Invaded

by Jennifer M. Eaton

  Jason almost made her consider giving up on guys all together—until a cute police detective flashed his dimples over a cup of coffee.

  If John wasn’t attached, could she make this work? Could he be the one to break the trend, or was this relationship doomed before it started, like everything else in her life?

  The woman across the bar reached for her drink. Luckily, her boobs didn’t become front page news. Her date glanced across the bar, his gaze falling on Tracy.

  His intensity sucked the air from the room, riveting her to her stool. The noise of the bar receded, dulling behind a hum epi-centered within. Something swirled in her chest and her heart went still.

  Everything stopped.

  The man tapped a box against his palm and slipped something between his lips. The room came alive again and he returned his attention to his date.

  What the hell just happened?

  Someone slipped onto the stool beside her. “Sorry I’m late.”

  Tracy jumped.

  “Whoa there. Sorry,” John said. “What were you so intent over?”

  Tracy fixed her hair, steadying herself. “Oh, umm, nothing. Staring into space. Sorry.”

  The guy on the other side of the bar threw a few bills beside his empty glass and grabbed his date. At least the side-show was over. Tracy turned and froze anew. John’s hair hung loose around his temples, free and relaxed. Her gaze slid down his gray blazer and over jet-black jeans covering what looked like well-oiled boots. He’d definitely dressed to make an impression. Damage done. If he had a wife, she certainly wasn’t on his mind at the moment. She glanced down to his bronzed hands. No wedding band and no tan line. Score!

  “So, are you ready to get something to eat?”

  “Sounds good. I’m starved.”

  The hostess walked them up a long stairway to the second level and seated them beside a window overlooking a lake. Three Canadian geese floated across the still water. Beautiful.

  John pulled out Tracy’s chair, shifting the long mauve tablecloth as he helped her into a seat. Drop-dead gorgeous and a gentleman. Her luck was definitely on the mend.

  He tugged on the lapels of his blazer as he took his seat. A guy like this probably had girls lined up. What was she thinking? Why invite disaster by going for someone so far out of her league?

  The waitress rattled off the specials and left them to read the menus. Tracy perused the seafood section. Lobster Ravioli. Her tummy rumbled. Decision made.

  “So, now you know I’m a detective, what does the lovely Miss Tracy do for a living?”

  Uh-oh. Small talk had never been her strong point. This is where she’d normally confirm her one-way ticket to no second date. She took a deep breath. “Well, technically I’m still on medical leave. But it’s back to work tomorrow.”

  John placed his menu to the left of his plate and took a sip of his water. “And where’s that?”

  “Olson’s Soup. I work in the marketing department.”

  “Does that mean you make television commercials?”

  She wished. “No. I do layouts for magazine ads.”

  “That sounds like fun.”

  “Yeah, I guess.”

  A waitress lumbered up the stairs with a tray of food. Why didn’t they have an elevator for those poor people?

  Tracy drew her attention back to John. “It’s kind of uneventful. Nothing compared to a murder investigation.”

  His lips parted, and his gaze lowered to the table. Whoops. Bad move. She shouldn’t have mentioned his job.

  John’s eyes settled on the floor to the right before returning to her. Dak again? “My job is usually pretty uneventful as well. Investigations like the one I am working on are rare, thank God.”

  “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to bring it up. We don’t have to talk about work.”

  “No, it’s okay. I know that television glamorizes what I do. It’s natural to be curious.”

  His eyes strayed right again. Did Dak really talk to him all the time? If she and John did end up dating, she’d have to get used to that. John had a demanding job, and another being inside his head. That had to be a lot on a person.

  She could see them on a date in two years, both staring into space while the aliens inside them yacked up the night, and neither she nor John would need to say a word. Or would Dak and Adonna need their hosts to talk to each other? The whole idea seemed so strange.

  The waitress came and took their orders. John ordered a half carafe of wine and poured each of them a glass, filling his only half way. “I’m sure you have more questions for me about Adonna, so shoot.”

