And he was really, really tall. Sara had to tip her head way back to look up at him. He didn’t speak, which upped the eerie factor a few more degrees. She somehow managed to get her legs under her and stand. She was a tall girl—Tall Girl was actually her call sign—but the top of her head didn’t reach his chin. He’d have to be around seven feet to top her by that much. He looked like a ragged cave man, but there was a sharp intelligence in his eyes. And he’d managed to get her clear of her bird. Not exactly cro-mag man skills.
She wanted to say something, but all she could think of was, crapeau.
Not particularly useful.
After a moment, she realized he was holding something out to her. A wooden-ish…thing. She took it, since he seemed to expect it.
“Thanks.” Her voice sounded a bit loud, and a bit too bright, breaking the deep silence.
He blinked, just the once, the green of his eyes disappearing, then slowly reappearing. It was very Cheshire Cat—one channeling Tim Burton.
Not a good combo.
Sara looked down at the bowl. The assortment of dingy pieces in the curved center could have been fruit—fruit having a really bad day. She picked out a piece. It felt slimy and a bit gritty, but she’d eaten worse than that in survival training.
She hoped.
She sniffed it. The pungent aroma made her eyes water. She slid it between reluctant lips and chewed. Okay, this was worse than anything she’d eaten anywhere. Her eyes watered some more. When she swallowed, nasty lingered like thick oil in her mouth. She looked up, blinking and wincing, and said, her voice a thin croak, “It’s... good.”
Not her most convincing performance.
Was that a spark of humor in his eyes? It was gone so quickly, she couldn’t be sure.
She felt the pocket of her jacket for a packet of water, but it seemed he’d picked her pockets.
“I had some water?” She patted her pocket again, not sure she needed to play charades. He seemed to understand her just fine.
He shifted slightly and she saw her stuff in a pile a few feet away. She edged past him, found the water and drank it down. It helped. A little.
Her head throbbed a reminder that her mouth wasn’t the only miserable body part. She lightly touched the bandage.
“Did you do the patch job?”
Another slow blink.
Okay.
Seems his mother hadn’t taught him it wasn’t polite to stare. If he thought he could intimidate her, well, he could, but she didn’t have to show it. She lifted her chin and her lips thinned. Her eyes narrowed, too—a warning sign her temper was in danger of launching, her various principals could have told him, if they’d been there, which they weren’t. Lucky them.
“I’m Captain Sara Donovan, United States Air Force.” She thought about holding out her hand, but wasn’t sure he’d take it. Wasn’t sure she wanted him to take it. “And you are....?”
He blinked again. Punk. He understood her, all right. His face didn’t change, but his eyes gave him away.
“...shy, I guess.” She looked around. “I love what you’ve done with the place. It’s very retro.”
So retro, it probably didn’t have a bathroom. Now that she’d thought about it, she needed one. Great. Nothing like baring your butt in the bushes on an alien planet. She tried to think of an alternative, but she hadn’t seen any gas stations when she was coming in.
“I need to step out.” She pointed in the direction she thought the entrance was, though it was hard to tell. There wasn’t an exit sign. He didn’t move or speak. Just blinked again. Maybe he didn’t have bodily functions. She took a step toward the entrance and he shifted to block her. She felt color flood her face.
“I really need to visit the head…make a pit stop? Powder my nose? Empty the radiator? Visit the little girls’ room?” She was running out of euphemisms. “Pee?” She gave him a get-a-clue look and after a long pause, saw his eyes widen. This time she was sure it was humor passing through the old eyeballs. He pointed in the other direction, a very pitch black direction. “Right.”
She bent and snagged her flashlight and a bum wipe packet. She flipped the light around, so it pointed down, and turned it on, flinching from the light stabbing into wide open pupils. When she could see again, she looked back, avoiding looking directly at him. “Excuse me.”
The surface of the floor was surprisingly smooth, but she kept the light trained on it, as she paced forward, wondering just where he expected her to—
A sort of crevasse opened to one side. Great, a pit toilet for her pit stop. She shone the light back the way she’d come, but he hadn’t followed her.
Smart man.
When she finished, she picked up her zoombag and headed back, noting he’d retreated to his spot on the other side of—Sara could see it now—a pile of glowing rocks. Yet another clue she wasn’t in Kansas, in case she had any doubts left. Sara stopped by her stuff, dropped her zoombag and picked out her bottle of waterless soap, so she could clean her hands. She could feel him watching everything she did. Didn’t take long to figure out her side arm, knife and P-90 were not among the jumble of her stuff.
Very smart man.
Back on earth, she wouldn’t have had a P-90 or the ABU’s—the pixilated camo uniform—under her zoombag, but she’d received a lot of specialized training and been given a lot more gear prior to the mission. Lucky for her, all he’d done was take it. Be a real bummer if he used it against her. And embarrassing.
Not that he needed her stuff to kick her ass.
Though she was careful not to turn the light on him, in the reflected glow she could see him a bit better. He was younger than she’d first thought, probably close to her own age. He was also very nicely built, thanks to the generosity of all the leather, and her impression that he was well armed was confirmed. He had side arms of some sort on both hips, a sword looking thing strapped to his back and at least three knife sheaths that she could see. Probably more she couldn’t see. On his wrists she could see spikes sticking out in a deadly fan.
