Beyond : Series Bundle (9781311505637)

by Miller, Maureen A.

  A dimple flashed in his cheek. “I’m saying that your knowledge and ideas are advanced no matter where you are.”

  Aimee busted out laughing. “Oh Lord, you’re so full of it.” She laughed again and tugged on his shirt, drawing him towards the stairs.

  After a lengthy tour, they stopped in the cafeteria for lunch.

  “Pulled pork.” Zak frowned at his plate. “And you protested against eating sumpum?”

  “Everyone around here eats barbeque, but I’ll confess, I could live on macaroni and cheese alone.” She pointed her straw at the creamy yellow pile. “That’s this stuff. Try it. We’re having it again for dinner.”

  Zak stuck a forkful in his mouth and nodded. “Yeah,” he swallowed, “much better than pulled pork.”

  Lining the painted concrete walls were a series of monitors. The closest display caught Zak’s attention. “What are they doing?” he asked.

  Aimee followed his glance and chuckled. “Interesting that you would pick that to watch. That is called Formula-1 racing. I’m surprised they are even televising it here. Notice all the other monitors show the larger box-like vehicles? That is called NASCAR and it’s very popular in this state.”

  “I like this one,” he pointed at the sleek racing car shaped like a hammerhead shark. “A tight, open cockpit with barely enough room for your elbows. It kind of reminds me of Zari— my ship, not my sister.”

  Sitting back, Aimee mused, “You would slay those guys.”

  “Slay? These vehicles battle? They have lasers?”

  “No, no. It’s a figure of speech. They are racing, and I’m just saying you would beat them.”

  “Oh,” Zak reclined and winked. “Then yes...I would slay them.”

  Chapter Eight

  Eyes locked in a silent duel across the counter, Raja kept her chin raised. Staring at this man did not make her uncomfortable. Normally, if a male made eye contact with her for too long she would habitually avert her gaze. But such was not the case with Craig Buchanan. There was a level of comfort with him that soothed her. She was no fool, though. She recognized that he represented the law—that he was a threat. And yet, in his presence she felt remarkably safe. Safe, and off balance.

  “In answer to your unvoiced question,” Craig cleared his throat, “No, I have not received the results from my lab yet on that substance from the barn. “They’ll probably—”

  She stiffened.

  “What?” Immediately, he became alert.

  “I—I thought I heard something.”

  She definitely heard something, but clearly he did not, so she tried to downplay it.

  Even now she could see the transformation occur. One second ago, he was on the verge of loosening. Now, he was a well-honed creature, tense and ready to attack—no—protect. This man sought to protect her. She would have smiled at the notion if she didn’t hear the sound of advancing footsteps.

  Step. Step. Step. A long pause. Step. Step. Another long pause—long enough to make her uncertain she had not just imagined it. Step. Step. Crunch. STEP.

  “Someone is walking towards the house.”

  Craig’s hand dropped to his back and returned with his gun. In an instant he launched from the counter, standing aside the dining room window. With reflexes that fast, maybe he was from another planet too.

  “Move out of view.” He motioned towards the archway into the kitchen.

  The urgency in his husky voice had her scrambling.

  “I don’t hear anything,” he whispered, searching her face in the shadows.

  Step. Pause. Step.

  “It’s not—” Listen, Raja. “It’s—circling around the back of the house.”

  Craig raised his weapon level with the top sash. He shot an incredulous look back at her. “How do you know that? Are you sure?”

  A slight heft of her eyebrows must have convinced him. Craig took a final glance outside and then shoved off the wall to join her.

  “We are going to talk about this later,” he whispered the threat, but she could tell that he believed her. “Is there a rear entrance?”

  “I don’t know the layout of this house that well,” she replied frankly. “But someone is opening a door right now.”

  “What!” he hissed.

  “Shhh, let me listen.”

  Dark eyes bore into hers.

  “I hear it now,” he agreed quietly.

  They were the last words he spoke.

  * * *

  Signaling Raja back into the kitchen, Craig crossed the floor, praying it would not squeak beneath his tread. Rooted under the archway, Raja vigilantly closed in behind him—close enough that he could attempt the softest of whispers.