  Fantastic! Like he’d read her mind. She checked over her shoulder. The closest table with guests was on the opposite side of the room.

  Tracy folded her hands on the edge of the table and leaned toward him. “What was the hardest thing to get used to?”

  “Other than hearing voices in my head?” He laughed. “We still struggle a bit with…” He glanced at the tablecloth. “I guess you’d call it cultural differences.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “Well, Dak is extremely tactile. He’s used to reaching out and touching if he comes across someone he wants to meet. Even after five years, he still can’t seem to understand personal boundaries.”

  He tapped the table with his fingers. Tracy tried to imagine what Dak might be saying to him. God, how would she ever get used to that?

  John’s gaze trailed to Tracy. “Can you sense any more of Adonna?”

  She shook her head. “Barely anything. If Dak hadn’t confirmed she was in there, I might have thought those agent guys were dipping into the contraband or something.”

  John nodded and took a few bites of his salad, his eyes staying centered on his plate. Had this been a normal date, she’d think she was failing miserably, but she kept reminding herself that there were three of them at the table. Well, technically four, but one of them wasn’t up to talking yet.

  His brow rose. His eyes closed a few times, as if something was frustrating him immensely.

  Maybe someone, rather than something was vexing him from the inside.

  John took a sip of wine. His hand shook slightly. “Dak was wondering if you had a boyfriend.”

  A little swirl tickled her stomach, a sensation that had nothing to do with her Ambient. “Dak was wondering?”

  A smile shot across his lips. Could he get any cuter?

  “Maybe I was wondering, as well,” he said.

  Her eyes burned, and she blinked before they teared. Tonight was getting better and better. “Nope. No boyfriend. Why, is Dak looking?”

  “Dak is always looking.” He glanced to the right and whispered one word she couldn’t hear.

  “What’s he saying?”

  “Now that I won’t repeat.” The cutest blush spread over his cheeks. “He’s way more forward than I would ever be.”

  “Go ahead. Tell me.”

  He shifted his weight. “I-I can’t.”

  Hmmm, intrigue abounds. “Come on. I understand it’s him and not you.”

  John’s eyes softened, almost as if a sense of relief eased his tension. Could he be as happy as she was to have found another host to talk to?

  “No,” John said. “He’s teasing me all the time about certain things, but I am who I am, and he’s going to have to deal with that.” The edge of his lip twitched. Maybe John was getting teased at that very moment.

  Their conversation turned to delicate banter over dinner. Talking, always the worst part of the date, flowed freely. John and Dak eased her into feeling more safe and secure than she’d felt in a very long time. Was it possible that she could fall for a random guy she ran into on the street? Well, she supposed it wasn’t really random. Dak had thrown them together, but chance had brought them both to that same sidewalk at exactly the same time. Funny how fate worked.

  John held her hand as he walked her to her car. The heat from his skin singed her palm, bordering on painful. John didn’t seem to n
otice.

  It must have been Dak. She gripped a little tighter and the sting became a tingle. Her heart fluttered. What was this curious alien really thinking? And could she ever be as comfortable being a host as John was? The detective seemed to take it all in stride. Hopefully it wouldn’t take Tracy five years to accept and adapt to her new normal.

  “This is my car,” Tracy said.

  John shifted his weight, his gaze carrying over her car and into the woods. “We had a great time tonight.” His lips turned up into an almost-grin. He shook his head.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “It’s weird being able to say we. I usually have to hide Dak. Being with you: someone who understands, someone I can talk to, it’s…I don’t know. It’s such a relief to be with someone I don’t have to keep secrets from.”

  Tracy ran her fingers across his chin. Each touch, no matter where she placed her fingers, sizzled, tingled, and popped. What would it be like to strip off that blazer and hold him to her?

  His gaze lingered on her lips before rising to her eyes.

  “What’s wrong?” she asked.

  “This is the part of the night where my dates usually make a run for it.”

