Once or twice in the past she’d gotten like this, but she’d had Kiki to fall back on, or Michael if Kiki was busy. With Kiki in L.A., it would have to be Michael…only Kara knew she wouldn’t even bother to call him. It was Saturday, and Saturdays were generally his busiest days. Usually the busiest day at the shop, too, but really, if she were going to manufacture a family emergency to beg off from doing tonight’s tour, then why not go whole hog and shut down the store for the rest of the weekend?
The thought alarmed her at the same time it thrilled her. She honestly couldn’t remember the last time she hadn’t worked through a weekend; that was just part of being a shop owner in a tourist town. Her normal days off were Mondays and Tuesdays, although half the time she ended up working on Mondays, too, especially if the Monday fell on a holiday when a lot of other people would be off work. It was nuts to shut down on a weekend, on the days when she got the vast majority of her sales. But…
Not too long ago Kiki accused her of having a scarcity mentality. At the time Kara had brushed off the remark, putting it down to something her sister had probably heard one of her psychic clients say. After all, Kiki had only been three when their mother disappeared, leaving Kara to finally call her grandparents in a panic after she and Kiki had been alone for four days. Kiki probably didn’t remember much about moving from one crappy one-bedroom apartment to another, or having to live off Top Ramen and mac and cheese from a box because their mother was too busy spending what little money she had on cigarettes and booze.
No, if God was merciful, Kiki had forgotten most of that, but Kara had been eleven when she came to live with her grandparents, and so she recalled far more than she wanted to. The memories of those days lurked somewhere far back in her mind, and so even though she knew intellectually she was doing just fine — the house and store were paid for, and she had about fifty grand in the bank — for some reason she kept pushing herself, worrying that one day the bottom would fall out of everything and she’d be back to the bad old days of Top Ramen. Stupid, she knew. She could close the shop for a whole month and not feel it too badly…except for whatever customers she might piss off by being shut down.
Okay, that seemed to settle it. The world would not end if the UFO Depot closed its doors for one weekend. The tourists would just wander a few shops down and find something else to spend their money on, and if they were here in town for a longer stay, they might try back in the middle of the week if they really couldn’t live without an “I had a close encounter in Sedona, Arizona” T-shirt.
She hadn’t even realized what a weight had been sitting on her shoulders until after she made her decision. It would feel so, so good to play hooky.
But now that she had a day off, what was she going to do with it?
* * *
Lance swung by the shop to check on Kara before he went to get his ritual morning cup of espresso at the Secret Garden Café. To his surprise, he saw a sign in the window of the UFO Depot that read “Closed for the weekend due to family emergency. We apologize for the inconvenience.” It had been printed on Kara’s laser printer in big block letters that could be read clearly from the parking lot. Trust Kara to be conscientious even about blowing off her customers.
Well, he couldn’t blame her. Maybe it would be better if she laid low for a few days. After what happened last night, it was probably a good idea for her to keep a low profile…at least until Paul and Persephone got back in town and they could all discuss their next course of action.
Lance’s mouth thinned slightly at that thought. He really didn’t like the idea of waiting for anybody — after all, the group had gotten along just fine before the Olivers took up residence in Sedona — but he’d seen what Persephone had done to all those hybrids and alien-infected humans. It would be stupid to do much of anything without her around.
A quick glance at his watch told him it was just past nine-thirty. A little early for a social call, but it couldn’t hurt to swing by and make sure Kara was okay. Even though she was taking the day off, he knew she had to be up and around because of the sign on the shop’s door. And if part of him was just curious to see what exactly she had planned for a Saturday where she wasn’t at the store, well, fine. Better that she be a little annoyed with him for being nosy rather than have something actually be wrong. She could have been coerced into making that sign. You never knew.
Thus determined on his course of action, he headed back to the Jeep. He’d just put his hand on the door handle when he heard a half-familiar female voice say, “Lance? It is Lance, isn’t it?”
