Being escorted to the bathroom made Adrianne feel utterly incompetent. The nurse eased her down on the toilet. “You should have had your friend get me.” Her face shone with a slick sheen of sweat.
“I’d be peeing in a bedpan then, wouldn’t I?”
A smile touched the nurse’s lips. “Yes. I’ll be just outside the door. Call when you need me.”
She tried to pee or make some sort of noise, then waited for a while feeling foolish. Finally, she leaned over and turned on the faucet. The sound of running water moved things along and camouflaged her own sounds. How embarrassing to have three people listening to her pee. When she finished, the nurse bustled through the door.
“Excuse me?” She was poised just above the toilet, tissue in hand.
“I see it every day,” she remarked.
“Well, I don’t.” Adrianne tried to shrug off her assistance.
“We’re lowering your pain medication. That’ll take the wind out of your sails.”
“You’re not intimidating me.”
“It’s my job to make sure you get better.”
“I am perfectly fine. Thank you.” She made her way back to the bed on her own, the nurse hovering at her elbow. Edging by the officer so he couldn’t see her bare backside, she slid onto the bed. Damn hospital gowns. She wanted her own clothes, her own bed and to be out from beneath everyone’s scrutiny. The nurse bustled around her, reattaching monitors.
“Agent Haynes,” the officer said when she finally settled herself into bed, upright, covers tucked tight around herself. He extended his hand.
Not bad-looking. His grip was firm, eyes wary but a warm rich brown. Worn brown loafers, khakis neatly pressed, and an olive-colored cotton long-sleeve shirt coordinated with the hint of sock she spied when he sat down beside the bed. His hair was of a utilitarian cut, slightly longer than military, but not much, his jaw wide, clean-shaven. He looked boyishly thirty but his eyes were aged. Pushing forty, she guessed. Way too old for her, but he had potential for Nikki. She glanced at Nikki. Nikki raised an eyebrow.
“Am I in trouble?”
“No, but I do have a few questions we need to ask. Part of the routine. Do you want to be alone?”
Nikki, leaning against the window, flashed her a wicked grin of white teeth against her dark complexion.
No, she didn’t want to be alone for a long, long time. “Shoot.”
“Excuse me?”
“Go ahead, ask away.”
He hesitated. “Are you aware you are the only survivor?”
She cut him off with a terse “yes”.
“Have you seen photos of the crash?” He reached inside an envelope he carried.
“I saw it on the television.”
He paused, dropping his hand. “We don’t know how you lived through that,” he said bluntly.
“That makes two of us.”
“Anything you can tell me?”
“We hit turbulence before we landed. The flight crew gave us the crash lecture. We all assumed the position. We crashed.”
He flashed her a quick smile, all even white teeth. He took no notes and kept one hand on his envelope, the other, resting on his knee. She saw the muscles twitch in the hand cupping his knee.
“Tell me what you can about the crash.”
She shuddered, trying miserably to keep her emotions hidden. He wanted facts. And yet, all she saw was blood trickling out of Karen Anhalt’s mouth. She swallowed, fought down the bubble of panic. “I saw the terminal coming toward us too fast. I thought we were going to hit it.” And remembered her mind gibbering stop, stop, stop. “We stopped before we hit though. I don’t know what we hit, but it was big enough to stop a plane.”
“The plane didn’t hit anything.”
Adrianne shook her head. “I felt it. My seat belt almost cut me in two. If we didn’t hit the terminal, what stopped the plane?” Frustration crept into her voice.
“I don’t know.” He watched her closely.
“A plane sliding sideways doesn’t just come to a halt on its own.”
“You’re echoing my thoughts.”
“I remember the screeching noise, metal groaning, the smell of something burning.” Burning flesh, hair, seats. “Screams, doors opening, people trampling each other.” Her world was pitching dangerously again. Her heart monitor beeped a staccato rhythm. The blonde nurse poked her head into the room, frowned at Agent Haynes, then backed out.
Nikki stepped beside the bed, started stroking her hand.
