Lunar Heat: 1 (The Heat Series)

by Susan Kearney

  “Cade?”

  Ashamed, he couldn’t bear to look at her. Perhaps if he didn’t answer, if he pretended not to hear, she’d go away and leave him in his misery.

  “Cade? Are you all right?”

  “No. Go away.”

  Stubborn woman. Clearly concerned, she dropped the sheet and stepped into the shower—but that was only because she didn’t understand what was happening to him.

  “Do you need more salt?”

  At the incongruity of her words, he snorted. “More salt will likely make the Quait stronger.” He lifted his head and drilled her with a stare. “You should leave.”

  Her eyes narrowed. “Why? I thought you needed my help and my asteroid.”

  “Sell me Haven and go away before I hurt you.”

  “You won’t.”

  “Of course I will.” She should have retreated; instead she advanced and reached to touch his hand. He backed up and pulled his hand out of reach. “The salt is inducing Quait. And you don’t understand what I’m dealing with.”

  She squared her shoulders, tipped up her chin, and looked him straight in the eyes. “I thought Quait was mind control.”

  “It is. It’s the power to dominate others. And I used it on you.” Disgust and self-loathing washed over him, and by the frustration he saw in her eyes, she was clearly unhappy with him.

  She should be running away, but she didn’t back down an inch. “Why did you use it on me?”

  “Quait is the power of the Firsts. They have this power all the time. Mine is more sporadic. Right now, I seem to only use it when experiencing extreme emotions. And it taxes my strength. But that too shall pass. Remember after the fire, I was too weak to stand until after I ingested more salt?”

  “You don’t look weak right now.”

  He nodded. “This time I’m shaking, but I can still walk. As my body adjusts to the new salt intakes, I suspect I’ll grow even stronger.”

  She picked up the soap and worked it into a lather. “So when you used the Quait on me . . . “

  “I’m turning into a monster. I can’t control—”

  “Let’s not get dramatic.”

  He shuddered. “It sickens me to talk about what I did, but you need to understand. “Do you recall being unable to make your hands do what you wished?”

  “Yes.”

  “Well, Jamar could have forced you to do things you didn’t want to do.”

  She sucked in a breath.

  “You didn’t go that far.”

  “I don’t have that much power. Yet.” He closed his eyes and bowed his head.

  “Are you telling me there is no hope?”

  “For us—I don’t know.” His head jerked up, his eyes thoughtful. “But against Jamar. While my powers are strengthening, his must be weakening.”

  “How do you know?”

  “When I entered your atmosphere, my spaceship tested the salt. Based on a chemical analysis, AIS, my computer, indicated that your salt is slightly different than what we have on Rama. The difference is enough that the First and I are adapting to the salinity of your world in different ways.”

  “I don’t understand how Earth’s salt is strengthening you, but weakening him.”

  “If you’re sick and you take an antibiotic, it makes you better. But if a well person takes that same antibiotic, it makes them tired and hurts their immune system.”

  “That makes sense. But how do you know Jamar didn’t bring salt from your world with him?”

  “Even if he did, he’s breathing your air, eating your food. Your environment is likely changing his body chemistry, but he’s still much stronger than I am.”

  She placed her soapy hands on his upper chest and began to massage his shoulders. “Can you learn to control this Quait?”

  He eyed her curiously. “What do you mean?”

  “Just because you have a power doesn’t mean you have to use it.”

  “When you open your eyes, can you stop yourself from seeing? When you put food in your mouth, can you stop yourself from tasting? When I speak, can you stop yourself from hearing? Quait is another sense. Not using it—isn’t an option.”

  “But after you complete your mission, if you eat less salt, won’t you go back to normal?”

  He hissed on an indrawn breath, reached up to capture her hands between his, letting her see he was serious. “My body chemistry will have changed. If a First doesn’t have enough salt, they don’t weaken like I do—they die. This metamorphosis is permanent.”

