Beyond : Series Bundle (9781311505637)

by Miller, Maureen A.

  Startled, Aimee realized that she was sitting. Something stirred beneath her feet. In response, she curled her sodden sneakers beneath her as she heard a grunt from that vicinity. In this veiled light she could make out half of Zak. He appeared to be severed at the torso. With a shove of his powerful biceps he hefted up through the hole and hunkered on the floor beside her.

  “I thought you said there was room in the cabin,” he quipped before slipping his arm around her, his lips to her ear as he added, “Are you alright?”

  Disoriented, Aimee merely nodded.

  “You’re in the pressure vault,” Gordy replied. “It’s meant to handle one person at a time. Let me get all the lights on, and then as soon as Raja is done romping around outside, we can open the next compartment.”

  As he said it, a crown of blonde hair appeared in the floor, followed by a toss of the sodden mass, and a flash of marine-like eyes. “I’m not romping. I’ve spent so much time underwater on this planet that I’m beginning to grow more comfortable down here than on the surface.”

  Wiggling up through the hole, she accepted Gordy’s assistance as he hauled her inside.

  “I was testing my auditory range underwater,” she explained as Gordy shuffled in the confined space, activating sensors and bringing blessed light to the cramped quartet.

  “I only heard Aimee’s squeals,” Zak stated.

  Having regained her composure, Aimee smacked him in the arm. “I did not squeal.”

  “You squealed like a two-legged sumpum.”

  “I did not!”

  “It seems the acoustics underwater tamper with the effect.” Raja continued, disregarding their banter. She stood up, hunched under the low ceiling.

  Gordy let loose an Anthumian curse.

  “What’s the problem?”

  Waving his hand before his face, Gordy said, “Some of the sensors are temperamental. They expect dry skin.” He kept fanning his hand until finally a swipe along the console was successful and the portal into the next chamber opened.

  “Oh, nice,” Raja remarked, trailing after him.

  “Let me see!” Aimee scrambled onto her feet crowding behind Raja.

  “Oooooh,” Aimee gushed, dipping through the doorway.

  Compared to the single-seated terra angel that she was familiar with, this cockpit looked palatial. It contained four egg-shaped chairs seated two by two. A dome of glass held the black water at bay. Aimee cupped her hands around her face and peered into the reflector, but nothing was visible outside. Besides, she was most fascinated with the bank of controls up front. As with its predecessor, it was stream-lined, a solid black panel that only came alive with the brush of a palm. At the gentle sweep of her hand the navigational monitor illuminated. It was similar to looking at a radar panel, but with three-dimensional contours. Shapes beneath the lake became visible in bright blue hues. Look at that. A lawnmower.

  “What do you think, oh terra master?” Gordy relaxed back against the glass, his arms crossed and one foot propped against a chair for support.

  “There are a lot of new controls. I’d like to get familiar with them.”

  Zak leaned over at her side, peering into the murky exterior. “You’re going to have some time to do so. Gordeelum, what did you do for food along the journey?”

  “Ahh,” Gordy snapped up. “I am getting a bit hungry.”

  “Hungry?” Raja crouched into one of the back seats. “How can you think about food right now?”

  “I can always think about food.” He patted his stomach, which was lean. “I have two rens’ worth of crup stored down there.” His toe tapped an unmarked cabinet.

  “Great,” Aimee muttered, still hunkered over the primary panel. “A decade of oatmeal.”

  Zak’s hand was on her back, rubbing comfortingly. It stabilized her. If their safety depended on a quick escape from this planet she wanted to ensure that the ship was up to the task. Zak leaned in. “That’s new.”

  “Umm.” She brushed the oxygen exchange monitor, checking the levels. The zones were rising. The terra angel was drawing lake water into its holding containers to later be split into hydrogen and oxygen via a form of electrolysis. Earth possessed this same concept, but not quite as evolved.

  “Are we leaving Earth?” Raja sounded despondent.

  Turning around, Aimee said, “I hope not. I mean, if we have to—yes, but—but—this planet is really not as bad as you think. The whole situation with Diego is misfortunate and rare. Trust me. Extremely rare. Most people on this planet are like my parents. Easy-going. Polite.”

