Lunar Heat: 1 (The Heat Series)

by Susan Kearney

  He patted the spot in the sand beside him, then popped a chip into his mouth. “Let’s share.”

  She lost another piece of her heart. “I’m not a martyr, but if you grow too weak to fight off the boars, what chance do I have?”

  “You chased away those creatures, and who could blame them for running away?” he teased. “Your screams certainly scared me.”

  “A blood-curdling scream is necessary if an actress wants certain parts . . .” Her stomach rumbled and she walked past him and the tempting chips to drink.

  To lose weight for a role, she’d learned that hunger pangs could sometimes be alleviated by filling the stomach with enough liquid. And drinking was no hardship. The air remained dry, and she never seemed to have enough fluids in her system, but she also worried how they would find their way out of this desert.

  Leaving what might be the only source of water for miles around could prove foolhardy, but staying meant starvation. The choices depressed her, or perhaps it was the simple fact that now that her adrenaline surge had ebbed, exhaustion was setting in along with the chill of night.

  She drank deeply. When she lifted her head to the scurrying sounds of an animal’s noises, she jerked upright, fearful the pig-like creatures had returned.

  The sounds of scampering little feet seemed to come from the pool of water below the one where she drank. Something small—a squirrel or mouse—scampered into the leaves, but a flat stone with smooth edges caught her eye. Curious, she investigated the chalky-colored stone, wondering why the wild animals seemed drawn to it.

  Shara bent to pick up the stone, but it didn’t budge. And when her fingers pulled away, a residue clung to her flesh. First sniffing at the tangy scent, then licking the rock, she grinned. Salt. She’d found a salt lick on Mars.

  Shara had no idea if it was natural or if the terra-forming team had deposited salt licks for the animals. She didn’t care.

  Excitement washed away her exhaustion, and she found a small sharp stone to chip off several salt nuggets. When she returned to Cade, she’d seen he’d also been busy. He was stripping bark from the mesquite branch and collecting the soft underside for tinder. He’d carved a flat board from a branch, then added a hole at the bottom and had set aside a bowed branch where he’d tied his shoelace to the two ends to pull it into the shape of a bow.

  Carefully, she opened her hand and held it out. “Look what I found.”

  He stopped and peered into her palm. “A rock?”

  She grinned and lifted her hand to his lips. “Taste it.”

  “I’m not hungry enough to eat rocks.”

  “Taste it.”

  “Fine.” Gingerly he picked up the piece and licked it. “Salt? Very high quality salt. You are amazing. Where did you—”

  “Ever hear of a salt lick?” When he didn’t say anything, just popped the piece into his mouth and sucked happily, she explained. “On Earth water often has salt in it, and when it passes over rock and dries, it can leave salt deposits behind. Or maybe the terraform teams left it for the animals. There’s plenty. You can have all the salt you need.”

  “Shara, you are truly a marvel.” He gave her an intense look. “I’d like to thank you with a kiss, but I won’t. But you are very much appreciated. With all this extra salt, I’ll have the energy to make us a fire.”

  His compliments gave her the energy to keep working—and gathering more salt from the lick and plucking more high grass for bedding and gathering firewood gave her an excuse to keep her distance.

  Because she’d wanted that kiss he hadn’t given her. Wanted it badly.

  She liked the way they complemented one another. She liked him when he was easy going, and remembering how he made love, she liked him when he was fierce and demanding.

  Despite working, she began to shiver, using calories she didn’t have to spare. “You think it will help to stuff some of this grass into my jacket for extra insulation?”

  “Go ahead.” One corner of his mouth pulled into a slight smile as if he was pleased by the difficult task now facing him. Cade picked up the bow, twisted the shoelace around a spindle, placed the spindle into the hole in his makeshift board, and began to saw back and forth. “This may take a while.”

  She handed him a piece of salt from her pocket. “I’m not going anywhere.”