Dang. Must be a rough neighborhood.
What was he doing here?
And where was here?
She turned off the flashlight and dropped it back on the pile, then returned to her seat, a pile of dried stuff. She looked around. It seemed to be the only pile of stuff. His bed? That was kind of disturbing. On the other hand, he was keeping his distance. She knew she was no beauty queen. There were no cushy love lies in foster care. She was too tall, too thin, her hair was too red and her eyes were too big for her face. That said, as far as she could tell, she was the last woman on this earth and there he sat.
On his side of the cave.
Not that she wanted to get hit on by a caveman. She was just curious. How desperate did a guy have to get to hit on her?
She noticed the glowing dial of her watch. One thing he hadn’t taken. If she didn’t count her virginity. But she was moving on from that. The time meant nothing, since she hadn’t been in position to look at her watch before the crash. The alarm had sounded at twelve-hundred. The dog fight, well it seemed long, but it probably wasn’t. According to her watch it was either 0500 or 1700.
She rubbed her aching head.
“I don’t suppose you’d tell me how long I was out?” She looked up suddenly and saw the green glow of his eyes. “I know you understand me. I can see it in your eyes.”
The eyes abruptly turned away. Sara smiled to herself. She picked up the bowl of food, took another piece and examined it, then absently popped it in her mouth. Okay, that was worse than the last one. She spit it out in her hand and looked at him. He still wasn’t looking, so she dumped it back in the wooden thing, and set it aside. She leaned back against the wall, shifting until she found a semi-comfortable position, then pulled her legs in until her knees were against her chest and rested her arms on them, watching her host.
After a time, she saw his gaze turn toward her again.
Oddly enough, the silence wasn’t uncom
fortable. Sara didn’t have a problem with not talking. She’d spent a lot of her life not talking. The problem with this silence, it allowed worry to creep in. When her Dauntless got hit, the Doolittle had been engaged in a battle with an unknown, alien force. Had it survived? Did anyone see her get hit or where she went? How far from her ship had he taken her? Was any of it still intact? And all questions led back to, why had he taken her? What did he want? Who was he? Why was he here, apparently all alone?
When she was fourteen, she’d thought the worst thing that could happen to her was foster care. What a difference thirteen years—and another galaxy—made.
As always, when she was nervous, she began to tap out a song against the sides of her arms.
The song got slower…
Sara’s chin sank down to rest on her arms, then her lashes drifted down....
Buy The Key
Bonus: Excerpt of RELATIVELY RISKY
A quirky artist must unravel her parent’s secret past before the mob erases her future. But will the protection of a handsome homicide detective be her only hope of surviving the Big Easy?
Nell Whitby is starting over in New Orleans, getting a publisher for her children’s book, sketching tourists in the French Quarter, and leaving the tragic death of her parents behind. When a handsome detective asks her for a date, her fresh start seems perfect…until a dangerous family secret bubbles up from the past and puts her life in jeopardy.
The oldest of thirteen children, detective Alex Baker has two goals in life: solve murders and avoid anyone under the age of ten. That is, until the day the quirky children's book author foils a carjacking, becomes a target for the mob, and makes his libido sit up and reconsider the whole no-kids thing. If he doesn’t protect her, she’ll be the next body to turn up in his homicide investigation.
As bullets start to fly, Nell can’t resist her sexy bodyguard or ignore her past, and Alex must protect the irresistible kid-magnet from whoever has them both in the crosshairs.
“Jones’ writing style is unique: a strong dose of noir balanced with humor and witty dialogue.” Midwest Book Review
The excerpt:
He’d passed his house, wondering if he was going to be doomed to drive around until one of the college students across the street had to go to class, but as he passed a cross street, he’d spotted half a space just around the corner. It was by a hydrant, but the parking Nazis weren’t out this early, and he could get his dad to move his truck later. He pulled in, got most of his truck off the street, if he didn’t mind blocking the sidewalk. He didn’t. The dividing line between street and sidewalk was more imagined than real anyway. He’d shut off the engine and thrust open the door, anxious to get unconscious as soon as possible. Should have known better. Should have kept an eye on his surroundings. Which was why the stinking little piece of crap got the drop on him, down shifting his night from bad to worse.
“Get out real slow with your hands where I can see ‘em, mother—” The pressure of the gun against his neck eased some, as if the perp couldn’t point and talk at the same time.
Alex rolled his eyes at the spate of unoriginal swearing. The education system was so screwed up, it was depressing. Kids couldn’t even swear good and had nothing better to do than try to jack a detective who’d spent the night knee deep in bodies.
“Keep your cool,” Alex said, more for himself than the kid, as his temper tried to slip tired’s leash. Making sure both hands were visible, he slid out and turned around. The kid was as small as he sounded and looked like he was on the downside of a high. Probably looking to trade Alex’s wheels for a trip back up. Man, the guys’d really roast him if he got jacked by a kid too young to shave.