  Now that she found hard to believe. She ran the back of her fingers across his cheek. “I’m not running.”

  The color in his eyes deepened. He grabbed her hand, taking it from his face. “I’d really like to see you again.” He glanced to the side. His whole body tensed.

  “What, is Dak not interested?” Not that she thought that was true. She could feel the entity’s heat, but she knew he’d said something to knock the strong, hardened police detective off kilter.

  “On the contrary,” John said. “If he had a body, I’d be peeling him off you right now.”

  A giggle burst from her lips. The sound surprised her. She warmed deep within. “I would definitely like to see you again.”

  “How about tomorrow night?” John gaped and stepped back. “No, that’s a bit soon, umm…”

  She squeezed his hand. “Tell Dak next Friday would be better for me. I’m going back to work tomorrow.”

  John nodded. “Dak said it’s also appropriate for the guy to pick the girl up on a second date. I mean, if you’re okay with that.”

  She was so glad she wasn’t into the whole alpha-male dominant thing. What were the odds of her coming across a rugged, strong-on-the-outside guy, a cop no less, with those cute, quirky, not-so-sure of himself qualities that she had always found so endearing?

  “I’m totally okay with that.” She gave him her address and he typed it into his phone.

  “Great. We’re looking forward to it.”

  We’re. The word still seemed a little odd. How long until she started to think of herself in the plural?

  He brought her hand to his lips, placing a warm kiss on her knuckles. “Until Friday, then.”

  Wow, could he get any sexier?

  17

  The fluorescent light above Tracy’s workstation buzzed. The air conditioning kicked in, dropping chilled air from places unseen. Tugging her sweater around her shoulders, she stared at the pile of proofs on her desk. They must have gotten tired of filling in for her somewhere around a week ago. Now these jobs would be behind schedule. It would be her fault, even though she had two superiors perfectly capable of spotting incorrect PMS codes and potential issues with the bleed.

  Sighing, she grabbed the top proof and immediately noticed the lack of a cover sheet. Colonel Olson would have a cow if he’d heard someone hadn’t followed company process. She grabbed the next job and the next, all without cover pages. How hard was it to grab a sheet from her desk tray? She reached for the cover sheet bin and found it empty. Idiots. God forbid someone made a few copies while she was gone.

  She turned her chair to her computer, called up a blank cover sheet, and sent fifty copies to the printer. This was going to be a long day.

  “Seavers!” Resident sales asshole, Scott McNulty, called to her as she passed his office. “Hey, welcome back. Good to see you.” His gaze remained fixed on what looked like football stats on his computer screen before he finally turned. “Any idea when you’ll have my East Coast campaign ready? We can’t let that fall behind. I handed it in early to make sure it was done. But then, you know.” He waved his hand up and down like that could sum up being hit by a truck and out on disability for a month.

  “I’ll get right on it.” She passed him by and looked over her shoulder. “I’m going to do the ones that were handed in correctly first. As long as you did your paperwork, I should have it done today.” Tracy smirked as she reached the copy room. That pig never did his paperwork, even when the forms were on her desk. Served him right.

  She snatched her copies off the machine and fanned through them. The pages warmed her fingertips. Closing her eyes, she touched the sheets to her cheek until they cooled. Strange, how something so simple could give her peace.

  Tracy fanned through the copies again, concentrating on the words as they flashed past her eyes. So interesting how they were all the same. She plucked one of the center sheets out of the pile, placed it in the top paper tray, and pressed the green copy button. She giggled as an exact duplicate shot out of the side of the machine into the paper sorter. How fun!

  She replaced the sheet and pressed the copy button again and again. Over and over, a warm duplicate appeared on top of the growing pile.

  “Umm, Tracy?”

  She jumped, spinning toward her boss, Miles Kremmer, standing inside the entrance to the copy room. His wide eyes fixed on her, then to the three-inch thick stack of copies in the sorter, and the mass of paper still in her hand.