  He laughed, his grin widened, and she found him irresistibly devastating. How many men could laugh in the face of their daunting circumstances? If she had to be stranded in the Martian desert, she couldn’t think of anyone she’d rather be with.

  Relaxed, yet focused, Cade kept his eyes on the bow. Knowing she wouldn’t be caught staring at him, she assessed him in a way she hadn’t before. Those strong hands that had picked up and thrown a boar, that were making the fire to keep her warm, had also given her pleasure. Although his Quait had dominated her will, she didn’t find the notion as frightening or alien as she once had.

  Yes, he’d taken control during their lovemaking, but when she’d voiced her wishes, he’d complied. Although she hadn’t always been able to talk, and that still unnerved her, Cade’s lovingmaking had been exciting. Erotic.

  As Cade worked with a smooth precision, she admired his skill and his determination. He kept his rhythm strong, and as the sun set and the light cast reddish-orange hues across the land, nothing was more beautiful to her than the sight of his patient persistence.

  “Did you ever camp on Rama?” she asked, always curious to hear more about his home, about him.

  “Underfirsts often run away and attempt to survive in the wild. The first time I tried I was only five. I didn’t think to pack food or supplies. I had to return or starve.”

  “Were you punished for running away?”

  “Of course.” His tone was so matter of fact, it chilled her. “But the lure of freedom is a strong one.” He spoke with the conviction of a man who’d never be satisfied with only a dream of autonomy. “So I read up on how to survive, and the next time I ran away, I lasted for several months.”

  She imagined his world as full of cities and technology, not a planet where one needed survival skills. “How old were you then?”

  “Ten.”

  At ten she was playing with dolls, and the hardest task she’d had to perform was helping her father muck out the horse stalls in their barn. “You lived on your own for months?”

  “Finding food and drink was the easy part.” He spaced his words evenly, and she suspected he was making light of hardships he’d suffered.

  But she had to ask, had to know what drove a man to leave his world and everyone he knew on a mission that would likely fail. “What was the hard part?”

  “Loneliness.”

  Sensing her question had stirred up memories in him that caused deep pain, she placed a comforting hand on his shoulder.

  Her touch caused him to jerk, interrupting the smooth sawing back and forth on the bow. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to mess with your rhythm.”

  “Do not forget who I am.” He spoke mildly, but the edge of warning in his tone told her he’d forgotten nothing.

  She handed him more salt. “You’ll never be a First.”

  He snorted. “Now you sound like my brother.”

  She took a perverse pleasure in keeping her hand on his shoulder. He was so solid and warm. The repetitious motion took much energy and created a heat that radiated off him.

  She wished she could wrap her arms around him and sink into his warmth. “I meant that your background and character will always set you apart. Just because you have a power doesn’t mean you’ll use it cruelly.”

  “I shouldn’t use it at all,” he spat, his hands increasing the speed of the bow.

  “At the spring, you stopped me from drinking too fast. That was a good thing.”

  “I should have used words.”

  “You used Quait for a good purpose.”

  She breathed in and smelled . . . smoke. Kneeling down, she blew softly on the spot where a tiny stream of smoke curled
into the air. “Keep going,” she whispered in encouragement.

  A tiny ember flared. Smoke kept rising, and she fed the tiniest, softest bits of bark into the thick smoke and again blew lightly. The smoke thickened.

  And burst into fire.

  “Way to go.” She grinned at him, shared his triumph, and heat curled in her stomach.

  Cade fed dried leaves and twigs into the fire, then slowly added thicker pieces of wood, careful not to smother the tiny flame. A minute or two later, the fire crackled and popped, and she held out her cold hands to the flames, delighted with the fire, but wishing she could warm her hands on Cade.

  “You did it.”

  As Cade ringed the fire with rocks, she tried to recall all the reasons she should remain suspicious of him, but right now, in the middle of the Martian desert, none of them seemed to matter. Night descended quickly. The cheerful fire not only warmed her, she felt close to Cade. They’d shared danger and helped one another. They made a good team.