  “I don’t hear anything now.”

  Her hand settled against his back as she leaned in close. “He has stopped. There are stairs somewhere below that he is climbing...but he is listening for us too.”

  Wildly, Craig searched all the possible outlets. Closet? Bedroom? Bathroom? Cellar? Three white beveled doors were closed, with no hint of what lurked behind them. Not to mention whatever was concealed down the narrow hallway off the living room. He took turns aiming his Glock at each wooden suspect.

  Warm fingers dug into his shirt. A warning not to speak. No matter how he strained, he perceived nothing. Those fingers moved past his shoulder as she pointed down the hallway. It looked so innocent from here. A set of plates hung above the entryway, each painted to portray a season.

  Craig reached back and his hand landed on her hip. He squeezed it, a command to stay where she was. An extra squeeze emphasized, I mean it.

  At any second he expected one of the doors to crash open with a crazed man toting an arsenal busting out of it. Adrenaline pumped through his veins as he inched closer. No matter how discreet he attempted to be, the soles of his shoes clapped softly against the wood.

  Knowing it was going to happen didn’t deaden the impact.

  A door on the right slammed open as a figure in black filled the access. Craig’s arms locked, both hands wrapped around the grated grip of his automatic, one finger looped through the trigger. The same stance reflected back at him. But the aim of the weapon before him was off slightly, not targeted between Craig’s eyes. No, it was directed past him. His stomach clenched and his mind roiled for options.

  “Hello again.” Diego’s henchman cracked his neck. The motion settled the man and the agitated twist of his lips turned into a sordid grin.

  “Let me just remind you,” he added with a composed voice, “that if you move—if you shoot—she will be dead before your bullet hits me.”

  They were arrogant words that could never be substantiated, but the fact that there was even a remote possibility paralyzed Craig.

  “If you hurt her I will kill you and use your body as bait to draw out that disgrace of a boss of yours.”

  A black eyebrow cocked, causing wrinkles on a bronzed forehead. The man sneered.

  “What makes you think my body would be worth anything to him? He will move on and you will be responsible for two corpses, so let’s just cut the crap, shall we?”

  If he could distract this man, maybe he could shift enough to eclipse Raja and block her as a target. There was a certain refinement to this thug. Black hair, stylishly slicked back. A crisp white dress shirt, tailored slacks and polished shoes finished off the luster. This was not a minion. This man was high in Diego’s chain of command.

  Trusting Raja’s assessment, Craig ventured, “Oh, I think he’ll care about the death of his brother. I’m pretty sure that will get his attention.”

  Mild surprise flashed in the black eyes and then it was gone. Beneath the white shirt, bulky shoulders knotted up as the gun remained unerring in its focus past Craig’s shoulder.

  In high pressure situations, Craig’s mind always reverted to that which it could process easiest. Numbers. Tax IDs. Bank accounts. Salaries. Combinations. Dates. Any integer that had ever passed before his eyes was locked inside his head and he sorted through t
hat numerical melee to find a correlation.

  Dates. A date. 032311.

  “Alfonso,” he murmured.

  A quiver in the barrel of the gun told Craig he had hit a bull’s-eye. “Alfonso Moreno.”

  Contemptuous eyes glared over the muzzle. “Alfonso Moreno is dead.”

  “Yes. Yes. Killed in Barranquilla in March 2011. I read that,” Craig mused, shifting his weight imperceptibly. “I had discounted him two years ago, and yet—here he is standing right before me.”

  It was a tremendous gamble, but Raja’s words returned. They probably share the same Y-chromosome, which means they come from the same father.

  “I think it will catch Diego’s attention if his half-brother is killed, a sibling that he has gone through great lengths to protect with his staged death in a car explosion.”

  Absorbing this testimony with a look of disdain, the man sneered. “I’m flattered that I have such a fan. Everyone else left me for dead that day. Why did you continue the search?”

