The Alien Huntress Series

by Gena Showalter

  “Want to tell me what you’re thinking about?” he asked casually.

  My heart hammered at the sound of his voice. Like I was going to admit that little gem.

  He hadn’t said a word about the change, and neither had I. I could guess why he’d done it. Obviously he’d been to New Dallas before—under a different identity. This identity. He’d probably worked with the men we were meeting, and they knew him as this man.

  Lucius continued to watch me, I noticed, his ice-blue gaze intent. At least his eye color hadn’t changed. That sexy, electric blue should never be concealed.

  “You might as well tell me,” he said. “I’ll get it out of you sooner and later, and you’ll be doing yourself a favor if it’s sooner.”

  “I’m just imagining your failure with Sahara Rose,” I lied.

  His pierced black brow arched, raising the silver stud. “If the thought of my failure is what put that ‘fuck-me-now’ expression on your face, keep thinking about it. Please.” The last word sounded foreign on his tongue, as if he’d never spoken it before.

  I fought to keep my expression neutral, to keep from scowling. With his words, he placed his pleasure-giving image right back in the gutter of my fantasies.

  “Must you be so crude?” I ground out.

  “We kill people for a living, cookie, and you’re balking at my language?”

  We might both be killers, but we were different on so many levels. I worked for peace, for the good of the people. He worked for money. My allegiance would never waver. His probably shifted with the wind.

  “Oh, wait,” he added. “You’re a princess, a spoiled little rich girl. And don’t try to deny it. I’ve heard stories about your teenage years. Crying and pouting when you didn’t get what you wanted. ‘I asked for a blue dress, Daddy, not green,’” he mimicked in a high voice. “Boohoo.” He rolled his eyes. “Of course you’re balking at my language. Girls like you can’t be happy, no matter their circumstances.”

  My eyes narrowed. I was not that girl anymore. I hadn’t been for a long, long time. When I began my agent training, I’d even stopped calling Michael “Daddy.” I’d called him what every other agent called him. “Too bad there isn’t a price on your head,” I muttered. “You’re one target I’d take great joy in destroying.”

  “Who says there isn’t a price on my head?”

  My brows arched. “Is there?”

  He shrugged. “You’re the hotshot tracker. You tell me.”

  Our gazes clashed and held. Some invisible force refused to release me from its grip as I studied him. His features were as granite-hard and unreadable as ever. Nothing about his expression or body language betrayed his thoughts.

  “Okay. Maybe there’s more than one,” I said. “You’re not the kind of guy who knows how to play nice. Most likely, you have enemies in every city, country, and hellhole you’ve ever entered.”

  The moment I spoke the word “play,” his eyes dropped to my lips. The word actually hung between us like a living, breathing thing. Was he imagining naked, sweaty bodies? Drugging kisses and pleasure?

  I glared at him, silently commanding him to look away. He didn’t. In fact, his stare became more intently focused on my mouth. Such intense scrutiny unnerved me, but I was used to controlling my actions. My body would obey the will of my mind, not my lust. I wanted to squirm and turn away, but I forbade myself even an inch of movement. For my job, I’d often sat in one place for hours, surveying my prey, not giving away my location by a single breath.

  I decided to challenge him by turning his own question against him. “What are you thinking about?”

  He arched his pierced brow again. “Do you want the honest answer or the same shit you gave me when I asked?” He didn’t give me time to reply, but finished with, “I’ll give you the honest answer.” He leaned forward, his mouth twisting upward, his eyes darkening. “I’m thinking how hot and wet and eager your lips will be when I win our bet.”

  “You don’t even like me.”

  “I don’t have to like you to want you.”

  How like a man. Thankfully the landing gear moaned as it disengaged, saving me from slicing that smug grin off his face with the three-pronged razor strapped to my ankle. Never mind that I didn’t like him and wanted him myself.

  The self-driving ITS glided smoothly into its programmed location, a private airstrip in New Dallas. Lucius and I hustled outside. A step behind him, I found myself watching the way his butt moved. Nice. Damn him.