  Shara had been alone for so long, hiding from the world on Haven, that she hadn’t even known how much she missed the company of people. Of friends. Of a man. When Cade had admitted to his loneliness, a window had cracked open, letting her see that there was more to life . . . if she had the courage to go for it.

  37

  Trevor waited at the hospital. Twenty-four hours after the doctors had given Teresa Alverez a massive blood transfusion and glued on her new skin, she recovered consciousness.

  “How are you feeling?” Trevor asked as he pulled up a chair beside her bed so she wouldn’t have to crane her neck to look up at him.

  “I’m alive.” Her eyes flashed between the bandages. “Thanks for getting me help. After a little plastic surgery, I should be back to . . . myself.”

  She didn’t say back to normal. Trevor suspected after going through that kind of ordeal, she might never be the same again. “I’m worried about Shara Weston. She’s disappeared.”

  Teresa spoke quietly and with restrained dignity. “I owe you for saving my life, but I don’t give out client information to reporters.”

  “So Shara did hire you,” Trevor murmured, certain that much more was going on than he understood. Teresa knew some of the answers. He could see it in her worried eyes. “Can you at least tell me her real destination so I can check to see if she arrived?”

  “I’ve already had someone check.” Teresa hesitated as if debating how much to say and finally spoke again. “She’s missing—and if you report that, it might cost Shara her life.”

  “I will withhold my story until Shara’s safe. Work with me.” Trevor noted she hadn’t told him where Shara had gone and placed his card on the nightstand. “Check me out, and you’ll find I’m reputable.”

  “If you weren’t, I wouldn’t be talking to you now.” Teresa’s voice had an edge, an edge that might have been sharper without the pain meds.

  In pain, still drugged, she’d already done her homework from her hospital bed. Impressive.

  But why did she look so guilty?

  Trevor had been a reporter long enough to know when to push, and when to remain silent. This was one of those times he remained quiet. Teresa glared at him, clearly worried, and he suspected she wanted to reveal more than she had.

  “There’s no proof about what I’m going to tell you, but Jamar, the man who attacked me . . . he used some kind of hypnotic suggestion, maybe brainwashing—except that takes more time than he spent.”

  Trevor filed away the name “Jamar” for future research. “Could you have been drugged?”

  “He gave me nothing. My mind was clear.” Her voice lowered in horror. “I clearly recall telling him everything.”

  So that’s why Teresa felt guilty, but Shara couldn’t blame her for talking. No one could have withstood that kind of pain. “He tortured you. You can’t blame—”

  “You don’t understand.” Teresa’s voice broke. “He made me talk first.”

  Trevor didn’t know what to think. Teresa seemed so strong, too strong to break. “How is Jamar connected to Shara and Cade?”

  “He wants them dead.” Teresa closed her eyes.

  His interview was over. He hadn’t gotten much, but he now had a name: Jamar. And he’d heard a very disturbing story to go along with the one about the matching set of rubies that still couldn’t be explained.

  38

  The picture of Jamar and Lyle triggered one of Jules’s visions. She saw Shara in Cade’s arms, both of them falling away from an explosion and flinched. Jerked, as metal fragments exploded. Trembled as tendrils of fire arched through a dark and cloudy sky. A sensation of uncontrolled descent, one so strong she heard the air rushing by her ears, her stomach plummeting. And then Shara’s scream pierced her—a scream as strong as if she’d been standing next to her. Horrified, Jules watched Shara and Cade plunging toward reddish, cratered, and rocky ground, spinning out of control in a sickening, spinning death spiral.

  The next thing Jules knew, she’d collapsed against Lyle’s supportive chest and arms, her legs shaking, her mouth gulping for air while she fought for equilibrium. She must have gasped or shouted because her throat was raw—or maybe that was due to fear for Shara. Ignoring the pain in her shoulder where she’d slammed against the door, Jules tried to think through the vision.

  Had Shara’s rocket crashed over Mars?

  “Jules?” Lyle spoke quietly. “Do you have epilepsy?”