  “They eat donuts?”

  “Yes. They all eat donuts.”

  “What are donuts?” Gordy asked.

  “It figures your ears would perk up when you sense the subject is food,” Aimee smiled. She focused on Raja again. “Do you want to leave?”

  Soft lines creased her porcelain forehead. “I admit that I’m a bit—what do you translate it as—homesick.” She looked up into the black water above the dome. “But—”

  When the pause lingered, Aimee stepped up and rubbed Raja’s shoulder. “I understand. You want to see him again.”

  Evergreen eyes jerked back to hers. “I—I didn’t say that.”

  “You didn’t have to,” Aimee assured with sympathy. “And I don’t want to leave my parents like this again. The next time there will be proper goodbyes, and promises to see each other soon. Heck, if this terra angel really can do what Gordy claims, we may be able to commute.” That made her giggle. Maybe she better concentrate on the oxygen levels.

  “Anyway,” she added. “We are safe enough down here for the time being until we see what unfolds.” Eyeing the dome suspiciously, she asked, “Gordy, can they see our lights from the surface?”

  “No. Not at all. The shell is reflective. Anyone looking down would just see more water.”

  Somewhat mollified, Aimee sought Zak’s eyes. In the end, he was the one man she entrusted her fate to. If he nodded his assent—that was as good as gospel to her.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Red and blue lights pulsed through the outer rim of the forest just as Craig stepped into daylight. Before him, the innocuous two-story slate blue Patterson house looked like it belonged on the set of any Sunday family movie—from afar, that was. As he got closer the bustle of activity on the front porch, and the throng of police and unmarked sedans in the driveway looked anything but innocent.

  Witnessing this hype, he turned towards Beckett. Beckett and Saldano flanked him on each side. There were no handcuffs, but the tight rein of the two trolls spoke volumes.

  “Did you find the Patterson family?” Craig asked.

  “No.” Beckett’s response was terse, his breath labored from the hike back to the house.

  “Not the ones you aided in escaping,” Saldano corrected sarcastically, “but the parents are inside the house now.”

  Relieved to hear that Raja and her friends had made it away, Craig aimed for composure. “I did not aid in their escape. I was escorting them to the Charlotte office when Diego’s SUV forced us off the road.”

  “Right.” Saldano glanced at his watch. “We found your Hyundai on some back road that was nowhere near the interstate.”

  “Excuse me,” Craig stamped down his anger, “but I’m not from around here. I relied on Aimee Patterson’s advice that the directions were a quicker way to get to 77.”

  “You follow the GPS directions, Buchanan. You follow them, because that is the route we expect you to take. That is the route that we will monitor. We couldn’t rescue you because our agents followed the GPS directions.”

  Noise. Noise. Noise. That was all Craig heard whenever Saldano used his smoke-raspy voice.

  “There is a shitload of blood on the dining room floor,” Saldano continued, “and no body. So who got shot? And who did the shooting? We need to find these Pattersons. Either they pulled the trigger, or they saw Diego’s brother shoot someone. If the latter were the case, I wouldn’t think they woul
d go into hiding, would they? And now with Aimee Patterson’s suspicious history coming to light—”

  “They’re scared,” Craig injected. “Christ, wouldn’t you be? Apparently the Aimee girl had already been through one great trauma in her life—now this. Of course she ran, and of course her husband and best friend would stay with her.”

  Beckett cut in. “The father—Thomas Patterson—said that when she returned from her five-year abduction she suffered from amnesia.” He shook his head. “Amnesia. How convenient.”

  “Right.” Saldano volleyed. “And when we tried to press him, he got pissed off and yelled, what do you want me to say, that she was abducted by aliens?’”

  Craig stifled a snort. If only he could have a few minutes alone with this Thomas Patterson. “The parents are probably just scared as well,” he cautioned.

  “They should be.”

  Reaching the steps to the front porch, Craig finally asked, “What did Diego have to say about all this?”