  The sun glared directly overhead, causing midday heat to wrap around me. My gold skin burned easily, more easily than a human’s. When possible, I wore long-sleeved shirts (with accessible slits for weapon handling) and tight black pants (also with accessible slits). I slid my dark sunglasses into place. Because I belonged to a hunted race, I also shoved my golden hair under a black ball cap.

  A fine sheen of sweat formed, and a dirt-laden breeze kicked up. I hurried into the air-conditioned back seat of a bullet- and laserproof black Hummer. Two of Michael’s employees waited in the front. Both were physically fit humans in their mid-thirties. I recognized them and nodded. Ren, the muscled brute in the passenger seat, had asked me out on numerous occasions. I’d always turned him down. His wandering eye irritated me.

  “Thanks for the ride,” I said.

  “No problem, baby,” Ren said, giving me a welcoming smile. “Anything for you.” As he spoke, he sent me a wink. He even skimmed his gaze over my body, and I wouldn’t have doubted if he mentally willed my legs apart.

  Any reply I offered would have encouraged him. I knew that from experience. So I kept my mouth closed.

  The easy atmosphere changed when Lucius entered the vehicle and folded his big frame beside me. Ren avoided looking directly at him, but his lips pressed together in disdain. The driver, Marko, whipped around, facing us. His olive complexion and dark eyes were rosy with…fury?

  “You guys have met before, I take it,” I muttered.

  “He broke my fucking nose,” Marko snarled.

  Lucius remained unperturbed. “I’ll break it again if you don’t turn your ass around and get us where we need to be.”

  There was a sizzling pause, a suspended moment between the escalating tension where I was one hundred percent confident the three men were going to kill each other. Wait. Let me rephrase. I was one hundred percent confident Lucius would kill Marko and Ren. I doubted anyone or anything could hurt Lucius Adaire.

  And wasn’t that a funny realization? When I’d first meet the man, I’d accused him of being all brawn and no brains, too pretty to actually fight. He’d proven himself capable during our training session. I’d give him that much.

  I adjusted the sunglasses on my nose. Obviously, Lucius had served time in the military. Special forces, black ops maybe. Perhaps he’d even worked for A.I.R. at one time. He moved silently, fluidly, with the patent stillness of a predator. He didn’t balk at the thought of violence; he embraced it.

  I still didn’t want him as my partner, though. How could I prove myself? How could I prove my worth and my capabilities with this tough man at my side? Despite his threats to let me die if I got in his way, he just might jump in front of me if gunshots erupted. Agents were protectors by nature, and he wouldn’t be able to help himself.

  “I’m not paid by the hour, ladies, so let’s get this job done,” Lucius added.

  I watched as Marko’s flush turned ruddy, his eyes narrowed to dark slits. He slowly turned away from us. His back and shoulders were stiff, and an aura of fury radiated from him. Ren was slower to turn around. He glanced from Lucius to me, from me to Lucius. He’d never seen me with another agent before, so undoubtedly he wondered what the hell I was doing with this one. I offered no explanation, and switched my attention to the window.

  Trees were dry and yellow from lack of water. Tumbleweed rolled up the fenced enclosure and along the runway, and men rushed to remove them. Seconds later our coordinates were programmed into the car and we were speeding
down winding back roads. No one spoke. In the silence, my awareness of Lucius became electric, a spark begging to burst into flame. The hard length of his thigh pressed against the firmness of mine. Where our clothes met, my nerve endings sizzled. He smelled good. Too good. Like soap and man and a hint of Michael’s woodsy cigars.

  To preserve my sanity, I forced my mind from such dangerous territory and concentrated on the coming confrontation with Sahara Rose. Such a gentle, fragile creature, and that fragility made her a weak link in EenLi’s chain. I’d always wondered why the slaver had used the girl. Stupidity? Or desire? The latter was most likely the answer. Desire could make the sanest of people do foolish things. Wasn’t I becoming proof of that?

  Soon the Hummer eased to a stop in front of an old, dilapidated farmhouse on the verge of collapse. Appearances were often deceiving, and I knew this was one of those times. Inside, those splintery walls were solid and impenetrable. Trip wires and land mines littered the surrounding property. Computers and other equipment protected the “home” from invasion—as well as keeping prisoners inside.