  God. The man thought she’d had a seizure. She almost blurted out she’d had a psychic vision when she remembered he was a scientist. He’d want proof, explanations. And she didn’t have time—not until she found out whether Shara was okay. Tearing free of his arms, she dug into her purse.

  “Do you need meds?”

  “My vidlink. Where’s my damn vidlink?” Jules finally plucked it out, turned it on, and called Shara. It rang. And rang. And rang. “Come on. Come on. Answer, damn you.” But Shara didn’t pick up, and Jules didn’t bother to leave a message. “She’s likely dead.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “My best friend’s rocket exploded . . . Or maybe it’s about to . . . I should warn her . . . but it may have already happened because she won’t answer her vidlink.”

  Lyle folded his arms across his chest, peered at her though his glasses, and eyed her warily. “And you know the rocket exploded because . . . ?”

  “I’m psychic. And before you tell me there’s no such thing, and that I’m some kind of fruitcake, let me tell you I see things every day that happen. That’s why I came to this freezing moon to find you.”

  “Because . . . I’m your fantasy man?”

  “My best friend may have just died, and you’re making jokes?” Jules’s anger rose up to choke her. All her life she’d known the outside world didn’t believe in her abilities, but it had been enough that her family and friends respected her talent. They understood that her visions weren’t perfect, but that didn’t make them less valid. She didn’t care how many years this man had spent studying science. She didn’t care that he’d attended MIT, was a Rhodes Scholar, and had five PhDs from the most elite universities in the solar system. Right now, he could take all his science and shove it down the toilet. Because she knew as clearly as she could see the shock in his eyes that Shara was in trouble.

  His tone was gentle, as if he feared saying anything to send her off the deep end. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have assumed.”

  “Damn right, you shouldn’t.” Ignoring him, she vidlinked Teresa Alverez. “Maybe Shara’s PI can tell me what happened.”

  But Teresa didn’t answer, either, and that disturbed Jules even more. She wasn’t certain what time Shara’s rocket had left the space station for Mars or if she’d reached Siren City. Sometimes her visions happened during the actual event. But often she didn’t receive the vision until hours, days, or even weeks later. And sometimes she saw the future . . . perhaps Shara was still safe.

  So Shara’s spaceship could have exploded on takeoff, on landin
g, or anytime between. Or she might still be fine, and the explosion Jules had seen might occur next year or in . . . She groaned. Called Shara again. Got the same recording. This time Jules left a message. “Shara, call me ASAP.”

  Jules put away her vidlink and looked up to see Lyle offering her a bottle of water from his office refrigerator. “Thanks.” She twisted off the top and drank, enjoying the fact that he wasn’t bombarding her with questions.

  But he looked deeply disturbed and, for a few moments, he hesitated as if debating whether to say anything at all. Finally, he offered. “Other psychics are thirsty after their encounters, too.”

  “Encounters?”

  “Visualizations. Dreams. The second sight.”

  “Other psychics—”

  “I’ve read up on the subject.”

  “You, a man of science, read about psychics?”

  “I read about everything.”

  “You sound skeptical.”

  “I’m a scientist . . . and yet . . . too many people have been right too many times to discount the possibility of . . .” Clearly he didn’t want to admit that some people had a gift that science couldn’t explain. “I do believe that some people are unusually sensitive to their environment. That it’s possible to unconsciously pick up signals that allow one to guess the future more accurately than most people. You may be atypically intuitive.”

  “I’m accurate enough for people to travel to consult with me.” She peered at him. “So you don’t think I’m crazy?”

  He chuckled. “I didn’t say that, but are you sure one of my colleagues hasn’t put you up to this?”

  “I came here because I keep seeing you in my visions.” And she’d thought he might be another alien, an ally of Jamar’s. But Lyle had too many documents on his walls, photographs that went back years. Of course, they all could have been altered in his vidlink, but she’d called the universities while she’d been in New L.A. He checked out as genuine, human, born on Earth.