Terran Realm Vol 1-6

by Dee, Bonnie

  “Whatever.” Ian pushed off the dresser and started pacing again—back to the window, to the motel door where he re-checked the locks, back to the center of the floor to stare at the TV, into the bathroom, then back out into the motel room. He jittered around the enclosed space like a strung-out junky.

  “Ian!” It came out a little sharper than she intended. “Why don’t you take a rest? Sit down, or better yet, lie down and nap until Justin gets here.”

  “About this Foster guy, have you met him before?” He stood, remote in hand, flipping channels like shuffling a deck of cards.

  “I’ve met him a couple of times, but I haven’t really spoken to him before. I’ll recognize him if that’s what you’re getting at.” She patted the bed. “Here. Sleep.”

  “I don’t sleep.” He tossed the remote on the bed and walked back over to the window.

  “You might feel better if you did.”

  “I’m fine.”

  “I can see that,” she soothed. “How long have you had trouble sleeping?”

  He glared at her over one shoulder, brown eyes snapping. “Did I say I had trouble sleeping? I just choose not to. I don’t need it.”

  “All right. But humor me. Come and sit down a minute … please.”

  Ian walked a few steps toward the bed then stopped.

  “There’s a technique I use with some of my patients. It might help with your insomnia.” Among other things. “Will you let me try it?” He still hesitated, frowning. “Trust me.” Mira smiled and held out her hand. “You’ll like the results.”

  Ian crossed the last few steps to the bed then sat on the edge looking at her warily. He reminded her of a dog that had been kicked too many times and must be cajoled to come near.

  “It’s all right. Turn and face me and give me your hands.” She seized the remote from his hand and turned off the TV.

  “This is fucking weird,” he grumbled, drawing his legs up under him on the bed and holding his hands out as if she were going to put cuffs on and arrest him.

  “Humor me.” Mira took his hands in hers and held them lightly, resting their joined hands on her lap and closing her eyes. Breathing in and out, slowly and deeply, she focused her concentration then reached out with her mind to touch Ian’s. She felt along the edges of his consciousness the way a blind person fingers Braille. It was like touching the tossing waves of the sea. His mind was a swirling mass of thoughts, emotions, energies—unfocused and restless.

  Mira frowned and prodded a little deeper. She knew immediately when he registered her presence because his hands jerked against her grip and his mind clenched tight shut. “Shh,” she said, stroking the backs of his hands with her thumbs. “It’s all right. Let go. Trust me.”

  He settled and didn’t flinch the second time she gently probed his mind. She felt around in the dark, unfamiliar house, touching walls of doubts, bumping into chairs of fear, shame and guilt until she had a general idea of the shape and dimensions of the room. It was a very cluttered place. Mira prepared to do some spring-cleaning.

  She exhaled once more, extended her figurative hands inside Ian’s mind, and began to draw away the heavy burden of pain and anxiety he carried with him every day. Channeling his emotions, she experienced each one as she took it on herself. Without directly experiencing the details of his past, she got the general impression of his chaotic, painful life. A part of Ian was still the traumatized child he’d once been, bewildered by the world. He believed the defensive wall he’d raised between himself and other people was strong and thick and would keep him safe, but she crumbled its weak mortar easily, releasing him from his troubles for this one evening.

  “Oh God,” he murmured, his voice thick.

  Exhausted from the effort of the healing, Mira broke concentration and opened her eyes.

  Ian was frowning, his eyes squeezed shut. Suddenly he opened them and looked straight into hers, gazing at her with near reverence. “What did you do?” His tone was full of awed wonder. “Jesus.”

  “Not quite,” Mira teased. “I call that a soul colonic.” She kept her tone light. It made her uncomfortable when clients treated her like a demigod. “I told you my gift was spiritual healing.” She shrugged. “It’s just what I do, like the way you draw. Everyone has a talent.”

  “God,” he repeated, “I’ve never felt so … light.” He blinked and gazed around the ugly motel room as if on a hallucinogenic high. “It’s amazing.” His gaze settled on Mira. “It doesn’t feel like me.”