She was caught in the images. “I don’t remember much more.” But she did. The fire eating up her pants legs, the bob and nod of the flames so mesmerizing, its insatiable hunger.
“You have bumps and bruises, no broken bones and remarkably no burns. Everyone and everything else burned. Why?”
“Ask the doctors,” she retorted, meeting his accusing eyes.
He dropped his gaze and toyed with the envelope. “Do you want to see photos?” he asked quietly.
“No,” she retorted. “I want to know why the plane crashed.”
“Preliminary report blames the ice.”
She remembered seeing ice coating the wings.
He continued. “After 9/11, we can’t rule out an act of sabotage.”
“You’re nuts,” she said, jumping to his conclusion. “I’m a teacher, not a terrorist.”
“You lived,” he said simply. “How? Maybe hiding beneath a nonflammable blanket or spraying some sort of fire retardant on your body.”
“Get out,” she said in a harsh voice. “Get out of here.”
“Ms. Harris.”
“Am I under arrest?”
“No.”
“Then get out.” She pointed, jabbing her finger at the door.
“I have a right to ask that you inform the authorities prior to you going anywhere.”
“To hell I will.” She raised her chin. “I’m the victim, damn it.” She felt her resolve slipping. A few tears slid down her face. She swiped at them with her gown’s flimsy sleeve.
“All we want is answers,” he said evenly.
“Me too.”
He stood as a doctor entered the room, her nurse in tow.
“Glad to see you’re awake, Adrianne,” he said and she recognized him from the emergency room. Nearly bald but for a fringe of hair over his ears, mid-fifties with a no-nonsense air about him. He frowned at Haynes. “She’s been through a very traumatic ordeal. I would like to see her rest.”
“I was just leaving.” He reached into a pocket and laid a business card on the bedside table. “If you want to talk or think of anything else, give me a call.”
At Nikki’s tightening grip, she bit back a retort and simply nodded. She had a feeling she’d see Haynes again.
When he’d left the room, she turned to the doctor. “I’d like to go home.”
He examined her with a critical eye. “There’s no reason to technically keep you here any longer and your insurance company will be pleased you want to leave. I prefer to keep my coma patients a few extra days to make sure they don’t regress.” He walked to the window and lifted a blind between his thumb and forefinger. “I understand your need to escape the scrutiny of the police and media hounds. But you cannot hide from everyone. Are you ready to deal with them?”
“Is anyone ever?” She didn’t want to think about that. She wanted her normal life, her bed, a nice long bath and maybe even a glass of wine.
“I’ve had a chance to review your medical records.” His tone was light. He turned to her, his face noncommittal, but gaze sharp. “You stopped filling your prescription over a year ago.”
“My body, my choice.”
“How are you feeling, Adrianne?” The tone of his voice changed, grandfatherly, as if offering her a butterscotch candy.
“Like I fell out of a plane,” she retorted. Nikki didn’t know what she had done to herself when her father died. She couldn’t let Nikki know. She wasn’t that person anymore. She had picked up the pieces a
nd forced herself to go on.
He pressed his thin lips tight, his brow furrowed. “Get Ms. Harris a set of scrubs.” He waited until the nurse left the room. “I’d like to know how you survived. Everyone would.” He held up his hand to forestall her protest. “What is difficult for us, especially for a man of my profession, is that sometimes we just don’t have an answer. Consider your life a gift, Ms. Harris. Use it wisely.”
He crossed the room, scribbled a prescription on a piece of paper and laid it on the bedside table. “See that you get this filled.”
“Thank you.” Fill it, no problem, use it, she doubted it.
The nurse returned with the scrubs and a pair of ridiculously thin slippers.
“I don’t like seeing my hospital turned into a circus. Use the service elevator. You have one hour. After that I’ll announce that you’ve been discharged.” He left.
“Wow, warm bedside manner,” Nikki remarked.
Adrianne was already pulling off her gown and dressing in the scrubs. The doctor hadn’t pushed. Nikki hadn’t pried. Her secret was safe. That was all that mattered.
