Love, Encoded (Selected Evolution Series Book 1)

by Sandra Harris

  “How do you know she’ll even be open to taking both of us?”

  “I don’t know it, but I feel it. She was made for us Adam. There was something in her kiss, something more than lust. I know this is right.”

  The foundations of Adam’s world slipped beneath his feet. A wave of desperation flooded him as a future he didn’t want seemed to close in. “No, Nick, no. Please, don’t do this to us.” What he yearned for, strove towards and what he was being driven to seemed sure to tear him in half.

  “I can’t fight it any more, Adam. If I stay away from her I’ll lose it. I know I will. Since the day we met my every thought has become more and more focused on her. Even now the image of her dominates my mind, I can’t wait to get back to her. Her scent lingers in my head, calling to me. The feel of her body against mine . . .” He shrugged. “I’m bewitched. I not only can’t fight it, I have no wish to.” Contrition and compassion settled in Nick’s eyes. “Who knows what avenues will open for us? She may decide joining the Foundation would be a betrayal of her brother. Or there could be openings for us in his space exploration company.”

  “The Foundation won’t let us go. Not after all they’ve done to us.”

  Nick shrugged. “I will do what I have to, go anywhere, to be with her.”

  Furious and devastated at Nick’s attitude, Adam spun and stormed from the house. Anger at his impotence to halt the flow of events simmered in his veins and seemed sure to eat him from the inside out.

  Yet his burning desire to touch Sarah, to discover her soul, mocked his declaration of a preferred future without her.

  So the day has finally come.

  The Draken, leader of the Anaconians, stared at the large, red reminder on the contemporary Christian iCalendar displayed on his refractive computer screen. There had been no need for Kane to programme an alert that today was a red-letter day—though there was nothing holy or sacred about it. They had arrived back at the day from when they’d departed into the past after the Denacons had hunted them to this planet then disastrously disabled their ship.

  He remembered, as if yesterday, waking in medical surrounded by the smoking ruin of his ship and—as he’d discovered later—an opportunity. An opportunity he’d taken to improve his race’s culture and society. He’d steered and guided the surviving older Anaconians into a new way of thinking in this pristine environment. Subsequent generations were more amenable to his influence and without the incriminating records he’d deleted from the database—blaming the corrupt files on the crash—they had no cause to question his decisions. This eighth generation of Anaconians born on this planet were a race of which to be proud.

  And now everything he had built and strived for was in jeopardy.

  How long would it take the Denacons to find them? No doubt they were still in orbit around this plant, for to them the attack had only recently taken place. Was there a chance he could negotiate with them? Doubtful, his memories from the assault assured him the captain of the Denacon ship would not be satisfied with anything less than his demise.

  Was the woman Nick Bannister and Adam McKeoun identified as one of the lost Anaconian hybrids, as capable as he hoped? Was she the Engineer they so desperately needed?

  Could she save them?

  A sigh of profound concern deflated his chest. It had taken longer than expected for the creed memories to integrate successfully with the human subjects. He needed to bring this Sarah Rasmussen into the fold quickly, bypass the usual acclimatisation period and chance her acceptance of her situation and theirs. Hopefully she was a compassionate woman and would sympathise with their predicament.

  He’d get down on all four knees and beg if he had to—a tricky proposition at best for one of his form.

  “Good morning, darling ones!”

  Sarah winced at her overly enthusiastic greeting as her boxer clad brother and Grant emerged into the kitchen on Sunday morning. She couldn’t help it though; the buzz of Nick’s kiss yesterday propelled her to heights she couldn’t come down from.

  Would Adam’s touch inspire the same heady response?

  She stopped in her busy bustle around the kitchen.

  Again with the sexual thoughts of two men?

  Her heart executed a little pitter-patter as though demanding attention.

  So not just sexual.

  She stared at the countertop.

  What the heck am I supposed to do now?—

  —Well you could, oh I don’t know, try speaking with them. Dweeb.—

  —Yeah. Right. Speak with them.

  Well it was a concept worth consideration—after she’d gotten used to the idea herself. Fear and excitement twined and coursed through her system as though hell bent on sparking her blood to flames.

  Now, if I can just get my heart to stop trying to beat its way out of my chest, I’ll be right.

  She continued her self-appointed task, frowning as she worked. She still didn’t know anything about Nick and Adam: what were their likes and dislikes, what they did for a living. Who they worked for. A grin stretched her lips. She knew one thing though. Nick was one heck of a kisser!

  She turned bacon in the frying pan as Paul stopped behind her, dropped a kiss on her head and gave her Trekkie T-shirt a tug.

  Grant yawned and groaned. “Oh God, is she always this cheerful in the morning?”

  She turned and eyed his stretching form.

  Well that comment calls for a response.

  She walked up behind him, stood on tiptoe and ruffled his hair.

