sedona files - books one to three

by Christine Pope

  “Sounds great.”

  It sounded great to her, too. The afternoon in Jerome had been wonderful — magical, almost — but now she was home she only wanted to cocoon and have someone bring the food to her.

  “Back in a few,” she promised.

  Gort was already waiting for her in the kitchen, his luxuriant tail beating on the Saltillo tile floor.

  “Okay, Gort, but if the skies open up again, we’re running for home. So poop early and poop often, all right?”

  A doggy smile, and he was on his feet, standing at attention as she got out his harness and fastened it around him. She detoured briefly to grab her cell phone out of her purse — the reception up in Jerome had been terrible, so she thought she’d better check to see if she’d gotten any messages. Then they were off.

  The air always smelled wonderful after one of those rainshowers, redolent of pungent juniper and sun-warmed rock. Kara breathed in deeply as Gort bounded ahead, pulling at the leash just enough that she had to quicken her pace to keep up with him. It was only when he stopped to sniff a promising patch of gravel in a neighbor’s front yard that she had time to pull the cell phone out of her pocket and take a look at it.

  Three messages. Not too bad, all things considered. Briefly she wondered if one of those messages might be from Lance, and then decided she really shouldn’t be going there right now. Not after what had happened between her and Grayson.

  However, when she looked at the “missed calls” screen, none of the numbers were Lance’s. One was an 800 number, which meant it was probably some kind of junk call; one had a Sedona prefix, though she didn’t recognize the number itself; and the third was from Kiki. She’d called a little after five-thirty, probably right around the time Kara and Grayson were getting pelted with rain on 89A.

  After wedging the phone between her shoulder and her ear so she could pick up Gort’s business with the plastic bag she’d brought along, Kara listened to Kiki’s message.

  “Hey, Kara,” Kiki’s voice bubbled in her ear, “Jeff’s showing me all kinds of really great stuff. Seph and Paul just headed off to the wedding, so I’m not planning on hearing much from them for the rest of the night. Anyway, I just wanted to let you know that I’ve decided to stay here in L.A. for a few more days after they head home. Jeff already said he’d drive me back to Sedona — probably on Thursday or Friday.”

  Kara permitted herself an eye roll as she followed Gort around the corner. He’d somehow gotten the vibe from her that she wanted to stay in the housing tract instead of heading out into the wilderness paths as they often did, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t going to try to maximize his walk. A quick glance upward told her the rain seemed to be holding off for the moment. Still, she could smell it on the air. This storm wasn’t done with them yet.

  “Anyway, I wanted you to know what’s going on. I’ll let Seph and Paul know tomorrow — I have a feeling they’re going to be back late. Hope everything’s going well over there, and I’ll try you again sometime in the morning. Hugs!”

  The message ended, and Kara reeled Gort back in a bit. She’d just felt the first few drops hit her bare arms, so the time for leisurely sniffing was over. He gave a little shake but obediently moved in closer to her and pointed his nose toward home.

  What she was supposed to think about Kiki extending her stay in Los Angeles? Not much, frankly, but in some way she was almost relieved. She hadn’t really looked forward to Kiki intruding on her idyll with Grayson, to be perfectly honest. Maybe there was a way to explain the situation so it didn’t sound completely insane, but she hadn’t thought of it yet.

  As for this possibly developing relationship with Jeff Makowski…well, Kara was less than thrilled about that, too. She didn’t care how brilliant he was. He didn’t seem like the right person for her sister. On top of that, Jeff Makowski was definitely not the sort of person you wanted pissed off at you. One bad breakup, and you could find yourself with a heinous credit report and a rash of unpaid parking tickets…or worse.

  On the other hand, she mused, brightening slightly as they headed up the walk toward the front door, if Jeff Makowski screwed around with Kiki, Lance would probably break the computer hacker over his knee and bury him in some forgotten canyon somewhere. Lance could be a prickly sort — Persephone had more than once compared him to a cactus — but he was someone you could trust to have your back.