She headed into the bathroom, a bit woozy, and splashed water on her face. Her hair was in desperate need of a wash. She braided it tightly, securing it with a rubber band. Hazy blue eyes stared back at her from the mirror. She frowned at the bags.
Nikki popped in and handed her a compact. “You need some color.”
For once, Adrianne agreed.
“How do I look?” A touch of blush added life to her cheeks. She disguised the shadows beneath her eyes with as much powder as she dared.
“Like you just worked two back-to-back shifts.” Quiet concern filled her eyes. She touched Adrianne’s shoulder lightly. “You ready? You could stay here another night. I won’t leave you alone.”
“No.”
“All right then.” She eyed her critically. “I think we’ll make it.”
They slipped down the hallway, chatting amiably as if the pair had indeed just gotten off shift and were making plans. They passed Agent Haynes at the nurses’ station. His lean body was draped over the counter, badge displayed beside him, as he tried to read something on the nurse’s computer monitor. The nurse’s voice was raised. Her hand shielded the contents of the monitor from view.
They did not notice the pair.
The service elevator opened. The doors whooshed closed. Silence closed around them.
Nikki cleared her throat. “I’m not one to pry.”
Adrianne snorted.
“What did the doctor find in your records?”
She swallowed hard. Nikki must never know. No one must ever know she lost herself once. She was whole now. Or was she? Was the whispering voice of an alien a sign she slipped? She’d made a life since then. A life filled with a sexually fulfilling relationship and friendships she treasured. She had a career, paid her bills on time and even went to church from time to time. But most importantly, she had Nikki.
“Nothing to be concerned about,” Adrianne replied, trying to keep her voice steady and light at the same time.
“You can trust me.”
“You know I do.”
Nikki gave her a hard, long stare. “Okay. When you’re ready, we’ll talk.”
Like hell. She smiled. “All right, we will.”
“You can be incredibly pigheaded,” Nikki muttered.
“I learned from the best.”
The elevator doors opened. They turned away from the lobby, quickly enough to only glimpse the reporters lounging there. Over the course of a week, their watchfulness had ebbed. Other stories took precedence. What remained in the lobby were the last-chance reporters, those seeking their big break. And they were watching for a beat-up blonde-haired woman with a sallow face and haunted eyes, not a nurse with greasy hair accompanied by a raven-haired woman of Latino origin.
Nikki pulled the keys from her pocket as they headed out the door. Her beat-up gray car was parked in two-hour parking. Typical Nikki. She, no doubt, played the concerned friend role to the hilt, and the law relented.
A note fluttered beneath her driver-side windshield wiper.
Adrianne snickered. “Looks like you didn’t escape a fine this time.”
Nikki smiled, a predator’s smile, pulled the note loose and read it. “One of the security guys asking me for a date.” She crumpled the paper up and tossed it in her backseat.
“Sometimes I hate you. Hand over those cookies.”
Chapter Six
Navarre felt the pressure ease even before he opened his eyes. He turned his head, willing his dormant body awake. His fellow comrades still slept, cocooned in their traveling beds. The gray walls around them rippled imperceptibly, as fluid expanded through the walls of the ship again.
His toes tingled. Taking off his oxygen mask, he sat up slowly, letting his body adjust to normal pressure. He intensely disliked space travel. The Dragoon had been on the move for the past seventy-five years. He prayed Adrianne Benedicta Harris was truly their Queen and their quest could finally come to an end.
Home, a place to stretch one’s wings and caress the sky. He didn’t ask for much. None of them did anymore. Family, friends, their very race, was annihilated. All they had left were each other. Little comfort that was.
The craft settled, purring in contentment. It had been traveling far too long as well.
Navarre touched the spongy wall. “Thank you,” he murmured. While they slept, the ship had analyzed the environment and deemed it safe for its inhabitants. Navarre was one of the few who never forgot the importance of their sentient ship. “Ramp?” A hole opened at his feet with a hiss as pressurized air met the atmosphere of a new planet.