  Her fingers trembled, but she didn’t stop kneading his shoulders. “We cannot . . . make love again.”

  He didn’t want her to see the pain clawing at him. He clamped shut his jaw and didn’t speak. “I know you don’t want me. I don’t blame you. Right now, I don’t like myself either.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  Jerking away from her touch, he grabbed a towel and stalked from the shower. “The water’s all yours.”

  28

  Trevor hadn’t expected his vidlink headlines to tell him that Shara Weston had returned to L.A. But after finding numerous vidpics of the glamorous woman who always carried herself like American royalty, complete with shadowed secrets in her eyes and a tall, handsome escort by her side, Trevor’s suspicions increased with the ease that he’d discovered her plans to attend a premiere.

  Press credentials would get him into the premiere, where he hoped to secure an interview or at least have a few questions answered by the former star.

  “This could be a wild-goose chase,” Trevor had warned his boss.

  Ralph chewed on his cigar, glaring at him through the vidlink. “With half the paparazzi snapping her picture, we’re certain she’s in New L.A., right?”

  “She’s here all right. But it doesn’t make sense. If she’s on the run because someone set that fire, why would Shara make such a public appearance anywhere? It’s almost as if she’s daring the arsonist to come after her.”

  “Maybe she thinks she’s safe. Or that the arson has nothing to do with her—it wasn’t her home. Maybe she’s desperate for publicity and/or work. Or maybe she thinks the fire was an accident and she’s not concerned about—”

  “Someone poured a gasoline ring around the house. It was no accident. She’d have to be an idiot to believe otherwise, and Shara’s no bubble-brain. She’s had the good sense to align herself with the best management team in one of the most competitive businesses in the world. Even her investments in real estate are solid.”

  “What about Cade?” Ralph asked. “You turn up any more information on the dude?”

  “Nothing.” Frustrated by the lack of information on the mystery man, Trevor suspected Cade was the key. If he could discover the man’s real identity, he might unlock the rest of the puzzle. “Either he’s using an alias or . . .”

  “Or?”

  Trevor shrugged. “Even my friends at the UNCIA have no clue who Cade really is.”

  “The solar system’s a big place.”

  “Not so big that a man who sells a billion in rubies should be a complete unknown.” Trevor had dug deep. “No one in the mining world or the gem world has ever heard of Cade.”

  “Maybe he’s a thief.”

  “No thefts of stones that large or of such high quality have been reported. And I have feelers out from Io to São Paulo.”

  “Maybe he’s an asteroid miner.”

  “No planet has a record of him ever using his passport except when he traveled from the space station to Earth.” Trevor checked the notes on his computer screen. “And the psychic, Jules, is another puzzle.”

  “What do you mean?”

  Trevor knew the facts on Jules by heart, but he kept hoping he’d missed a piece of useful data and rechecked his screen. The facts remained: same old, same old. “During her lifetime, she’s left Earth only once—to visit Shara on Haven. Obviously, the women are close, but why the sudden trip to Io and Mars now? You’d think she’d have a million details to clear up after her hou
se burned. But instead of contacting her insurance company and talking to contractors about clearing the rubble so she can rebuild, she’s taking off across the solar system with Shara.”

  “It does seem odd—unless she’s scared.”

  “Then why didn’t she go to the police? And why is Shara advertising her presence in front of the paparazzi? Nothing makes sense.”

  Ralph stabbed his cigar at him. “So how much is it going to cost me to find out what’s going on?”

  Trevor’s lips twisted into what he hoped was a confident grin. “That depends on how soon I catch up with Shara Weston.”

  29

  When Jules’s vidlink beeped during her rocket ride to Io, Jules jumped. Thanks to a private cubicle, she hadn’t awakened the other passengers. Hesitantly, she opened the link, well aware that the expensive charges could top twenty-five credits a second. “Hello.”

  “Did I wake you?” Shara asked, her voice beaming from her rocket to Mars.

