Perfect Strangers

by Barbara J. Hancock

  A quick trip to snag a couple of biscuits from a restaurant that did fries better than bread and he was on the case. It was like he’d been living through a month of rainy days and finally the sun was beginning to shine. He hadn’t realized how frustrated he’d become.

  Silk Jones had come to Buzz’s Diner a month ago with no references and no experience. Buzz had hired her on the spot. As window dressings went, a tall blonde waitress built like an athletic version of a fifty’s movie queen couldn’t be beat.

  The grizzled little man had frowned when Davis questioned him about Silk.

  “She brings ’em in like flies to a huckleberry pie, but all my regulars know not to bother the girls.”

  Davis was a good three feet taller than the aged hamburger flipper, but he knew when to take a threat seriously. He imagined Buzz would be like a ferocious terrier if one of his girls were threatened—by a reporter, which Davis pretended to be, or by an overly friendly trucker.

  So, Silk had begun working as a waitress a month ago. Her house had been rented two weeks before that by a third party he hadn’t been able to trace. Lynnville, Virginia, was a tiny, non-descript town with “low-profile” written all over it. Silk Jones was obviously a woman in some kind of trouble.

  Wouldn’t that be a bee in William Kale’s bonnet? If Davis had stumbled upon an actual crime and could blow it wide open, then no one would be able to deny his credibility again. He might even be able to get someone higher up to look into Kale’s strange behavior. Over the last three months Davis’ superior had been like a man possessed. Shaking up the department, focusing way too many resources on alien investigations. Davis was one resource who didn’t appreciate the shift in focus. A real crime investigation was just what the doctor ordered and he had stumbled upon something.

  One thing he knew for sure, innocent women did not have closets full of crisp, newly-minted hundred dollar bills.

  He is out there.

  Silk served up country-fried steak and eggs with a grimace on her face. Not because people on this planet ate such deadly disgusting food. She just couldn’t stand being watched. It always made her jumpy and ready for action. Knowing the watcher was the big man from last night made it all the worse.

  As she picked up a platter of biscuits smothered in a pungent mess called gravy, she looked out the window for the hundredth time.

  Better to be bored and unnoticed, than to be energized by the presence of this FBI man. She recognized the danger. She’d been on edge for months with nothing to expend nervous energy on. She waited, she watched, she gathered information.

  Then, all of a sudden, here was this man.

  He seemed intelligent and determined. His presence meant she had to be operating at full capacity, prepared to handle his every move with a countermove of her own. He was an unexpected threat…and she loved every millisecond of it.

  “Here,” her heart said, “is an outlet for all your pent-up frustration.”

  “I will have to make a break at this time.”

  Buzz, an odd little man with no hair and almost no teeth, nodded as he began to sling the mashed meat called hamburger onto the griddle. It began to sizzle and fill the air with a nauseating stench before Silk could flee.

  So far, she had only discovered three foods on which she could survive: chocolate, strawberries and Glacier Mint Ice Cream. Everything else in this dimension tasted almost as bad as it looked and smelled.

  On her way out the back door, she made a stop at the freezer to grab a carton of ice cream. Unbelievable that such a minty sweet concoction traced its origin back to the same creature Buzz was cooking in the kitchen.

  She retrieved two serving utensils from a nearby drawer.

  It was much too late for her to fight her instincts. They were as much a part of her as her JR training. She would not play the Earth game of feline and rodent with this man. It would be intoxicating after her months of inactivity and she could not allow that. She needed to stay sober and focused. Her life depended on it.

  As she expected, the large black vehicle and the dark haired man waited at the end of the alley when she stepped outside. He was born before yesterday. Any good law enforcement officer kept an eye on every exit—even if he only had two. Now he would learn that a JR did not flee from confrontation—unless she had no choice.

  It was hard to believe that human food could smell any worse than when it was cooked and served, but here was the evidence. She was forced to walk around stinking refuse containers to reach the door of his car.