No choice but to turn toward the woman. When he saw who it was, he had to force himself to keep from gritting his teeth. “Hi…” Oh, shit, he’d never even gotten her name.
“Taylor. Taylor Bradford.”
Great. She sounded like a law firm or something. “Taylor, of course. Sorry, I was thinking about something else.”
“I know, isn’t it a bummer?”
“What?”
She pointed toward the door with a perfectly manicured hot pink fingernail. “I so wanted to check out this store before we headed down to Phoenix.”
“I thought you were supposed to go to Phoenix on Thursday…or Scottsdale, I mean.”
A wide flash of toothpaste-commercial teeth. Maybe she was pleased he’d remembered that much about her itinerary. In the harsh light of day, she didn’t look quite as good as she had in the bar — skin too taut from an overdose of Botox, tendons standing out in her neck. He had to revise her age upward a few years, closer to his own. But damn, her body was amazing.
“Well, we were supposed to, but then Lindsay had to go have the worst allergy attack, and she’s spent the past two days up at some holistic center in the canyon getting hot rocks on her back and herbal inhalers and I don’t even know what else to try to fix her sinuses. But our flight leaves for L.A. at two, so I thought I’d come by this place to see if it was open. I wanted to get one of those alien T-shirts…it would’ve been so cute for the gym.”
He wondered if she would find the aliens quite so cute if they were swooping straight down at her. Probably not. In his mind he saw Kara again, pale hair blowing in the unnatural wind kicked up by the alien ship, her clean profile outlined by its harsh, glaring lights. She’d looked like a Valkyrie…well, right up until the second he’d tackled her.
“That’s too bad,” he said, trying to sound somewhat sympathetic and not sure he’d succeeded. “Stuff happens, I guess.”
“I guess,” Taylor replied, and sent him a significant look.
Shit. He was in no mood to go for round two with her, not with the alien threat hanging over all their heads, not with the memory of Kara’s body beneath his just a little too vivid. But he also knew it would be a supremely assholish thing for him to just blow her off. Looked like he’d have to postpone that visit to Kara’s house.
“Have you eaten yet? Because I know this great place down 89A…”
She nodded enthusiastically and climbed into the Jeep with him. He tried not to sigh as he pointed the 4x4 down the highway to the Coffee Pot restaurant. They were famous for their breakfasts, and a local hangout, so that should satisfy her. He was damned if he was going to take her to the Secret Garden, his special sanctuary. A man had his limits, after all.
* * *
Kara used her time on the treadmill to send off all the necessary texts and make the phone calls to those who didn’t text, letting them know the tour had been cancelled and that she’d be refunding their money just as soon as possible. Thank God she could log into her merchant account to do that and wouldn’t have to call the bank. Everyone sounded disappointed, and a few tried to ask questions, but she dodged those inquiries and stuck to the party line about there being a family emergency.
By the time she was done she’d heard Grayson emerge from the shower in the other bathroom, so she judged it safe enough to get cleaned up. The house’s water heater couldn’t handle two showers at once, as she’d learned to her dismay not lo
ng after moving in with her grandparents. She really should see about replacing that ancient appliance.
“I’m going to shower,” she called down the hall. “Are you okay with cereal? That’s all I’ve got left in the house.”
His voice drifted back to her. “Sure. I’ll eat and then go check on the motorcycle.”
It all sounded so normal, so prosaic. Hard to believe that three days ago she hadn’t even known him. Then again, she really couldn’t say she knew him now. No past, no memories, a name borrowed from a TV show. She really was nuts.
She shook her head and went into the bathroom.
* * *
The day was bright and sunny, but once again thunderheads loomed to the south and east. Hard to say if they’d make it all the way over here, but Kara stood in the driveway and squinted at the sky anyway, trying to figure out what the weather was going to do. Or maybe she was just attempting to avoid the curious gaze of her next-door neighbor, Felicia Martinez, who was making something of a show of watering her rosebushes but who was probably just gawking at Grayson.