  “Don’t flatter yourself, Alfonso. I have delved so deep into Diego’s life I’m pretty certain I know his favorite pair of socks. And you know what, I don’t particularly care what socks he likes, but if one day I happen across his carcass—I will be able to identify it from those damn socks.” Another imperceptible shift of his shoulder reduced Alfonso’s target.

  “At this point,” there was a trace of a Latin accent, dis rather than this, “I don’t think mi hermano will care much if you shoot me. The only reason I am back here is to finish up what I failed to do before. He is not pleased that you escaped. Loose ends tend to piss him off.”

  For all the glamour of Alfonso’s apparel, perspiration began to stain the extravagant shirt.

  Wishing he could turn around, Craig wanted to offer Raja encouragement, as untenable as it may be. Instead, he continued his distraction tactics on Alfonso.

  “But,” Craig corrected, “there still remains the fact that if you shoot this woman, I will kill you before you have time to turn your gun on me...and then I will hunt Diego down.”

  Alfonso glared. “True,” he conceded, pursing his lips.

  With no hesitation, he shifted the barrel of his gun and fired.

  Pain lanced Craig in the chest as if a baseball had just launched into his rib cage. Shock immediately ensued. He grappled to clamp his hand over the source...so close to the heart—that damn heart that was now busily pumping blood through his fingers, staining his shirt, his hand, and the floor on which he collapsed.

  He had never been to New Zealand. He always wanted to go to New Zealand. Did they have Thanksgiving there? It would be great to have a turkey dinner on a mountain on the South Island. For as limited as the family funds were when he was a child, there was always enough saved to serve up the best feast. High school wide receivers were famished after the morning game. There was nothing like a football field on a late fall Saturday morning. A slight mist formed as the sun’s heat clashed with the cold turf.

  Above, Alfonso loomed with his legs spread and the gun aimed down.

  “You’re not dead yet,” he taunted and drew it level with Craig’s face.

  “No!”

  At the cry, Craig’s head dropped back against the floor and his glance rolled backwards, watching as Raja charged forward.

  “Don’t,” he croaked.

  With sickening premonition, he caught Alfonso’s mark swing in her direction.

  “Raja,” Craig called out hoarsely.

  As Alfonso’s eyes narrowed and his arms tensed, Raja cried out and a brilliant flare blinded Craig. Beneath him, the floor rattled under a pronounced thump. His ears rang like a chorus of seals encircled him, barking over who got the first bite. Numb, he tried to raise his hand—he tried to reach for Raja, and saw her standing to his left with a gun in her hand.

  A gun?

  Blinking back the gray clouds that sought to haul him away, he focused on the device in her graceful fingers. It was not conventional—or had the pain already stolen his sight? No. There she was. Safe. Poised with that contraption—ready to fire it at—

  —Where was Alfonso?

  Craig nudged with his toe, pressing against an inert, but pliable form. He tried to raise his head to see past his feet, but his skull felt like it was made of cement.

  “Craig.” Raja dropped to her knees beside him.

  That was better. It was easier to see her from this perspective. Such beautiful eyes—green, like the leaves at dawn. In their depths lay a host of exotic mysteries that he wanted to resolve, but would never have the chance to do so.

  “Raja—wh-what did you do? Is he dead?”

  Honey-colored hair poured over her shoulder as she angled to look past his feet.

  “I don’t know yet. My concern is for you, not for him.”

  And he could see that she was sincere, because some of those mysteries were unraveling, exposing emotions she struggled to keep in check. Even now her lower lip quivered as she leaned back over him.

  “I failed you,” he rasped. “I couldn’t protect you.”

  An impatient jerk of her chin cast aside his words. She set down the aluminum gravy ladle with a thunk and pressed her hands against his chest. It hurt, but he tried to focus on her touch.

  “You—you—” Her voice was husky. “You can’t die.”

  Craig snorted and his head fell back against the floor. “You saved us both, even if I’m not going to make it, you saved us both. I didn’t know you had a gun—”

  “Shhh. You need to be still.”

  Her eyes grew misty, filling with the portent of a storm.