  Beckett hiked his knee up on the first step, revealing a black sock and a pale shin above it. “That’s what’s so comical. He tells us that they had ray guns—like space aliens.” Making a shooting motion with his cocked finger, Beckett chuckled. “We don’t doubt that they have guns—that’s for sure. That blood in there pretty much confirms it.”

  “The blood is mine,” Craig blurted.

  Saldano’s black eyebrows hoisted up to his receding hairline.

  “Right.”

  “Seriously. I had to climb through God knows what type of weeds out there in the fields between the King property and the Patterson house. It destroyed my sinuses. I have been sneezing up a storm for the past two days.”

  “I didn’t see you sneezing in the office when you stopped in,” Saldano commented drolly.

  “Allergy medicine. It helped, but when I was in the stand-off with ‘Fonso here in the house, I had a damn sinus attack.

  Incredulity narrowed Saldano’s eyes. “And you just decided to share this tale now?”

  “Well, damn, wouldn’t you be embarrassed?”

  Beckett frowned. “And your clothes? The blood poured all over the floor, but not down your chest?”

  “Zak Patterson gave me this shirt. I guess the bloody one is in their hamper, or the trash. I don’t know what they did with it...but they were nice people...just terrified of the situation they were in. They sure as hell aren’t criminals.”

  It was time to shift focus. Let them chew on that morsel for now. In the living room, Thomas and Jennifer Patterson sat on the couch, traces of defiance stamped on their faces.

  “What’s your next step?” Craig feigned interest, seeking an opportunity to join the couple.

  “We’re waiting for Alfonso Moreno to regain consciousness. He was the only party that can be placed inside this house other than you and the Pattersons. If he pulled the trigger we’ll find out the, what’s and who’s.”

  “Right.” He nodded conspiratorially. Play their game. Feed their egos. Stay under the radar. “You’re done with the parents then? Want me to see if I can get any more out of them?”

  Saldano waved a hand in disgust. “You won’t get crap out of that man. I’m ready to file an obstruction charge against him. But they really don’t know squat, and they do live just a half hour away. They won’t go far, so we’re going to send them home for now.” A quick shrug and then he added, “But if you want to take a poke, go ahead. I’m calling the hospital for a status.”

  Saldano stalked towards the front door, hefting a cell phone to his ear while Beckett joined a group of officers in the kitchen.

  The living room was empty except for the middle-aged couple on the couch. Craig crossed over to them, feeling the scorn emanating from Thomas Patterson.

  “Hello. I am Special Agent Craig Buchanan.”

  The raven-haired woman flicked green eyes up at him and then returned her gaze to the front window.

  “What?” Tom frowned. “Are you round two?”

  Taking a seat in the wingback chair adjacent to the couch, it offered an angle where Craig’s back was to rest of the house, and Beckett and Saldano could not see his face.

  Leaning forward, Craig rested his elbows on his knees.

  “I don’t have much time,” he began in an urgent, but hushed voice. “I have to trust the conversation we are about to have remains between us.”

  Tom’s eyes narrowed. Jennifer hauled her glance away from the window with interest.

  “What are you talking about?” Tom challenged.

  “Your daughter was safe the last I saw her. I made sure that she, Zak and Raja got away undetected.”

  A tremble jarred the older man’s shoulders as he leaned forward, his hands fisted. “You’re setting me up, right? Playing the good cop role?”

  Desperation darkened the near sunburnt face.

  “I know,” Craig stated in collusion. “I know.”

  “Know what?”

  Taking a quick glimpse over his shoulder, Craig continued in a hushed tone. “I know who—or what Zak and Raja are, or claim to be. You have to understand that I am skeptical. It goes against all that I believe.”

  Tom’s stoic expression revealed nothing...to the point that Craig wondered if the father was even aware himself. Maybe this drastic plan was about to blow up in Craig’s face.

  “You know what about them?” Tom hedged quietly. There was a negligible flash in those gray-blue eyes—a challenge—or dire encouragement.

  “I know where your daughter was when she was gone all those years. She told me.”

  Jennifer reached for her husband’s hand and clutched it.