  “Ten minutes,” I reminded Lucius as I jumped outside. I didn’t want anyone opening my door and helping me out. Femininity and delicacy were two things I didn’t want to project right now. I slammed the door closed with more force than necessary. “I’ll be watching the clock.”

  The heat hit me instantly, once again wrapping around me like a thick blanket. Bright rays of sunlight baked everything in their path. The barren ground. The twigs and rocks. Lucius strode to my side, his long, muscled legs making short work of the distance. He radiated heat of his own, but it left a far different feeling inside me than the sun did.

  “Don’t be surprised,” he said briskly, “when I win after only five.”

  I secretly smiled. So cocky, yet so doomed for failure. I hadn’t had this much fun in years. If ever. But I gave no outward reaction to his words. Instead I turned and marched forward. He stayed close to my side.

  There was no one waiting for us at the door. Instead, guards and agents abounded inside, a few watching our every move as we passed the rickety-looking threshold. Since we would never have made it to the porch without clearance, we didn’t have to endure retinal scans or fingerprint IDs. Besides, we were expected. And since Michael Black controlled this little building as well as everything and everyone inside it—and he wasn’t here—I guess that made me the boss for now.

  My shoulders straightened at the thought.

  The chipped front door closed automatically. My hands remained close to the knives strapped to my thighs. A habit, really. Immediately, I took stock of my new surroundings. Eleven men manned the first room. Two were stationed at the computer terminal in back; three were seated on the only couch, cleaning and testing weapons. The rest of the men were relaxing and talking over coffee.

  Cool air welcomed me in an open embrace. Relieved, I tugged off my cap, and my hair tumbled down my back. I hated wearing hats because they retained heat, but I also didn’t like hair in my face. The gold locks restricted my vision—and a good assassin needed to see everything around her. I should have cut it off long ago, but it reminded me of my mother—the only reminder I had, really—so I never had. I reached up and tugged my hair into a ponytail.

  “Take Lucius to the prisoner,” I said to no one in particular.

  A short, stocky bull of a human immediately stepped up to my—growl—partner. “This way,” he said, not meeting Lucius’s eyes.

  Lucius made to follow him, but I stopped him with a hand on his forearm. He paused, leveling an expressionless glance at me. “Leave your weapons with me,” I said quietly.

  He laughed. Actually laughed, a booming sound that filled the room. But when he spoke, his voice was as quiet as mine had been. “Not a chance.”

  “Did you hear what happened to that A.I.R. agent Dallas Gutierrez when another agent took a weapon into an interrogation?”

  His smile remained, softening the harsh planes of his features. “I can handle myself. Besides, I wouldn’t do you the favor of getting myself killed before I claim my prize.” With that, he shook off my hold and strode away. At least he hadn’t called me “cookie” in front of the men.

  I turned to Ren, who had followed us inside. “Where can I observe?”

  A muscle ticked in his jaw, but he replied helpfully, “I’ll show you.”

  He ushered me down a well-lit, narrow hallway that slanted down, taking us underground. With every step, the temperature became damper, cooler. The walls were plain, a little dirty, but there were no visible cameras or sensors. Still, both were there, I knew, watching our every move. I knew how Michael operated, and the man left nothing to chance. Even though security cameras were illegal without a proper license—which Michael didn’t have because he didn’t want anyone knowing his business—I knew they were here.

  “What’s with you and Adaire?” Ren asked, breaking the silence.

  I didn’t spare him a glance. “What business is it of yours?”

  “Lucius Adaire is a killer.”

  I had to smile at that one. “So am I. So are you, for that matter.”

  “No, I mean a vicious killer. He’ll kill anything. Women. Children. I’d watch my back if I were you.”

  I didn’t allow myself to react to his words. “Well, you aren’t me.” I still wore my sunglasses, so I looked over them and leveled him with a pointed stare. “Besides that, I always watch my back—even while I’m with you.”