  She smiled and squeezed his hands before letting them go. She would have liked to hold them longer. “This is you. The self that’s buried beneath all your doubts and fears.” Mira scooted back on the bed, plumped up a pillow against the headboard and relaxed into it. She didn’t embellish her explanation. Sometimes it was a pain being a spiritual teacher, especially when a man you were interested in looked at you like you were a saint instead of a sexually desirable woman.

  Ian sat for another moment, seemingly overwhelmed then his habitual smirk quirked the corners of his mouth. “You must have a thriving practice. If I’d known therapy was like that, I’d have gone for it a long time ago.” He rose and walked to the window to look out once more, but without palpable nervous tension radiating from him like before. He turned toward Mira and looked at the bed covers opened invitingly next to her. “I guess lying down for a little bit couldn’t hurt.”

  She was embarrassed that her stomach jumped and pulse quickened at the idea of him sleeping next to her. Clearing her throat, she laid the pillows flat and stretched out full length on the bed, pulling the covers over her this time. A yawn cracked her jaw and a slight headache throbbed behind her eyes. Healings always took a toll on her.

  Ian turned off the light and climbed into bed.

  Mira closed her eyes, but was conscious of the weight and warmth of his body settling beside hers. She was tense and aroused by the faint whiff of male animal exuding from his skin. She closed her eyes and willed herself to stop feeling like a junior high girl with a sudden gut-twisting crush.

  His weight shifted on the mattress and he breathed out.

  Mira remembered the brief, tense moments he’d held her in his arms in the little cave in the hillside. She’d like to feel those sinewy arms around her again, feel his warm breath on her neck. Desire swelled in her.

  She turned on her side with her back to Ian, wondering if she could pretend to fall asleep and then casually roll next to him. They would wake up snuggled together like a couple in a cheesy road trip flick. Hollywood made those movies for a reason—the concept was irresistible. Opposites collide and fireworks erupt before the inevitable melding together of two dissonant spirits into a coherent whole.

  Ian was human, not Terran, and an unlikely match for her in every conceivable way, but stranger things had happened. Who could explain why opposite elements sometimes made a perfect pair?

  Chapter Three

  Raymond Brody paced his luxurious office on the top floor of the old Alexandria Hotel. Brody’s corporation had bought the Alexandria last month and refurbished it into offices for the Reno branch of the Center for Human Wellbeing. Brody enjoyed the antique splendor of his suite of rooms here. His footsteps whispered when he crossed the plush gray carpet. He straightened the spine of a book that was a fraction of an inch out of alignment on his bookshelf. He noticed the leaves of the ornamental tree in the corner were dusty and gave an annoyed click of his tongue as he brushed a light coating of grit from a glossy leaf. The cleaning crew was clearly lax and might need replacing.

  Crossing the soft carpet again, he gazed out the window at the street below. Red taillights and white headlights made pretty patterns against the black street. He stared, entranced for a moment, wondering who was in the cars and where they were going. Did they know their purpose in life?

  Then he wondered where the fuck his team was and why they hadn’t called in over an hour. Was their phone dead or had they fucked up so badly they were afraid to face his wrat
h?

  His stomach churned at the thought of what their failure to retrieve the box would mean for him. Reaching into his pants pocket, he retrieved a roll of antacid tablets, ripped open the foil and crunched down another fruit-flavored tablet. They didn’t really help his stomach, but he was addicted to them. The act of chewing them calmed him.

  He slammed his hand against the window frame so hard the glass panes rattled. Damn! How had he been so clueless about the woman? How had he not recognized her as a Keeper, especially since he’d been expecting KOTE to send spies? It had been Brody’s policy to meet and greet as many of the new hires as possible, to give them a personal handshake by which he could sense if there was anything off about them. Yet she’d slipped past his radar. How much information had she gleaned about his operation, and how difficult was it going to be to get his box back?