  Craig glanced back over his shoulder. When he turned back he witnessed it again. The fear in their eyes—like cornered prey. They would fight to the end for their daughter—but they were afraid. He wanted them to know that they weren’t alone—that he too was fighting for their daughter.

  “Mr. Patterson,” he rasped. “They saved me. That blood on the floor. That was mine. I was shot directly in the chest—and Raja—she had some potion, some serum—”

  “Tom?” Jennifer pleaded softly.

  “What do you know?” Tom enunciated the words carefully.

  Craig dragged in a quick breath and whispered, “They aren’t from here.” Acknowledging the flash of comprehension in the Pattersons’ eyes, he added. “And I want to keep their secret.”

  “Why?” Tom’s voice was hoarse. “Why would you do that? You’re just gambling—looking to draw something out of us.”

  “No,” Craig entreated. “I understand what would happen to them, and—” he hesitated, “—Raja—I—”

  “Son of a bitch.” Tom sat back. “You like her?”

  “What? No. I didn’t say that. It’s just that—”

  “You do,” Jennifer added. “I see it too.”

  “You really know where Aimee was?” Tom questioned, giving him no time to respond. “And you don’t want to reveal it? How in God’s name can we trust you?”

  Lowering his head in defeat, Craig acknowledged, “You probably can’t. I’ll tell you this. Raja has been here for two days. Here.” He repeated the word for emphasis, short of actually saying, Earth. “In that time she received a box. A box that she cherishes. She received it from you.”

  Tom frowned. He turned to look at his wife. “All I gave her was—”

  “A box of donuts,” Craig filled in. “And the white-powdered ones are her favorite kind.”

  A hesitant smile dusted across Jennifer’s lips.

  “I just picked them up at the store,” Tom floundered. “I didn’t think much of it.” His eyes met Craig’s as realization settled in.

  “Trust me,” Craig whispered. “I am going to do all I can to make this right.”

  Tears began to bubble across Jennifer’s lower eyelids.

  “Jesus, Buchanan. I said you could talk to them, but don’t make the woman cry.” Saldano’s voice boomed over Craig’s shoulder, startling him.

&
nbsp; Tom Patterson sat up straight with a muffled gasp.

  “I—I’m just worried about my daughter,” Jennifer warbled.

  “Well, I don’t know where your daughter is,” the agent stated blandly, “but we have a statement from our suspect in the hospital.”

  Saldano hefted a black eyebrow, an indication that he wanted to speak to Craig alone.

  “Excuse me.” Craig used both arms of the chair to lift himself. The weight of the day was wearing on him. As he rose he gave the Patterson’s a meaningful nod. Their expressions were tentative, but a hopeful spark of complicity existed between them.

  At the front door, Craig dipped his head in closer to Saldano, asking, “What did Alfonso say?”

  The calculating head-to-toe onceover that Saldano gave him made Craig uncomfortable.

  “He said that he shot you. He said that it was your blood on the living room floor. He said it was a direct bullet to the chest—” Letting that statement hang out there for a moment, Saldano then added, “And I’ve been told that Alfonso was completely lucid when he testified to this.”

  Did anyone think of turning on the air conditioner in here? It was so damn hot.

  “Well if he was lucid, then I must have had the fastest life-saving surgery on record.” Craig quipped, trying to ignore the fact that Saldano, and now even Beckett, who joined him were both staring at the buttons of his shirt.

  “I told you. My sinuses decided to explode at that moment. It couldn’t have been worse timing because it took my focus off of ‘Fonso. He did get off a shot, just as I’m spurting blood out of my goddamn nostrils.” Go with it. “The front door was open behind me, so he must have fired the bullet outside. But meanwhile, I’ve got blood spewing down my chest. He probably thought he shot me.”

  It was there. Skepticism. The lynch mob frenzy they had for Aimee Patterson might just be unravelling slightly. They would search for the bullet. They would search for his shirt. He trusted that Aimee or Raja would have concealed it well. They were both bright women.

  “What do you want?” Agitated, Craig added, “to see my chest?”

  “No,” Saldano spat. “Personally, I would rather not—but it would be very convenient to all of us if you had a gaping wound there.”