  When she opened the door and sat down beside him in the idling vehicle, he looked surprised. She noted several other quick observances. He wore a perfectly tailored dark suit just as he had the night before. His hair still looked like it had never been combed. And, if you discounted his surprised expression, his face was more pleasant than she remembered. It was a handsome face just this side of perfect. Perfect enough to make her almost sorry when she saw the bruises around his mouth and eyes. Her own skin did not mark easily, but it was tender in several places. She could not pretend otherwise. He fought well.

  “I would like to share my break with you.” It was said simply in the manner of an invitation to an old friend.

  He took the spoon, but otherwise he sat motionless and watched as she pried the lid off the container and began to scoop up mouthfuls of sustenance.

  “This is unusual—pleasant, but unusual.” His words were punctuated by a move to scoop up his own bite and place it between two well-formed, but slightly swollen, lips.

  She noted that his bite came directly from the same indention she had made with her own spoon. No doubt he was suspicious. He had waited for her to take the first bite.

  Smart. Though a bit naïve to think one man’s poison was the same as another’s.

  “Chocolate is pleasant too,” she noted between swallows. “And strawberries.”

  He laughed, a robust burst of humor. His eyes widened and he seemed to relax.

  His guard drops too easily. He should be more careful.

  “You should try Twinkies and Little Debbie cakes. You’d probably like them too,” he mentioned quietly as his laughter stopped. Perhaps he saw something in her eyes. A warning she had not meant to voice.

  “Cake. Yes, cake is good.” She had forgotten about cake in her earlier thoughts.

  The talk was about food, but there were undercurrents. She took further notice of the bruises on his face and almost regretted the fight that had put them there. She noticed his scent and remembered it from the day before.

  Soapy pine trees.

  Most importantly, she noticed the intelligence behind the humor in his voice and eyes. He had a look that said, “I’ll play along, but don’t think I won’t put you to the pavement if you deserve it.” Of course, with her, with any JR, he would fail to implement the implied threat, but she had to admire the man and his manner of operating.

  “Have you always liked cake?” he asked, twirling his spoon as he waited for his turn to scoop.

  “Not as much as chocolate.” She fished a chocolate-covered mint chip out of its icy pool and popped it in her mouth.

  “What about chocolate cake?”

  For a second, Silk forgot why she had left the restaurant. She forgot the other hunger plaguing her. The one for action and justice when her life was now supposed to be one of quiet retirement.

  Chocolate cake?

  Her mouth went dry and she licked her lips in anticipation.

  “Chocolate cake?”

  She had lost several mass units from a lowered caloric intake. Maybe this chocolate cake would replenish her strength.

  “You sound as if you’ve never heard of it before. It isn’t exactly exotic cuisine.”

  She couldn’t tell him how exotic it was. So many progressive worlds had opted for daily ration pills to save their natural resources. She had thought Earth food unpalatable, but perhaps she had reached this judgment too quickly. Any culture that would pair cake with chocolate could not
be all bad.

  “Look, this is nice, tasty even, but I wonder if you came out here to discuss something more serious than junk food,” He swirled his empty spoon around in his mouth before continuing, “Something like why a woman with a closet full of money would be serving up bacon and eggs to a bunch of truckers for five bucks an hour.”

  So, he had found the currency.

  No wonder relocated witnesses weren’t allowed a single item from home. She had been here only a short time and already her position was compromised.

  Silk hid her reaction to a sudden surge of adrenaline with an extra-large, cooling bite. She savored the chill on her tongue while she formulated a response.

  “I can understand if you don’t take me seriously, Ms. Jones. Believe me, I’ve gotten used to a certain amount of disrespect on this assignment. But, I want to assure you of one thing.” The FBI agent stuck his spoon back into the ice cream on her lap and left it there like a silver exclamation mark. “I am very serious about real crime and I am perfectly capable of arresting you.”