  “I’m awake.” Jules’s worry escalated. “Is anything wrong?”

  “We haven’t had time for a private chat.” Since Cade had traveled with them from New L.A. up to the space station, the women hadn’t had a minute alone. Then as they’d separated and hurried to catch their connecting rockets, their goodbye had been rushed. “A chat? You’re paying a small fortune for—”

  “Our flight was delayed again after you left the space station. But we’re finally on our way to Mars. Cade’s taking a shower to get the glue from his disguise off his skin.”

  “Did the paparazzi spot you?”

  “Nope.”

  “So, what’s up?”

  “Cade and I . . .” Shara had probably tried to keep the sexy satisfaction from her tone, and she was a great actress, but Jules knew her too well not to notice the humming vibrations in her voice. Or the happy satisfaction on her face that she’d worn during their journey up from Earth to the station.

  Jules didn’t need her psychic talents to guess. “You let him jump your bones, didn’t you?”

  Shara’s voice lowered to a whisper. “Jules . . . something strange happened.”

  “If you tell me you’ve fallen in love and weren’t just working off some overripe lust, I’ll order the pilot to turn around.”

  “Please. Pay attention. Remember when Cade saved us during the fire?”

  “So?”

  “When we made love . . . he did things.”

  “Too much information.” Jules and Shara were close, but they weren’t the kind of friends who shared intimate details.

  “He used Quait on me.”

  “You okay?”

  “I’m fine. But he used his mental power to prevent my mind from connecting with my body. At times I couldn’t use my vocal cords or move my hand where I wanted it to go.”

  “That’s not . . . are you sure?” Jules frowned.

  Empathy for “poor” Cade oozed from Shara’s tone. “He thinks what he did was despicable.”

  “Did it ever occur to you that you’d be terrified of his mind control—if he hadn’t gained your sympathy? That he likes his growing powers?”

  “I’m aware.”

  “Be careful, girlfriend. Maybe he’s playing with your mind, altering your thoughts and feelings along with your movements.”

  “I don’t think so. When he stopped me from speaking, I damn well knew it.”

  “Yeah, but you had a good time in the sack. I can hear it in your voice, and now you’re defending a man who can and did control you—without asking, I assume?”

  “Good point,” Shara conceded. “Now I’m totally scared. How am I going to stop him?”

  “Scared is good. Fear will keep you on your toes,” Jules told her. “Does he have the power all the time?”

  “He claims that it only works when his emotions are strong.”

  “Then maybe you can surprise him. You can’t weaken. My visions are so real, so strong. Every time I close my eyes, they repeat.”

  “Any new details?”

  “I’m afraid not.” Jules wished she had more control over her talent, but she always got flashes, like three seconds of a holovid, never the entire film. Interpretation was usually the key. However, she’d seen Cade and the portal and Shara in a maelstrom of fiery darkness followed by horrible explosions overlaid with the Io scientist’s face.

  Shara interrupted her gloomy thoughts. “Cade’s done with his shower.”

  “Then I’ll say good-bye.”

  “Okay. But stay in touch. And Jules . . . you be careful, too. Io’s a long way from Mars.”

  30

  Shara turned off the vidlink as Cade returned to his seat. “Jules says she’s good.”

  Cade opened the bin above their heads and removed a bag of chips. Before leaving New L.A. they’d taken a hover taxi to a store that specialized in intrasolar camping equipment. While he went inside to make purchases, she spied a grocery store and had stocked up on salt. She bought more chips, pretzels, and cookies, and, remembering how Cade had poured salt onto his food, she purchased several large containers of pure salt.

  She’d returned to find Cade filling the hovercar’s trunk with assorted high-tech backpacks, a tent, sleeping bags, a cook stove, outdoor space clothing for both of them, as well as walkie-talkies and a grill.

  She checked her diva-girl attitude. But seriously, the only camping she liked to do was in the penthouse suite at the Ritz.

  “Will we be camping on Mars?”