  Not that it would come to that. One of these days maybe she’d learn to stop borrowing trouble. Most likely what would happen was that Jeff would suffer some sort of unrequited angsty lust for Kiki, an attraction she wouldn’t reciprocate, and then he’d go off to brood over the latest conspiracy theory on his favorite website. Kiki was awfully good at getting guys to fall for her, but so far Kara had yet to see any deep involvement on her side. Sure, Kiki cared for her boyfriends, but she never exhibited any of the signs of being crazy nuts in love. Maybe that was a good thing.

  At least you couldn’t get your heart broken that way.

  * * *

  Grayson was dressed by the time she got back. Gort went bounding over to him, tail wagging, and Grayson bent down to give the dog a good scratching behind the ears.

  “He feels a little wet.”

  “Yeah — it’s trying to rain again. Good thing we decided to order in. So what do you like on your pizza? Please don’t say anchovies.”

  He got that puzzled look again on his face, the one that seemed to indicate he realized he was supposed to know the answer to a question but didn’t. “What’s an anchovy?”

  “A horribly salty little fish thingy people put on pizza.”

  “Why would they do that?”

  “Good question.” Kara wandered into the kitchen and picked up the cordless phone. She had Moon Dog Pizza on speed dial, so she pressed #3 and waited. In the meantime, she put her hand over the mouthpiece and said, “I’ll get us some pepperoni. It’s hard to miss with that — and it’s pretty obvious you aren’t a vegetarian.”

  A grin was his only reply.

  She placed the order and hung up, then asked, “Want to pop open that bottle of wine?”

  “Sure.”

  Her bag was sitting on the kitchen table. She extricated the wine and dug through the utensil drawer, trying to locate a corkscrew, scolding herself for the umpteenth time about not putting the corkscrew in a separate drawer so it would be easier to find. At last she dug it out and brandished it with an air of triumph.

  “Do you want me to do that?” Grayson asked, having watched the previous procedure with an air of bemusement.

  “Do you know how?”

  After appearing to think it over for a few seconds, he replied, “I’m not sure.”

  “Well, I’d rather have you experiment on something a little less special, if that’s okay.”

  Even as she said the words she realized maybe they sounded a little harsh. Maybe she should have just let him try. She didn’t want to offend him or make him think she didn’t have confidence in him. But he hadn’t sounded certain, unlike his conviction that he could ride a motorcycle just fine.

  But he didn’t appear to have taken offense. “You’re probably right. I’d hate to break off a cork in there or something.”

  She smiled. “Okay.” Wow, he really is that nice…

  Soon afterward the cork had been safely removed, and they relocated to the living room with the bottle and a couple of glasses in tow. Kara wasn’t sure what the proprietor of the wine shop would think about them drinking the stuff accompanied by pepperoni pizza rather than something a little more exalted, but then again, Moon Dog’s pizza wasn’t exactly supermarket frozen-case stuff, either.

  They settled down on the couch with the wine. Outside, the rain began to beat down heavily once again. With it the temperature dropped, enough so the air conditioning clicked itself off. Too bad it hadn’t really cooled down, enough so she could start a fire in the hearth, but weather that accommodating wouldn’t be along for a few more months.

  S
till, it was cozy enough in here, with just the one lamp on its lowest setting and Gort curled up a few feet away on the rug. While they were still in the kitchen it had seemed easier to keep Grayson at arm’s length, to act casual, as if nothing of any real import had happened between them, but now that he sat next to her on the couch, so close she thought she could smell the scent of shampoo in his damp hair and feel the heat coming off his body, it was a lot harder to act cool and collected.

  “So,” she said, after allowing herself a bracing swallow of wine, “anything ‘click’ while we were out riding around?”

  “‘Click’?” he repeated.

  “You know…look familiar. Maybe on the road out toward Cottonwood?”

  He appeared to mull it over, tanned fingers wrapped around the stem of his wine glass. Then a reluctant shake of the head. “No. Not really.”