  The hallway finally ended. We stood in front of what looked like an average wall. Ren laid his hand against a corner section, and two panels opened. A disposable, computer-operated needle pricked his index finger, and a small sample of blood was taken.

  When the computer recognized his DNA, the wall—consisting of two steel plates—split down the middle, admitting us. I didn’t know if Ren had spoken the truth about Lucius. The two men weren’t friends, so there was a very real possibility Ren had embellished his story. However, I didn’t like to think of Lucius as a killer of innocents—the very innocents I strove so hard to protect.

  “Come on,” Ren grumbled, unhappy with the lack of reaction he’d gotten from me. He led me into a small room. One entire wall boasted a holoscreen that played out the happenings in the other room. I saw the small, plain blue room, the two wooden chairs. I sank into Observation’s only chair, a padded stool, forcing Ren to stand beside me.

  I watched as Lucius crossed his arms over his chest and glared down at a pale, trembling Sahara Rose—who wasn’t speaking. She did whimper, though, but that didn’t count. Her blue eyes were wide and watery, and she kept tugging on her light-colored hair.

  Grinning, I glanced at the clock beside me.

  Ten minutes, then I was going in.

  Chapter

  5

  Five minutes down. Five minutes to go.

  I almost hated for the ten minutes to end. Lucius was simply too entertaining. Screaming at Sahara Rose failed, so he tried cajoling. Intimidation through silence failed, so he switched to I’m-a-nice-man-and-you-can-tell-me-anything mode. Whenever he approached her, her trembling and sobbing increased, but she never spoke a word.

  When at long last she began screaming hysterically, he turned his back to me. He reached up with one hand, looking as if he wanted to scratch his head. He flipped me off.

  I laughed. Desperation clung to him, growing darker in his features, becoming heavier on his shoulders. The best thing, I had to admit, was that his antics kept my mind off EenLi and my own failure.

  Another three minutes passed with no results.

  Lucius tried to hide it, but I caught several panicked glances at his wristwatch. I had to choke back another round of laughter. I’d never been one to enjoy another’s pain, but please. Watching this hard-assed man flounder ranked right up there with consuming an entire bowl of sugar-covered peaches—my biggest weakness.

  I glanced at the digital clock next to the screen. Only one minute to go. Lucius began to pace fra
ntically, begging—actually begging—Sahara Rose to utter a single word. His eyebrow ring glinted in the light.

  “Please,” he said, the word hard against his lips. “Please, just say your name. Curse at me. Anything. I’ll pay you. However much you want.”

  She continued to tremble in her corner, lips pressed together, tears in her eyes. At least she’d stopped screaming.

  “I’m begging you. Tell me your name. That’s all you have to do. I’ll leave, then. You’ll never have to see me again.”

  Five…four…three…two…

  One.

  I resisted the urge to jump up and shout. Lucius burst forth with a stream of curses so foul and black Sahara Rose nearly seized. She did sink into a faint, her hair fanning out around her.

  “He’s going to kill her,” Ren gasped. He whipped out his cell unit, and held the small black box to his lips. “We need backup—”

  I grabbed the unit and tossed it to the ground. The sound of cracking plastic greeted my ears.

  Ren’s mouth gaped open, and he blinked at me in shock. “What the hell did you do that for? I need to protect the suspect. She’s—”

  “Fine,” I said confidently. “She’s fine. He won’t hurt her.”

  “The hell he won’t.” Back and forth Ren paced, his agitation manifesting itself in the brisk way he moved. He jerked a hand through his hair. “He’s in a rage. He won’t be able to control himself.”

  “For God’s sake, calm down, Ren. You’re working yourself up over nothing. His anger is directed at me. Not Sahara Rose.”

  “You?” He ground to a halt. A gleam of confusion entered his eyes, as if I’d spoken a foreign language and he needed to translate the words. “I don’t understand.”

  “Nor do you need to.”

  Gaze narrowing, Ren snatched at the gun holstered at his side. I quickly laid a hand on his wrist. “Lucius won’t hurt me either,” I said.

  “How the hell do you know?”