Not that he wasn’t eminently gawkable. He sat astride the Indian in the middle of her driveway, her grandfather’s old motorcycle helmet dangling from his left hand as he adjusted the mirrors with his right. The muscles in his arms did interesting things under the close-fitting gray T-shirt, and Kara had to force herself not to stare.
“Be careful,” she said. “You don’t have a license.”
“It would have been a lot easier if I did, wouldn’t it?” he asked, all seriousness. Then he planted a pair of Ray-Bans on his nose — the sunglasses were another relic of her grandfather’s — and pulled on the helmet before fastening the strap under his chin. “Anyway, I’m only going down the street and back. It’ll be fine.”
“Okay.”
She watched as he twisted the throttle and brought the Indian to roaring life once again. For a second or two she’d thought that maybe it wouldn’t start, that maybe last night had been a fluke, but no, the bike sounded healthy and ready to rumble. Grayson flashed her a grin and rolled out of the driveway, balancing expertly even at that low speed. Then he was off down the street, obeying the residential thirty-mile-per-hour speed limit, although the motorcycle sounded almost petulant at being reined in like that.
“Who’s your friend?” asked Felicia, obviously unable to contain her curiosity any longer. Water was beginning to overflow the garden bed, but she didn’t seem to notice.
“Grayson?” Kara responded, in what she hoped was a convincingly casual way. “He’s a…friend of a friend. Actually, a friend of one of my roommates from college. When I mentioned I really wanted to get the bike up and running, she suggested him. He’s a genius at that sort of thing.”
“I’ll bet.” Felicia’s gaze was tracking down the street, where Grayson had already disappeared around a corner.
“He’s just fixing the bike.”
“Of course he is.”
Kara had to repress the urge to stalk back inside. Instead, she made a show of turning toward the end of the cul-de-sac and looking for Grayson to reappear. It didn’t take long; within the minute he was back in sight, slowing down as he took the turn with casual grace. A few seconds later he was back in the driveway.
“Runs great,” he said. “A little rough on the idle, though. She really needs a long, hard ride.”
At that statement Felicia Gomez made an ostentatious throat-clearing noise and Grayson looked over at her, clearly mystified.
“Let’s get the bike back in the garage,” Kara said, sounding a little strangled herself.
Luckily, Grayson didn’t argue, but only got off the bike and rolled it inside. Kara hurried past him and hit the button for the garage door opener so Felicia couldn’t eavesdrop on any more of their conversation.
“What was that about?” he asked.
“Nothing. Anyway, I’m sure you’re jonesing for a road trip, but I’m not sure that’s such a great idea.”
“Why not?”
“Well, there’s your total lack of a license. If we get pulled over — ”
“Why would we get pulled over? You saw I can handle the bike just fine. It’s been sitting so long, it really needs a good run to blow the carbon out of the engine.”
Kara didn’t have an immediate answer to that. All through the years she’d dutifully paid the registration on the motorcycle, even in its defunct state, because she never knew when she might get it up and running. It was easier to do that than register it as nonoperable and then have to re-register it later. So as long as Grayson obeyed the speed limit and didn’t do anything fancy, they’d probably be safe.
Yeah, right. A hundred things could go very wrong.
On the other hand, a thousand things could go right. And, as Kiki liked to remark from time to time, Sometimes you just gotta say, “What the fuck.”
“Okay,” Kara said. “I think I know just the place…”
* * *
Lance wasn’t able to get rid of Taylor until almost eleven, and even then it took repeated texts from her travel mate Lindsay before Taylor finally climbed into her rented Camry and headed off to collect her baggage and head for Phoenix. It would take a miracle for her to make a two o’clock flight. Thank God she really did have a wedding to go to that night, or she probably would have invented yet another excuse to remain in Sedona.
Save me from clingy women. He shook his head and was just about to back out of the parking space and head up toward Kara’s when one of Sedona P.D.’s two unmarked police cars rolled up next to his Jeep and Joe Gonzales got out.
“Morning, officer,” Lance said.