  Well, she should have known it wouldn’t be that easy. “Then I think you should see my friend Janelle. She’s done some amazing stuff with helping people retrieve lost memories. It’s not all past-life regressions and telling people they were Napoleon or Cleopatra or something.”

  By now she was used to the expression of confusion that would flit across Grayson’s features any time she brought up something he didn’t understand, but it still unnerved her a little. Could he really not remember famous historical figures like Cleopatra and Napoleon? How he could have lost such fundamental knowledge, yet still be able to maneuver a bike up a curvy canyon road as if he did so every day?

  It was a puzzle she couldn’t begin to unravel. Maybe Janelle would have better luck.

  “You can call her, if you want,” Grayson said. “I guess I keep hoping that my memories will start to come back on their own, but maybe that’s the wrong way to go about it. It’s been several days, and still nothing.”

  Kara nodded. Janelle didn’t work on Saturday evenings, of course, but from time to time she’d see a client on a Sunday if it were a special case. If they were lucky, she might even be able to work with Grayson tomorrow.

  “Just a quick call,” she promised. “Let me get my wallet in case the guy with the pizza shows up while I’m on the phone.” If she’d been thinking, she would have brought it in with her already. At least it only took a short minute to retrieve it from her purse and then, after thinking about it for a second, pull out a twenty and a five and leave them on the coffee table. “That’s enough to pay for the pizza and the tip.”

  “Got it.”

  That handled, she went back into the kitchen so she could make the call. Of course Janelle wasn’t on speed dial, but the phone table drawer contained stacks of business cards, and the hypnotherapist’s was in there somewhere. After sorting through the cards for a minute, Kara located the one she was looking for and dialed the number. On a Saturday night, she expected to get Janelle’s voicemail, but the phone picked up on the second ring.

  “Janelle Russo.”

  “Oh — hey, Janelle, it’s Kara.” Since there wasn’t any way to put it without sounding like an imposition, she just plowed ahead. “I know it’s the weekend and everything, but I was wondering if there was any chance you could see a friend of mine tomorrow.”

  “A friend?” Janelle paused. There were indistinct sounds of people talking all around her, so Kara guessed she must be someplace public — maybe a restaurant. It was six-thirty on a Saturday night, after all. “My day’s pretty open, actually. We’d been thinking about going hiking, but with the weather so unsettled, we called it off. So sure. What’s the session for? Past-life?”

  “Actually, no. I’ve got someone who’s experienced complete amnesia — he can’t remember his name or anything about his past. I was hoping you might be able to help.”

  Janelle’s tone sharpened slightly. “Was it caused by some sort of trauma? Because if that’s the case, he really should be seeking medical attention.”

  “There might have been trauma, but he doesn’t remember it. He looks fine now. “ Really fine, she added mentally, recalling just how amazing his body looked once there weren’t any clothes to conceal those muscles or that flat stomach.

  “You’re sure.”

  “As sure as I can be. Really, he’s got no bumps or bruises, nothing to show what — if anything — caused the memory loss.”

  “Well, I’ll admit the case sounds a little intriguing. At least it’ll be a break from having people find out they were sixteenth-century Flemish peasants instead of Alexander the Great.”

  Kara had to chuckle at that. “I hear ya. So what time would be good for you?”

  “How about eleven?”

  “Great. We’ll be there.”

  They exchanged a few more bits of chitchat before they said their goodbyes and hung up. One thing resolved, anyway. Or maybe not. Who knew what can of worms they were going to open up when Janelle put Grayson under?

  The smell of pepperoni pizza greeted Kara as she returned to the living room. Gort had moved a few feet closer to the coffee table and was shifting his gaze from the unopened pizza box to Grayson and back again. The dog knew he wasn’t supposed to have pizza, but he probably was trying to figure out whether Grayson would be a softer touch than his mistress.

  “Thanks for waiting,” she said, plopping herself back down on the sofa and reaching for the pizza. Good thing the delivery guy had left some paper plates along with the food, because she’d completely forgotten to get any plates while she was in the kitchen.