  Ray’s intercom buzzed. He started, jumpy as a half-skinned cat hanging from a pole, and strode to his desk to press the button. “Yes.”

  “Coleman and Haviland are here, sir.” His secretary’s cool voice was like balm on an open wound.

  “Alone?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Send them in.”

  He braced his hands against his desk, put his head down and breathed deeply, struggling to gain composure. The pair hadn’t managed to catch the woman. That much was clear. Exhaling, he closed his eyes. All right. He had a contingency plan, but it sure as hell would’ve been nice to have this resolved tonight.

  Ray straightened as his office door opened and the two men entered. Their suits were rumpled, their demeanors as sheepish as a pair of schoolboys brought up before the principal. He let them suffer for several long moments, his gaze shifting back and forth between tall, elegant Haviland and short, stocky Coleman. Finally he spoke. “Well?”

  “We had her and the man who’s helping her trapped in his apartment, but they, uh … got away.” Haviland’s gaze dropped to the floor.

  “We found out some information about the guy,” Coleman offered, almost smiling in his eagerness to please. “Ian Black had a couple of convictions for petty larceny and drug dealing when he was younger, but nothing recently. From the goods in his apartment, it looks like he’s a fence.”

  “Very informative. Thank you.” Brody’s voice dripped sarcasm. “But where’s my box?”

  Coleman chanced a sideways glance at his partner. “Sir, if you’d given us the go ahead to take the girl out, we would’ve had it by now.”

  “I want the box and the woman.” He bit out the words. “The information she has on KOTE is invaluable. My father would be extremely pleased to receive such a valuable commodity as a live Keeper. How difficult could it be for two professionals such as yourselves to catch one woman and bring her to me?”

  Haviland cleared his throat. “She does have extraordinary powers, sir. She and Black slipped out of the apartment and by the time we got down to the street they’d disappeared. We believe she’s going to KOTE headquarters.”

  “Brilliant deduction. So why are you here in my office instead of on the road to San Francisco?”

  “Yes, sir,” Coleman apologized. “We’re on our way right now.”

  Brody turned his back on the bumbling duo and walked to the window again, gazing out at the panorama of city lights. “No. Never mind. I have someone else who’ll take care of this.” He looked in the window glass and saw the dim reflections of Haviland and Coleman exchange a look. “You two report to Murav and then go home and get some rest. The pair of you look like shit.”

  “Yes, sir,” Haviland said.

  “Thank you, Mr. Brody. Sorry about the screwup,” Coleman added.

  Brody lifted a dismissive hand without turning around. He continued to watch the men’s reflections as they walked through the door and it closed behind them, then he went to his desk and pressed Murav’s number.

  The head of security answered immediately. “Yes, sir.”

  “Haviland and Coleman are on their way to you. Take care of them.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  He hung up, sat down in the ergonomically designed chair behind his carved teak desk and swiveled back and forth. Pressing his palms together in a parody of prayer, he tapped his fingertips against his mouth. He appreciated employees like Murav who never questioned and always got things right the first time. Ray’s father appreciated those same qualities and now that he was in a position of power himself, he understood Algernon much better. No wonder his father had been hard on him. He’d been an incredible fuck-up until recently.

  This mission, the mystery box, was his chance to prove he’d changed, to prove he could follow directions to the letter and be trusted with high-level information. Ray had hoped the work he’d done in forming the Center and securing thousands of followers with his charismatic appeal would have been enough to impress his father. Maybe it had. At least the old man was relying on him for something important now—that was new.

  Yet, here he was, failing again. Closing his eyes, he leaned back in the chair, tilting it as far as it would go. His hands gripped the armrests and he spun in lazy circles. Please let him get this situation back on track, let the contingency plan work and the box be returned before his father ever knew it was missing. The hell of it was Ray couldn’t stick around the Reno headquarters to see it through. He’d finished filming his latest commercial and his two speaking engagements were over. Now he must fly back to Indianapolis to make an appearance at the retreat center tomorrow.