  “We’re going to the desert. Your people have done a great job matching the planet’s gravity to Earth, but the ongoing terra-forming won’t be complete for a few more centuries. The Martian atmosphere is thin, and we need protection from the sun as well as the cold. I like to be prepared.” He gestured to the gear. “I’m pretty good at surviving off the land, but I thought you might like the comforts.”

  He called a sleeping bag a comfort?

  Determined to make reservations in the best hotel near the Martian desert and commute—by private hovercar if necessary—Shara didn’t protest. But she made a mental note to make all their travel arrangements and reservations from now on.

  As Cade opened the chips and settled beside her, Shara’s vidlink signaled a caller. Sure that Jules had had another vision, her heart rate sped up, but the caller ID was from a line she didn’t recognize.

  Praying the press hadn’t caught up with her, Shara disguised her voice. “Yes?”

  “Teresa Alverez here.” Shara had forgotten her private investigator would have her Earth-to-Mars interweb connection. “My people are covering the premiere. So far no one who looks likes Jamar has shown up.”

  Shara sighed. “We always knew it was a long shot. Cade thinks Jamar will follow the locator beacon and go directly to Siren City and Mare Sirenum.”

  “My people did discover a Mr. Trevor Cantrell, a reporter out of New L.A., asking unusual questions about you.”

  Shara wasn’t unduly alarmed. Asking nosy questions was a reporter’s job. “Unusual questions?”

  “Some were ordinary. Like, why weren’t you at the premiere? What project would you take on next? Are you pregnant, and did you come back for an organ or skin upgrade?”

  Shara sensed Teresa wanted to keep her informed without alarming her. In this case full knowledge was essential—maybe to staying alive. “What else?”

  “Trevor Cantrell also asked about Cade.”

  Cade? Shara’s neck prickled. If a reporter got wind that Cade was an alien, it would make headlines around the world.

  Don’t panic.

  “Any man in my life creates public interest.” Shara wasn’t bragging. Her words were a simple, annoying fact of life that every celebrity had to deal with, and the realization calmed her immediately. It had been so long since she’d had to put up with the press on a daily basis she’d forgotten how unnerving their incessant need for details about film stars and their lovers could be.

  Lovers?

  She and Cade had made love—but she wou
ldn’t do so again—not when it made his Quait kick in. So now they were . . . what? Friends?

  His Quait did scare her. That anyone could have such power over another was just . . . wrong.

  It was too bad. The man really was a gifted lover—totally creative, an intoxicating mix of raw strength and gentle understanding—but his control issues and the Quait unnerved her.

  When she couldn’t speak, couldn’t move her hand . . . it had been surreal. The idea of it . . . gave her nightmares.

  His Quait complicated everything. If she betrayed him and he discovered it, he’d be furious. His Quait could take over and dominate her every action, preventing her from trying again.

  Teresa brought Shara’s thoughts back to the present. “The reporter also put out several feelers about Cade being in the jewelry business.”

  Damn. “He must have learned about the rubies Cade sold on the space station.”

  “He’s smart and determined.”

  “Teresa. If he follows us to Siren City, let me know immediately.”

  “I’m on it.”

  “Have you found anything on Jamar?” Shara asked, noting Cade’s interest in her vidlink conversation pick up when she mentioned his brother’s name. Cade had been silent since making love—as if he was having difficulty coming to terms with his transformation. Well, he wasn’t the only one having a hard time with the idea—his mind control was freaking weird.

  “We’re still looking for Jamar.”

  “Keep on it.”

  “Will do.”

  “Thanks.” Shara shut down the vidlink. Cade stared out the portal but there was little to see. Since they’d left the space station and entered the wormhole, their view consisted of tiny pinpoints of white stars on a black velvet background.

  With his eyes narrowed, his lips pursed, he was clearly brooding. When he finally turned to look at her, his demeanor remained serious, the private cubicle seemed too small. “The reporter isn’t the problem.”