“Lance,” Gonzales said, his tone guarded.
The two of them had never been buddies, mostly because Gonzales, with his cop instincts, seemed to know there was a lot more in Lance’s past than he cared to let on. Also, Gonzales knew Kara from way back and tended to be a little protective of her — his wife had been roommates with her in college or something. Anyway, he’d never warmed up to Lance, which usually wasn’t that big a deal but made their interactions, when they occurred, less than congenial.
The detective looked over at the sign on the UFO Depot’s door. “Closed? On a Saturday?”
Lance shrugged. “Family emergency.”
“I didn’t know Kara had any family anymore except Kiki.”
Well, that was the simple truth. But although Kara hadn’t heard from her deadbeat mother in years, as far as he knew the woman was still alive and kicking, more or less. “Think her mother surfaced down in Tempe or something. I don’t have all the details.”
“Oh,” was all Gonzales said, but that one word held a weight of meaning. He also knew a thing or two about Kara’s family history. “Well, hell, sorry to hear that. I just thought I’d check in on her. She called me the other day, sounded sort of strange, and I wanted to make sure everything was all right.”
“Strange?” Lance repeated. Alarm bells started to go off in his head.
“Yeah, she was asking about a missing person. You know anything about that?”
“Can’t say as I do. Did you get a description?”
“Wasn’t much. Early thirties, dark hair.”
“I haven’t seen anyone like that around. Maybe she was asking for a friend or something.”
“Maybe. Kara does have quite the network, that’s for sure.” Gonzales squinted up at the sky and adjusted his sunglasses. “Looks like we’ll have rain by nightfall. Well, if you see Kara, let her know I was following up for her, okay?”
“Sure, no problem.”
Gonzales got back in his Chevy and headed north into the heart of the touristy section of town. Lance watched him go, then climbed into his Jeep, mouth grim. Missing person? What the hell?
His brain picked apart Gonzales’ words as he drove to Kara’s house. Now he was sure she was hiding something. And he aimed to find out exactly what it was.
When he pulled into her driveway and got out, however, he was stopped par
tway to the front door by a woman’s voice.
“She’s not home.”
Lance turned around and saw a Hispanic woman in her late fifties regarding him with an amused look. In one hand she held a pair of clippers, and on the ground in front of her was a basket into which she’d apparently been dead-heading her roses. She was stocky and no-nonsense in her striped T-shirt and khaki crop pants, but something about the tip-tilted dark eyes told him she’d probably been a pretty hot tamale back in the day.
“What?” he replied.
The woman gestured with her clippers. “She took off about a half an hour ago, on the back of Jim’s old Indian. Has some friend staying with her who she says fixed up the bike.”
“Friend?”
“Well, that’s what she said,” the woman remarked with a knowing grin. “A man who looks like that, I’m guessing is a little more than a friend.”
“So what does he look like?”
“Dark hair, green eyes. Body like — ” She broke off and rolled her eyes. “Well, I wouldn’t kick him out of bed for eating crackers. Just don’t tell Mr. Martinez that.”
“Is he in his early thirties?” Lance rasped, ignoring the comment about the crackers.
“Mmm…yeah, could be. Somewhere around there. Muy caliente!”
“Thanks…Mrs. Martinez.”
Since he’d already heard far more than he wanted to, Lance stalked back to the Jeep and got in, then backed out of the driveway a little more quickly than he should have. God damn it. So this was what Kara was hiding — the fact that she had some guy shacked up with her? Was this eighth grade? Why the hell should he care who she was seeing?
Good question.
Gritting his teeth, he maneuvered the 4x4 through the clotty traffic on 89A. His thoughts boiled. What he really wanted was a drink, but it was way too early in the day for that. Besides, he knew better than to crawl into a bottle when things got rough.
He’d had his chance with Kara. And he’d blown it. She’d been giving him signals for years, and he’d ignored them. What had he expected, that she should live like a nun until he finally pulled his head out of his ass?
sedona files - books one to three Page 33
