fight adrenaline to a blasting heat that coalesced in his groin. If this had been part of a regular assignment—part of a mission—things could get very interesting between them. But this was one of Brendan’s games. Probably.

  Eric shoved away the physical reaction, not letting himself fully register the thoughts that were behind them—thoughts he couldn’t seem to stop, at least as long as he was looking at Sorca. Eating would probably help take his mind off of her .

  He slid his menu across the table to her as she sat, and said, “What’ll you have?”

  Her brow furrowed as she looked at the menu, cocking her head to the side. The smirk vanished from her lips as she studied it—holding it upside-down. Was she pretending that she couldn’t read?

  With a laugh, she shook her head and tossed the menu back across the table. “Whatever you plan to eat will be fine with me as well.”

  He flagged down a waitress, and said, “Two number sevens, please.”

  “Sure thing, handsome.” The waitress winked at him before walking away.

  “Her eye is spasming,” Sorca said. “Is she injured?”

  “That was a wink. She’s fine.”

  Sorca’s brow furrowed as she stared at him.

  “What?” he said.

  “You confirmed that you are Eric Peterson.”

  “I am.”

  “Then why did that woman call you ‘Handsome’?”

  “Ouch.”

  Eric chuckled and Sorca joined in—a few moments late.

  Pretending she couldn’t read and that she didn’t understand the word “handsome”? He decided to roll with it.

  “It’s a descriptive word,” he said. “It means she likes how I look.”

  “How you…” Sorca’s brow furrowed again as she glanced around the restaurant before her intense gaze settled back on him. “Your physical appearance. She appreciates your physical appearance.”

  “That’s one way of putting it.”

  Sorca leaned back in her chair, one eyebrow cocked as she cast her smirk at him. He had never been the subject of a brazen stare before. It was more unsettling than he expected.

  He sorted through the rules of the game. Sorca was acting the part of someone unfamiliar with local idioms and customs. There was an odd cadence to her speech—which seemed overly formal—but she didn’t have an accent that he could place. In fact, she didn’t seem to have any accent at all.

  She seemed eager to test herself against him physically. The combat boots and stance warned him not to underestimate her. And the muscles on her arms… He’d never seen such definition on a woman.

  Brendan had used one of their codes. Maybe this was some sort of military simulation game? He was heading into dangerous territory by bringing Sorca into it, if she wasn’t military. She could be someone from an associated project that Eric hadn’t met yet…

  A strange thrill jolted through him at the thought—half dread, half excitement. He needed more information. And the only way he was going to get it was to play along. He stared across the table at the mysterious woman with the devil-may-care smile.

  “You have hair on your face,” she said.

  He felt his jaw drop open. He snapped it shut, started to speak, then shut his mouth again.

  He had training to cover any number of cultural differences. He knew six languages, twenty ways to take down an armed opponent without hurting them, many more ways to do so with…different results. But none of his scenarios, none of his experience, came anywhere close to this woman. The energy she put off was completely alien to him.

  “Brendan also has hair on his face,” Sorca said. “And another male I know who has been staying in this area for a time. Is this considered handsome?”

  Another “male”?

  “It depends on your taste,” Eric said.

  “Hmm. I think I like it.” She leaned an elbow on the table, craning her neck to look at the rest of his body. Her gaze heated. “Handsome, indeed.”

  “Thanks.” Under his breath, he added, “I think.”

  If this was her idea of flirting, it was the strangest, most aggressive conversation he’d ever had.

  Flirting… Oh, no.

  His stomach sank. Was Brendan trying to set Eric up on a date?

  It didn’t matter if that’s what it was. That w
as not happening. Even if Sorca was the most gorgeous woman he’d ever seen. Who also gave off an aura of being able to handle herself in a fight. Maybe even combat. She could be ex-military…

  Her behavior was too bizarre for her to be a foreign operative. But there was definitely something not local about her. Like really not local.

  She wasn’t among the list of Brendan’s eccentric friends that Eric had read about during Brendan’s background check. Someone new, then. And this was someone Brendan thought would be a good match for Eric?

  That theory seemed to be the most plausible. He would have to find a way to let her down easy.

  Chapter Two

  Such a fascinating Earthling.

  Sorca gazed at the handsome male sitting across from her. His eyes were brown with a gold tinge, his hair much the same, but his facial hair was darker.

  She struggled to call up the words for facial hair. A…bear and mustache. Yes, those were the words. Probably.

  Her cultural indoctrination session had been interesting. Her brain was rejecting more and more of the Coalition’s subconscious programming, rebelling against the intrusion. Or maybe she’d been cloned so many times that her brainwaves were getting tired of the constant overwriting.

  She seemed to lose a little more of herself each time her mind was mapped onto a newly grown body—after her previous one was killed. She wondered if the most recent batch of genetic engineers would keep trying to make more of her or just finally let her be purged.

  The mental blocks to their programming might be tied to the extreme physical strength her Cygnian DNA gave her. She’d never know at this point, and didn’t really care to spend additional time learning more about herself.

  But this human… She would like to learn more about him.

  The waitress had already taken their order, and returned with plates bearing foods unlike anything Sorca had ever seen. Two white nebulas with burning orange-star centers. They were beautiful. Triangles made up of some sort of compressed sand sat next to them, along with strips of a wavy brown substance that gave off the most amazing scent she had ever encountered.