  “Awww, da poor baby,” she teased and dived away.

  Damn he was fast, still half asleep as he was! He very nearly had her with that backward swipe. She danced away into the lounge, putting the couch and dark wood coffee table between them, then taunted him with a smirk and raised eyebrows.

  “Grab your sister, Paul, she’s gonna get a spanking.”

  Her brother dropped into a recliner and held up a hand. “Uh-uh, don’t involve me in your domestic disputes.”

  She fired a regal look down her nose at Grant. “So there, Mister Grumpy.”

  Grant strode behind the island bench and took up a post beside the frying bacon. “Your breakfast is about to burn,” he challenged.

  “Actually, that’s your breakfast, I’ve had mine.”

  A stunned look seized his features. “You’re making me breakfast?”

  “I’m making you and Paul breakfast, yes.”

  Humbled amazement fixed his features.

  “What, has nobody ever made you breakfast before?”

  “Not when they didn’t have to.”

  Struth, that’s a bit harsh.

  She was sure he wouldn’t want her to make something out of it. “Well don’t get too excited, you might not like my cooking.”

  Grant leaned his hips into the bench, crossed his arms over a chest that would have given Nick a run for his money and gave her a challenging grin. “Then why don’t you come over here and save my bacon?”

  Hmm, Houston, it looks like we have a problem.

  She glanced at her brother. No help there, he sat relaxed in the leather recliner, eyes closed and a smile playing around his lips. Right, options appear to be limited. She squared her shoulders, marched into the kitchen and grabbed the rest of their uncooked breakfast.

  “Okay, mister, I’ve got a loaded egg here and I’m not afraid to use it.”

  Grant threw his hands up in surrender.

  Yeah, right, like I’m going to believe that. “You gonna play nice?” she demanded.

  His head declined in a slow nod. “I might.”

  She put the eggs down. “Top shelf, cupboard to your right, paper towel, please.”

  Grant turned, reached upward, his bare torso stretched and exposed. She leapt,
menaced his ribcage with arched fingers. “Are you ticklish?”

  He looked down on her, his expression calm. “Are you?”

  Hmm, I should have incorporated that into my initial planning. She held out a hand for the absorbent paper, ripped off a few sheets and handed the roll back. “Thank you.”

  With quick, economical movements she rescued the bacon, laid it on the paper then cracked six eggs into the pan. Warmth brushed the side of her neck.

  “You’re lucky I like you,” Grant murmured into her ear.

  “Huh!” She turned and smiled. “I was just thinking the same thing about you. There’s freshly squeezed orange juice in the fridge.”

  That surprised look at being in receipt of unexpected kindness was back.

  “No wonder Paul loves you,” he said and went to the fridge.

  She finished her task and dished up the food.

  “Breakfast is ready, gentlemen, grab yourselves some eatin’ irons.”

  Paul leapt up from the recliner. “Thanks, possum. Sorry, I should have set the table.”

  She settled her gaze on him. Her brother never let her wait on him. They did things together, worked as a team. Something was seriously distracting him. She waited until both men sat at the breakfast bar.

  “Okay, out with it.”

  Paul’s head snapped up from regarding his breakfast. Grant’s fingers tightened on the glass of juice he held.

  Good Lord, how bad is it?

  “You’re aware that Duffy is retiring from head of security at the end of this week and we’ve brought on board a new security firm,” Paul began.

  She flicked her gaze to Grant then back to her brother. “Yes. It’s all been very hush-hush.”

  “Well . . .”

  Paul’s hands clenched and released on his knife and fork. His chest inflated to a long breath. Grant fidgeted on his chair. She’d have laid bets the man had never fidgeted in his life. Her brother’s lips parted, then closed. He seemed at a loss for words, or he didn’t want to utter the ones he had. Connections sizzled in her mind.

  This is something to do with them and me.

  “What do you do for a living, Grant?” she asked.

  “I was a Colonel in the Australian Army and now I run a security business.”

  “Ah, I see.” She drummed her fingers for a moment on the counter top. “So when are you moving in?”

  Grant stared at her as though she’d suddenly sprouted horns.

  “Don’t look at me like that.”

  He shook his head. “Sorry, but how did you get from my career to becoming . . .”

  “I told you she was good at putting two and two together and coming up with four point zero,” Paul said and turned worried eyes to her. “Do you mind?”

  Hell no. “Why would I mind?”

  “Because you and Paul have just found each other and I don’t want to muscle in on your space,” Grant answered.

  She rolled her eyes. “Are you kidding? It took you guys ten years to get this far, I’m not about to put obstacles in your way.”

  Grant’s hard features relaxed, transforming his face into masculine beauty. He transferred his attention to her brother. “I’m going to have to hug the stuffing out of her.”

  Paul’s loving regard of his sister spun into concern as her gaze unfocused and she stared at nothing. She almost seemed to fade as though transitioning elsewhere. Fear clutched his heart.