“Shut up and give me your wallet and keys!” The kid practically foamed at the mouth as another round of filth poured out.
At his age, Alex hadn’t known half that many cuss words. And when he got caught saying the ones he knew, his head had been down in the sink eating soap. If he shoved a bar down the kid’s throat? Probably be called police brutality and get him a sit down with IAD.
“Life’s not fair,” his dad would say about now. “But it’s always interesting, bubba.”
And about to get more so, Alex realized. The swearing, while tiresome, had drowned out the unlikely figure on a bicycle bearing down on them both. She was hunched over the handles, an intent scowl on a face that was ordinary, but not in a bad way. Her feet pumped hard on the pedals, as she steered around the numerous potholes and bumps that pockmarked the street. Her eyes were narrow slits and her hair stuck out around her head like a ragged, brown halo.
Alex sure hoped she didn’t plan to ram the little crap while he had a gun pointed at him—oh yeah, she meant to. As if the kid sensed her incoming, he started to turn.
“Here, catch.” Alex tossed his keys high in the air. No surprise the kid followed the shiny object. Or that he stepped back to catch them. The front wheel of the bike caught the kid in the butt and sent him running forward, right into Alex’s waiting fist. He crumpled into an untidy heap, though a final hand twitch fired the gun. Alex’s driver’s side window exploded into flying shards of glass.
And took his insurance rates with it.
Alex mentally deployed a few swear words. Didn’t have time to say them as the bike and its rider skidded sideways. No way she’d regain control. Alex jumped forward, tried to catch her. Instead, he got tangled in the bike. Gravity weighed in but not on his side. Damn, he didn’t remember the pavement being that hard. The front wheel spun against the side of his face through two rotations before he untangled a hand and stopped it. He turned his head and found himself nearly nose to nose with the rider. It was a nice nose. Short but straight and set neatly between her eyes. They were nice, too. He’d spent the night fielding angry looks. Didn’t mind the nice change of gaze. They were a warm brown and…he tipped his head, trying to find the right description, and settled for nice. They were nice. She smelled better than all of his perps. That wasn’t surprise. He noticed her lips were pursed, which sent his thoughts down a kissing side path. If he hadn’t been so tired, he wouldn’t have thought about kissing her, of course—
As if on cue, she licked her lips, kick-starting something deep in his gut. Maybe he’d spent too long on the bench after his divorce. He blinked, a bit hazily, and realized she was engaged in a counter scrutiny. Her curious, oddly innocent gaze intersected his and she blinked, lashes thick as a hair brush sliding down, then up again. Despite the intrusion of the bike they were as intimately entangled as lovers. Shouldn’t have thought that. His breathing stuttered.
“Are you all right?” Voice matched the eyes.
“I’m fine.” His voice was on the husky side, but she wouldn’t know that. His gaze drifted to her mouth again. Wasn’t a kiss a time honored thank you for a rescue? Did sharing her crash count as a rescue? His conscience kicked. “Are you okay?”
Her eyes widened. The mouth curved up. “Yes, thank you. Though…”
Apparently oblivious to his snarled thoughts, she untangled her legs from her bike and from him, wincing a bit in the process, and scrambled up.
He lifted the bike to the side. His nerve endings started sending an inventory of which parts hurt and how much. Gravity, as if sensing his desire to escape, tightened its grip. When he turned forty earlier this year, he’d decided it was time to quit slamming his body against the ground, hard objects and other people. It was getting embarrassing how long it took him to get up. Didn’t remember it hurting that much when he was younger. That’s why he’d applied for a transfer to Homicide. Life had a way of bringing you full circle—not to mention reemphasizing its most painful lessons. Lessons like, you can run but you can’t hide. And quit banging yourself against the ground, idiot brain.
He ignored the hand she held out to him and fought gravity until he got both legs under him. He crouched and flipped the kid, cuffed him, then checked his pulse. He’d live to carjack again. Might even live long enough to be old enough to driv
e what he stole. He secured the perp’s weapon and then went to right the bike. He gave it a roll forward—seemed to be all right. Not too bent out of shape. Something ironic in that thought, but he was too tired to figure it out. He deployed the stand, wondered what she was doing out so early, turned to ask, and found her staring at the handcuffs. Then she looked at him, her eyes a bit wide.
Some color scored his cheeks. “I’m a cop.”
“Oh. Right.” Her grin was a bit sheepish as she held up his keys.
Alex’s lips twitched, too tired to manage a grin. “Nice catch.”
“I’ve always had good eye-hand coordination. I kick butt at Mario Kart.”
Maybe that’s where she got the idea to ram the little piece of crap. He opened his mouth to tell her she should confine her ramming to games but stopped. Sounded too much like something his old man would say. She grinned, as if she knew, then turned to check her bike herself.
He was a guy, so he studied the rear view. A bit of skin showed where her top and calf-length pants didn’t quite meet. Her pants fit fine over a nicely formed caboose—she kicked her bike stand and swung a leg over. The scuffed cowboy boots were a surprise, but not as much as the realization she was going to just ride away.
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