  Silk allowed herself a slow smile. His tough talk was reminiscent of better times. His attitude confident and somehow familiar. Had she not spoken the same way to suspects herself in the past? Oh, how she would like to indulge in the opportunity to flex a little muscle. It was exhilarating to imagine another physical confrontation with him. She reminded herself she was not free to act at will. She was supposed to be living in a clandestine manner. Having it out with a large man in a public parking lot could get her killed. He was not IL-Bah, but they were out there.

  She had to maintain her cover long enough to find Ronin and make him pay for what he had done.

  “My time for break is over,” Silk said, her voice as frosty as the snack they had just shared.

  “Have some more ice cream. This is just starting to get interesting.”

  Before she could exit the vehicle, he pulled away from the alley.

  Silk did not want to hurt this FBI man. Not that she was opposed to hurting. He was simply not the type she usually took pleasure in subduing. She doubted if he had ever broken even the most minor civil code. So, why were her digits tingling in anticipation as if she was preparing to engage a gang of rioters?

  She eyed the two metal spoons, one in her hand, the other in the ice-cream container. He looked nonchalant. No doubt, he was oblivious to the danger a JR posed with those two seemingly innocent implements at hand.

  They didn’t speak as he pulled into her driveway. It was good that she lived close to her place of employment. Another minute and she would have forgotten her qualms about hurting another law enforcement officer.

  She watched as the man unfolded his tall frame from the car. She watched as he took the time to stretch and yawn and grin at her, that ever-present curl flopping over his forehead. Did he realize she could end all chances of him ever being able to grin again with one well-placed foot against those shining white teeth?

  Apparently, he did.

  Without speaking, he leaned over and braced himself against the top of his window with both hands. He looked through the car at her with one brow raised. In that instant of silent challenge, Silk realized her tingling digits had nothing to do with self-preservation. She didn’t want to fight this man. She wanted… Well, she had been alone a long time, but she wasn’t prepared to admit what she wanted.

  I have no time for pleasure.

  He noted her hesitation.

  “I love not knowing whether you’re going to kick my ass or ask me to dance.”

  There was laughter in his voice, but not in his eyes. Her tingling awareness increased when she realized he was torn between the two himself.

  “I do not dance.”

  “Really? You seem made for it.”

  Again, his glance brushed her, but almost as if he regretted the urge to look at her. He was already turning away to walk toward her living quarters.

  Silk slowly exited the vehicle. She would knock him senseless. It was only a matter of where and when. She needed to know how much he knew first.

  “The key is at Buzz’s.”

  “No problem. I’ll use mine.”

  From the large pocket of his coat, he produced a replica of her own key and used it to open her back door. He seemed to relish her look of surprise when he stepped aside to allow her to enter.

  If this had been her beloved loft back home and not some impersonal shelter, she would have whipped an elbow into his muscled gut as she walked by.

  The tiny tri-cubicle she had been forced to leave behind was her true home—its opaque glass walls that glowed when the third sun set, its welcoming message beacon filled with friends’ recorded voices, its warm mist bath and air bed.

  His unwelcome entry here was scarcely a violation. She decided she would give him a few more moments of consciousness. If only to watch him and gain a better understanding of his methods. If only to gauge the level of exposure she faced.

  She was seething. It was coming off her in waves that would have drowned a lesser man. Or so he liked to think. As it was, he was feeling pretty rotten. Not so much so that he planned on lessening his bravado. Hell, he figured his swagger was the only thing keeping her from trying to level him on the spot. The fact that he might enjoy her attempt—well, that was one hint at a masochistic tendency he didn’t plan on examining too closely.

  “Okay, it’s just you and me and a thousand china animals. You can level with me. What kind of racket involves pounds of cash and the inventory from every flea market this side of Tennessee? Is it counterfeit?”

  “The money is real. The décor, an unfortunate mistake.”

  The man’s confidence was obnoxious, but oddly attractive. He reminded her of home. She answered him with the truth when she should have come up with something easier for him to believe.