  “Sarah?”

  Grant’s chair scraped back.

  “Sarah?” he called again.

  Her ‘somebody-was-home-but-they-just-left’ gaze shot a ripple of alarm though him.

  “I’ve just got to . . .” She spoke in a voice so far away he rocketed up, his stool clattered backward to the floor.

  Shit! “Sarah!” He lunged around the counter as she headed for her room.

  “What’s the matter with her?” Grant’s concern sounded almost as deep as his own.

  He shook his head. “I don’t know. I’ve never seen her like this.” He took a gentle hold of her upper arm. “Sarah?”

  “My room, my room,” she muttered and manoeuvred around him, her so-distant eyes seriously creeping him out.

  He shot a glance at Grant. “Don’t hinder her.”

  Grant nodded and followed as he and his sister moved into her room.

  In a trance-like state Sarah picked up a tracing pen and turned to the electronic whiteboard she kept hanging on one wall. With a rapid hand she began to draw. Molecules of elements he couldn’t identify flowed onto the board. They became dissociated into improbable atoms, their electrons in various excited states and spin. Then she waved it all out and began again. For half an hour Paul contained the extreme agitation that threatened to engulf him as his sister lost focus on reality and slipped deeper and deeper in some alternate somewhere.

  Enough!

  He reached towards her, but she was already stepping back. She blinked. Dropped the pen. Stared hard at her work. Her head tilted to one side, her eyebrows rose and her eyes rounded.

  “Sarah?”

  She turned a ‘here-again’ gaze to him. “Mmm?”

  “Is everything okay?”

  Her shoulders lifted to a deep breath. “Yep.”

  She seemed . . . his mind skated away from the word ‘sane.’ Of course she was sane!

  “What?” she asked, a perplexed frown lining her brow.

  He smoothed the concern from his face and nodded towards her whiteboard.

  “What is that?”

  She turned back to study her work, her lips pursed. “That bio-soup idea I’ve been working on.”

  Sarah, darling, those elements don’t exist.

  He swallowed fear. She was sane. Why was he even thinking otherwise? Yeah, so, there was reputedly a fine line between genius and insanity, his sister had not crossed it. No way. Uh-uh.

  “Possum?”

  She turned towards him and he studied her intently. No, absolutely no sign of psychosis. That he could see. Now.

  “What’s it do?”

  “It’s a type of advanced organic integrated circuit. Can’t see how we can manufacture it, seeing as how I just made up the atomic structure.”

  “You did?”

  Surprise and mild scorn flashed through her eyes. “Ye-ah.” She drew in a quick gasp. “What? Did you think I’d jumped off the deep end?”

  “You were kind of . . . intent.” Relief relaxed his tense body. “You scared the hell out of poor Grant.”

  “Yeah,” Grant said, “let’s say it was Grant you scared the hell out of.”

  “So, how advanced is it?” Paul diverted the conversation.

  She gave him a serious look. “Very.”

  A smile washed through him. “You trying to make me richer?”

  “Of course. Just trying to be a good sister.”

  Monday morning at five minutes to ten, Sarah walked into her brother’s office.

  “Hello, Sarah.”

  Shock tore through her at the smooth, cultured voice and her gaze sprang to the man who had approached her in the park. Her brisk step faltered. Seeing him here in her brother’s ceramic and wood office was like discovering a salt-water crocodile in a backyard swimming pool. He looked more intimidating today wearing a light grey suit that probably cost the equivalent of the national debt of a small country.

  This is Theron Barclese? Damn. “Er, hello.”

  His gaze morphed from acquisitive to soft and coaxing. “I apologize if you were alarmed by my presence Saturday.”

  “What happened Saturday?” The questioning concern in her brother’s voice soothed the fine shiver of trepidation that snaked up her spine.

  She speared her gaze towards him, eag
er for the reassurance sight of him would bring.

  “I introduced myself to Sarah in a park,” Barclese said.

  His lingering gaze ran over her filmy white top, black pencil skirt and low-heeled pumps. “You look lovely today.” A shark-ish smile stretched his lips over white teeth. “Not that I didn’t find the outfit you wore in the park quite fetching.”

  Something corrupt throbbed through his voice and every cell in her body shrank from him.

  Why do I feel so threatened and defenceless against this man?

  Paul stepped from behind his desk and stood close to her side. “Perhaps,” he said, raising an eyebrow and pinning Barclese with a reproving stare, “it would be best if you kept your association with Astra Projections to this office.”

  An insincere smile slipped to Barclese’s lips and he stared back at her brother. “I understand your concern, if I had a woman like your sister in my life I wouldn’t let her out of my sight.”

  The absolute truth in his statement, devoid of any romantic element, curdled her stomach. What is it with this guy? She moved a little closer to her brother.