  “Raja—” He was so weary. The claws of fatigue were tough to battle. “I wish I had time to learn more about you. I don’t mean—I don’t mean work, this whole ridiculous situation that put us together—I mean—” he hauled in a breath, “I mean—you. I want to know you.”

  Angelic was her tentative smile while her hands ground into his ribcage. “I want that too,” she whispered.

  Aww hell. He wasn’t going to make it. A legion of vapors flooded his head, repelling the light, banishing those alluring eyes.

  Surely death gave you certain liberties?

  Disregarding the pain, he fought for that last ounce of strength. He lifted his arm and wound his hand under her silken hair, behind her neck, where he tugged gently, drawing her face down to his. And with just a dusting of breath between them, he closed that final gap and kissed her.

  Her head jerked back, but he had enough fortitude left to steady her. As soon as Raja yielded, he touched his lips to hers again. The taste of powdered sugar brought a smile to his, but then it was lost in that soft sigh of quiescence. Their breath blended as she caressed his mouth with a tiny whimper. Heaven. He was going to heaven on the intoxicating heat of her kiss.

  A sound invaded the afterworld.

  A click. A swoosh. Voices. Light scored the fair face above him.

  Don’t stop kissing me, he wanted to cry at the injustice of the grim reaper.

  “What the hell—?” Aimee’s voice boomed.

  Chapter Nine

  Raja’s head snapped up. She felt Craig’s fingers slip from behind her neck. That loss alarmed her.

  “I want to make him better,” she pleaded with the faceless shadow in the doorway.

  Aimee charged forward out of the sun, and Zak hastily closed and locked the door behind him.

  “Raja, what happened?” Aimee cried as she crouched down at her side.

  Despairingly, Raja’s eyes slipped to Craig’s face, and the eyes that were now closed. Was it possible that he had just kissed her? It was possible. She still felt the trace of his lips, at first inquisitive and then solid and exhilarating.

  Initially she hadn't known what to do, but then no thought was required. There was no need to analyze. Her response was beyond her control. Each caress of his lips elicited more from her. Even now she wanted to go on for hours, touching his mouth, feeling his heart beat beneath her—

&nb
sp; His heart! The rhythm diminished beneath her palm. She grappled to place both hands on the wound and readily accepted the towels that Aimee retrieved.

  Raja pleaded with the eyes of her friend. Where she had expected to see anger, there was instead compassion. There was understanding. Delving into that kindness, she whispered urgently, “I can save him.”

  “You brought some of the serum?” Aimee’s eyebrows rose.

  Nodding dumbly, Raja rushed on. “I didn’t know much about your planet’s medicine. You said we could take some things along with us, so I grabbed a few...things.”

  Aimee sat back on her heels and swept her hands up into her hair. “Go, get it. Quick. He’s lost so much blood.” She looked up at Raja. “You have blood in your hair, did you get hurt? Let me see?”

  “No,” Raja backed away. “It’s from Craig.”

  “Raja!” Zak crouched down near the dormant figure at Craig’s feet. “Tell me you didn’t use the star laser.” He rose with the sleek weapon in his hand.

  Raja’s throat constricted. It was impossible to respond to the obvious.

  “I can’t believe this is happening,” Aimee uttered. “Zak, is he dead?”

  “He should have been stunned, but at this close range it was probably too much of a jolt for his heart to handle.”

  “He’s alive,” Raja whispered dispassionately. She could never kill anyone. Aware that it was a risk at this close range, she would still do it again if it meant saving Craig.

  Looking at him now, tears started to bubble up in her eyes. Crying? She had seen Aimee do it. Cry, that is. But it was an expression of emotion that she felt dissociated with. Witnessing Craig growing paler by the second—she reached up and touched her lips. They felt different to her now.

  “I must go,” she cried and rushed towards the stairs.

  In less than a minute she returned to find Aimee scrambling with towels to stop the blood flow while Zak hauled the man called Alfonso behind the dining room table, presumably to keep him a safe distance away. In Zak’s hand was Alfonso’s gun, the one used to shoot Craig. The sight of it chilled her.