  “Real?”

  She was treated to a flash of anger in his eyes before he turned to take the stairs two at a time. She followed, imagining him on the heels of a real criminal.

  She had known a Justice Representative separated from his or her partner by death or circumstance would experience an emptiness that often proved fatal. To know it wasn’t to feel it. The shock that had come with her loss had been almost more than she could survive. Training could not prepare you for it.

  This man was this world’s version of her profession. He had awakened a hunger in her. It was painful and bittersweet all at the same moment. Justice Representatives were not loners. They were matched with a partner almost from conception.

  And her partner was dead.

  Davis Rule was in her bedroom when she came around the corner. The closet had been thrown wide and the floor loosened. He poured the contents of one case on the bed. Bills cascaded in a green-tinted waterfall down to the carpet.

  “This can’t be real, Jones. There’s at least a million dollars in that closet.”

  He grabbed up a handful and threw it in the air like so much confetti.

  Then it got personal.

  Silk bristled as he began to fling open drawers and poke into boxes. Her favorite underclothes—an eccentricity of Earth dress she’d actually found pleasure in—wound up in his hand as he rifled through her garments.

  Said hand made a pleasant smack against plaster as she forced him to the wall.

  “You can violate this house. You can bust open every case and box and drawer in the place, but you do not need to crush my…”

  What was the contraption called? It was made of satin and lace with clever pieces of metal that took back several years from gravity. Underwire bra. That was the name for it.

  Suddenly, Silk realized she was not holding him anymore as much as she was leaning into his large form. She had thought him much like a JR. With his size, muscled shape and the strength she felt in the hand beneath hers, he could have been an Enforcer.

  “I guess I got carried away.” His voice was whisper soft, and yet it vibrated against her chest.

  He held the scrap of lingerie in his f
ingertips and those digits trembled as if he had just realized what the peach-colored fabric held when he wasn’t holding it.

  “Sorry to interrupt.” Once more, Silk grabbed at a phrase that seemed appropriate.

  “I think we could safely say my concentration is shot for the day,” he replied, his voice oddly choked.

  She eased back then, more because he was holding so still than because she really wanted to put space between them. He thought she was some sort of lawbreaker. No one wanted to be attracted to a criminal. And he was a threat. She shouldn’t be physically attracted to a threat.

  “I should have contacted someone on this before now. I need to arrest you. File reports. Regret you being in jail for the rest of my life. File some more reports.”

  He stopped and ran his empty hand through hair that seemed to always fall in his face. With a sigh, he leaned sideways against the wall, using its support. He addressed his comments to the air or to himself in an almost absentminded manner as he continued to look at her.

  “I am not a crook.” Silk plucked another phrase from her vid-soaked mind. Her cover was entirely compromised. The man was too suspicious for his own good. She could kill him or she could trust him. She opted to try the later—first.

  He looked startled for a moment. Then he frowned as if she’d just indulged in a bad jest.

  “Who are you?”

  His eyes seemed to doubt the answer even before she began the tale.

  Chapter Three

  It was such a shame.

  Silk Jones sat on her money-covered bed and spilled forth a story worthy of the Sy-Fy channel on its slowest night. Davis could have groaned out loud. She was tough. She was beautiful. She was the most interesting person he’d met in years—and she was obviously insane.

  “My partner, Miilos, was killed during an important arrest. The killer’s name is Ronin D’Ja-nar. He was accused of many crimes—drug trafficking, black market slavery. The trial focused on the murder of my partner because for that crime we had proof. My testimony guaranteed a conviction. He was sentenced to life in cryo-stasis at Secure Hold Station. My life, the life I knew, ended with the trial. I was given no choice. Forced into the Relocation Program. Then Ronin escaped.” The money beneath Silk crinkled as she moved to take a deep breath. “Miilos is dead. I am here. Ronin is free. He paid no price for his crime.”