  Grayson didn’t do the same, however. He remained where he was, looking at the pizza with an odd expression on his face. For a few seconds he didn’t say anything. Then, finally, “I’m taking advantage of you.”

  “What?” Kara replied. Actually, it came out more as “wha,” since her mouth was full. She swallowed, grabbed her glass of wine, and washed the taste of pepperoni from her mouth. “What are you talking about?”

  He gestured toward the pizza. “This food. This whole day, really. You gave me a place to stay, tried to help me, and now you’re spending all this money — ”

  So it had been bothering him. She set down her half-eaten slice of pizza and turned toward him, stared up into those eyes, which in the dimmer light of the living room looked like cloudy jade. “It’s okay, Grayson. It’s not as if I can’t afford it. Besides, you fixed Grandpa’s Indian. I’d say you’ve more than earned your keep, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

  “But — “

  “But nothing. You don’t need to stress about it. If it bothers you so much, I’ll make you wash the dishes.”

  “These dishes are made of paper.”

  She grinned. “Okay, you got me. Guess I’ll have to take it out in trade.” And she leaned forward and kissed him, kissed him thoroughly enough that for a while neither one of them thought about much of anything else.

  Luckily, the pizza wasn’t quite cold by the time they got back to it.

  * * *

  Lance returned to his condo, not because he considered it any sort of particular refuge, but mostly because he couldn’t think of where else to go. Barhopping didn’t sound remotely appealing. What else was he supposed to do? Go to a movie by himself? Drop in on the wine and cheese mixer the local MUFON group was having down at Barbara’s house in the Village of Oak Creek?

  Not bloody likely.

  Instead, he found his thoughts drawn north and west, to the facility out in Secret Canyon that once had housed alien/human hybrid soldiers, alien-infected humans, and the men and women who were either too corrupt, too stupid, or too scared to do anything except what their alien overlords told them to do. Persephone had said she hadn’t picked up any vibes from the place since she’d blasted the whole kit and caboodle of them out of existence. Maybe so, but that UFO the other night hadn’t exactly acted as if it was out on some sort of pleasure cruise.

  He didn’t like to talk about his time with Project Aurora, partly because describing his experiences there was like trying to describe the color blue to someone who’d been blind since birth, a
nd partly because he just wanted to put that period of his life behind him. Most people — when they thought about it at all — didn’t believe such a thing as remote viewing was even possible, and thought the army had been funneling money into a bogus program that was yet another spectacular waste of taxpayer dollars.

  But it had been real. And he’d been good at it.

  Too good, some people had thought. Well, maybe so. Because he’d seen things he wasn’t supposed to…and the base at Secret Canyon was one of them.

  For all he knew, it could have been what brought him here to Sedona in the first place. Remote viewing wasn’t like looking at Google maps or something; just because he could visualize a place didn’t mean he knew exactly where it was. But after he’d left the service, and after Natalie was dead, he’d drifted this way and that, moving westward, until one day he drove up Interstate 17 and saw the red rocks for the first time, and realized he’d come home.

  The condo was a bank foreclosure, and he’d gotten a good deal on it. Money wasn’t a problem, as long as he didn’t get too extravagant. Maybe the army looked on his generous pension as a leash, a way of keeping him quiet. Keep your mouth shut, keep collecting the checks.

  Joke was on them. The NSA might have some damn good analysts and programmers, but Jeff Makowski could run rings around them in his sleep. So far, no one had yet figured out that some of the leaks of information the government would have preferred never saw the light of day had come straight from Lance, encrypted ten ways from Sunday, thanks to Jeff’s code-writing skills.

  Now, though, Lance thought it might be time to bend his own thoughts toward Secret Canyon, to see if he could discover anything there. It would have been better to have Persephone here — the woman could be annoying sometimes, with her smart-aleck attitude, but she hadn’t steered them wrong the last time. Her instincts were good. Clairsentient rather than clairvoyant, was how she liked to put it. Meaning she knew things without knowing how she knew them, but she couldn’t necessarily always see them the way Lance did.