  “You okay?” he asked.

  She tucked back a loose bang. “Yeah, I’m fine. Just making some copies.”

  He moved around her and placed his hand on an uneven stack of papers several reams high, and then another right next to it. He held up a piece from each pile, both cover sheets. There were thousands of them.

  Something deep in her gut sank. How long had she been in there making copies? Not that it mattered. She couldn’t let on that there was something far more wrong with her than a recent car accident. “I-I needed cover sheets.”

  His brow furrowed. “I can see that.” He pulled out a chair from the table beside the wall. “Why don’t you sit down for a minute? You look a little pale.”

  She took the seat and Miles reached for the copies in her hand. She clenched her fingers, refusing to give them up.

  The furrow in his brow grew deeper and she released her grip. They were copies, for goodness’ sake.

  But they were hers!

  The room spun. When her vision cleared, she was on the floor, half-supported by Miles.

  Within two hours, she was home, tucked in bed.

  “Anything I can get you?” Laini asked.

  “You already picked me up from work. You better get back before you get fired.”

  Laini placed Tracy’s cell phone on the nightstand. “Call if you need anything.”

  Tracy’s mind had already begun to fog by the time her roommate had closed her door.

  A dog barking roused Tracy. The sun shone on her nightstand as her alarm clock changed from 10:12 to 10:13.

  She startled herself the rest of the way awake. It was morning already? She’d slept an entire day?

  Rubbing her temples, she replayed the incident in the copy room over and over. Dammit. Maybe going back so soon wasn’t such a good idea.

  Tracy schlepped to the kitchen, popped a choco-bliss coffee cup into the machine, and put a piece of bread into the toaster. Her stomach rumbled, and she tapped her fingers on her thigh until her coffee mug finished filling. She sipped warm, sweet heaven, but her stomach only growled louder.

  Setting her mug down, she grabbed a sleeve of chocolate bars from the cupboard. Laini wouldn’t mind if she borrowed one. She ripped open the wrapper and shoved the chocolate into her mouth. While the toaster’s timer ticked, she tore into anothe
r bar, and a third by the time the bell finally dinged.

  She settled onto the couch with her toast, coffee, and the rest of the sleeve of chocolate. The small pile of Hershey wrappers on the counter in the kitchen caught her attention. She couldn’t possibly have eaten all of those.

  But she had.

  Or someone inside her had.

  Chocolate. Photocopies. Oversleeping.

  What next? She rubbed her eyes. Setting her drink on the end table, she perused the collection of paperbacks piled bedside the lamp. One with an embossed silver dragon on the cover called to her. She settled in to the soft cushions, opened the book, and lost herself until the front door opened and Laini came in.

  Tracy glanced at the clock: 5:32 PM.

  Holy shit! She’d been sitting there for seven hours!

  She set the book beside her and tried to get up, but her legs buckled. She fell back as tingling waves rolled up and down her calves.

  Laini stopped in the kitchen and fingered the empty chocolate wrappers. “I guess you’re feeling better?”

  Tracy shook her head. No, she was not feeling better at all.

  18

  John’s grip tightened on the steering wheel. Despite falling into bed early last night, his eyes blurred and stung as if he’d partied his ass off.

  He got out of the car and grimaced at the lone police car parked in front of the municipal building. The dozens of cars that used to call this building home base had been placed in storage last week. They’d probably be repainted and sold at auction. He shook his head. No one benefited from police layoffs.

  He ripped the Office Space for Rent sign off the door and threw it in the bushes. It landed on the previous sign he’d thrown there a few days ago. They’d give up sooner or later.

  Art Commings handed him a coffee as he walked through the lobby.

  John grimaced. “Hand-delivering the java? Must be bad news.”

  Art took up stride beside him, waving a folder. “Alexandra Nixon, thirty-six years old from Marlton. Single, last seen by her neighbor at about six p.m. Sunday night getting into her car. Dressed like a tramp, he said.”