  He blindly spun in giddy circles that made his stomach lurch worse than ever. He considered going to the bathroom and retching some of the bile out of his gut. Instead, he reached for the middle drawer of his desk, took out the large bottle of Pepto-Bismol and drank down a quarter of the bottle in one gulp.

  Ray pressed the intercom. His secretary answered immediately. She was another worthy employee, who understood there was no such thing as “after hours.” She was always at his disposal when he was in Reno and always got things done just the way he liked them.

  “Yes, sir?”

  “Have them bring the limo around and prep the Lear for takeoff.”

  “Yes, sir. Anything else?”

  He thought a moment. “Tomorrow you can let personnel know that Haviland and Coleman are off the payroll.” A slow smile curved his mouth as he pictured how Murav would deal with them. “Severance checks won’t be necessary.”

  Chapter Four

  Ian woke with a face full of sweet-scented hair, an armful of warm flesh, a curvy body pressed up against him, and a raging hard-on nestled between two soft butt cheeks. Beneath his hand was a small, firm mound. Breast, Ian identified. He gave it an experimental squeeze, keeping his eyes closed so he could pretend he was still asleep if Mira protested.

  He nuzzled his mouth into the nape of her neck beneath the thick mane of hair and shifted his cock, resting in the groove of her ass. It felt really good. He could get used to waking up like this. He hadn’t been so rested, so comfortable, so at peace in longer than he could remember.

  Curving his body around Mira’s petite frame, he felt like an NBA star even though he wasn’t exceptionally tall. She was one of those wispy East Indian girls who looked like she lived on water and air although he’d seen her pack away most of a quart of fried rice. The fragility of her appearance was deceptive. She was like a bar of steel beneath silky olive skin. Beyond the physical, there was a core of inner strength in Mira. Her large, liquid eyes seemed to take up most of her face. They were impossible to look away from when she turned them on him last night like a pair of searchlights exposing everything.

  Ian opened his eyes and lifted his head slightly to look at her profile. He noted the flash of gold earring against her black hair and the small diamond stud in her left nostril, which moved up and down with her gentle breathing. Still asleep then. Good. His hand, on its own volition, fondled her small breast through loose T-shirt fabric, kneading it lightly then brushing over the hardened nipple with his thumb.

/>   His erection grew stiffer. He exhaled slowly and then bent and pressed his lips to the back of Mira’s shoulder, getting a mouthful of hair involved in the kiss.

  She stirred and made a soft, murmuring sound. It didn’t sound protesting. In fact she arched her back slightly, pressing her tit more firmly into his caressing hand. He squeezed again and rolled the erect nipple between finger and thumb.

  Mira moaned quietly and wiggled her bottom against his aching cock.

  A loud knock sounded on the motel door.

  “Damn it! Mother-fucker!” Ian’s stomach leaped as memories of Brody’s goons bursting into his apartment last night washed over him. He jerked his arms from around Mira and scrambled off the bed to face the door. He didn’t know what he’d do if someone burst through it, but he instinctively stood between the door and the woman.

  A muffled voice from the other side of the door called, “Mirabai Kashi? It’s Justin Foster from KOTE.”

  Mira climbed out of bed and went to let him in.

  “Wait! Check first. Make sure it’s really him.”

  She spoke through the door. “Can you step in front of the window so I can see you, please?” Peering through the slats of the blinds, she nodded at Ian and opened the door.

  A strong-jawed, clean-cut, blond, blue-eyed man stepped inside. Ian smelled cop immediately and his skin crawled. His eyes narrowed at the confidence and power with which Foster strode into the cheap motel room and made the space his own. Military, Ian decided. Green Beret or Seal. He despised the man on sight.

  Closing the door behind him, the man held out his hand to Mira. “Justin Foster.”

  “I’m so glad you’re here.” Mira’s tone was warm and her handclasp lasted a little longer than Ian thought necessary.

  Foster smiled. “It’s my job.” He glanced around the room and his gaze settled on Ian. “You’re Ian Black?”

  He kept his expression neutral and nodded, but didn’t go over to shake Foster’s hand.