He should wait for someone else to rise. As the last of their race, they had an unspoken agreement to travel in pairs for safety. A glance down the row of couches revealed twelve other sleeping forms. Running his fingers through his hair, he took a step toward his brother’s couch. Altarre’s mouth was open. He snored softly. Let him sleep. Altarre was an empath. The last couple of months had been particularly hard on him.
Navarre did not hesitate to descend. The ship sealed itself shut behind him. No sign of an opening remained. The ship’s body was shaped like a whale’s, with a large blunt front end tapering in a streamlined fashion to a pointed rear. It had already begun to burrow into the frozen soil around it. In a few days there would be no trace of its presence. Anything in its burrowing path it could consume, it would. That which could not be consumed, was expelled and used to cover itself. An effective craft and one of the last of its kind as well, its symbiotic relationship with the Dragoon pretty much heralded its extinction.
Navarre drew his cloak around him. To his internal temperature, it was bitterly cold. What forsaken area had they landed in? His feet made crunching noises as he moved, the ground white beneath him. Above him, woody plants extended nude arms skyward, as if beseeching a cruel God for more warmth. A lone sun sullenly lit the sky. The cold air seared his lungs. A single exhalation created a cloud before his lips and dissipated before he could touch it.
Wonderful. This planet’s ambiance would certainly elevate all their moods, he thought sarcastically. But this was the planet of their Queen. That thought alone propelled him forward.
Tipping his head, he listened for sounds of life, letting his mind play out lightly. Creatures touched his thread, tentative at first, chittering softly. He caught the image of a small gray furred body, every muscle constantly on the move. Another touched his mind, slow and as thick as molten earth, as white as the ground around it, ears pointy, and incredibly well-tuned. A sleeping giant’s rhythms tickled his sense, a large black creature curled in a den to his south.
He played out farther and found what he sought. Humans. A mental signature like and yet unlike their Queen. His Queen’s mental touch was tinged with self-awareness, yet wild, as if she could spin away from herself, never return, and not fear that escape. Unpredictable and reckless was more like how others of the Dra
goon would describe that characteristic. He found it intriguing.
His Queen. With blonde hair as light-colored as a newborn dragon’s underbelly and piercing blue eyes that sought to sear into the very soul of a person. He wondered if she knew what she could do to someone with that clever brain tucked behind those eyes. Was she so new to her talents that she did not know? Or had she managed to hide her psi signature from them all these years? Either possibility meant she was dangerous.
It thrilled him.
The human minds that he found were focused on pleasure, their senses and wits dull. He felt sullied just touching them. He had no more desire to interact with them, yet in order to gain what he needed, he must.
With a sigh, he moved in the direction of these humans, then paused. His footfalls were so noisy. He wanted to fly but the ripple in the environment’s aura might be enough to attract unsavory characters. The Dragoon would be weak after such a long, quick spaceflight as well as the ship itself. And he was alone. He could not risk drawing predators to the ship.
He moved through the arc of woody plants, unsure of how the time passed here, intent only on his prey. A shelter eventually came into sight, hewn from the woodland around it. Square in shape, an exhaust pipe stuck out of the roof. Exhaust in the form of smoke puffed out of the pipe. Panels set into the frame of the shelter looked translucent. He approached as close as he dared, hid himself behind a stack of chopped wood and collected his thoughts.
He sensed two occupants in the shelter. A third stumbled through the snow into Navarre’s line of sight, his movements jerky as if injured or impaired. “Hey,” he called to the other inhabitants as if they could hear him. He pulled down his breeches, whipped out his manliness and began to pee. He moved as he peed, scrolling burning yellow into the white ground covering. “Hey,” he called again. “I wrote my whole name in the snow!” Pants still half down, the crack of his buttocks showing, he trudged back to the shelter, calling out to the others again.
The intelligence level of that one was frightening. Navarre dismissed it immediately, praying one of the other two possessed a shred of sense. He eased all three minds into a rhythm of sleep and waited several minutes. Then he stepped from his hiding place and slipped into the shelter.
The Last Queen Page 3
