EARLY BIRD BOOKS
FRESH EBOOK DEALS, DELIVERED DAILY
BE THE FIRST TO KNOW—
NEW DEALS HATCH EVERY DAY!
Alien Eyes
Lynn Hightower
PRAISE FOR THE WRITING OF LYNN HIGHTOWER
“Lynn Hightower is a major talent.” —Jonathan Kellerman, New York Times–bestselling author
“Hightower is a writer of tremendous quality.” —Library Journal
PRAISE FOR THE ELAKI NOVELS
“The crimes are out of The Silence of the Lambs, the cops out of Lethal Weapon, and the grimy future out of Blade Runner … Vivid and convincing.” —Lexington Herald-Leader
“One of the best new series in the genre!” —Science Fiction Chronicle
Alien Blues
“Hightower takes the setup and delivers a grittily realistic and down-and-dirty serial killer novel.… Impressive … A very promising first novel.” —Locus
“Brilliantly entertaining. I recommend it highly. A crackerjack novel of police detection and an evocative glimpse of a possible future.” —Nancy Pickard, bestselling author of I.O.U.
“[The] cast of characters is interesting and diverse, the setting credible, and the pacing rapid-fire and gripping.” —Science Fiction Chronicle
“An exciting, science-fictional police procedural with truly alien aliens … An absorbing, well-written book.” —Aboriginal Science Fiction
“Truly special … Original characters, plot twists galore, in a book that can be enjoyed for its mystery aspects as well as its SF … A real treat.” —Arlene Garcia
“Hightower shows both humans and Elaki as individuals with foibles and problems. Alien Blues provides plenty of fast-paced action.… An effective police drama.” —SF Commentary
“Hightower tells her story with the cool efficiency of a Mafia hit man.… With its lean, matter-of-fact style, cliff-hanger chapter endings and plentiful (and often comic) dialogue, Alien Blues moves forward at warp speed!” —Lexington Herald-Leader
“A great story … Fast and violent … Difficult to put down!” —Kliatt
“An intriguing world!” —Analog Science Fiction and Fact
Alien Eyes
“Alien Eyes is a page-turner.… Fun, fast-moving … A police procedural in a day-after-tomorrow world.” —Lexington Herald-Leader
“Hightower takes elements of cyberpunk and novels about a benevolent alien invasion and combines them with a gritty realism of a police procedural to make stories that are completely her own.… A believable future with a believable alien culture … Interesting settings, intriguing ideas, fascinating characters [and] a high level of suspense!” —Turret
“Complex … Snappy … Original.” —Asimov’s Science Fiction
“The sequel to the excellent Alien Blues [is] a very fine SF novel.… I’m looking forward to the next installment!” —Science Fiction Chronicle
PRAISE FOR THE SONORA BLAIR MYSTERIES
Flashpoint
“Diabolically intriguing from start to finish.” —Publishers Weekly
“Miraculously fresh and harrowing.” —Kirkus Reviews
“Rings with gritty authenticity. You won’t be able to put it down and you won’t want to sleep again. Riveting.” —Lisa Scottoline, New York Times–bestselling author
Eyeshot
“Hightower has invented a heroine who is both flawed and likeable, and she knows how to keep the psychological pressure turned up high.” —The Sunday Telegraph
“What gives [Eyeshot] depth and resonance is the way Hightower counterpoints the murder plot with the details of Sonora’s daily life in homicide.” —Publishers Weekly
No Good Deed
“Powerful, crisply paced.” —Publishers Weekly
“Refreshingly different … A cracking tale told at a stunning pace.” —Frances Fyfield
The Debt Collector
“Hightower builds the suspense to an almost unbearable pitch.” —Publishers Weekly
“Well-written and satisfyingly plotted. Best of all is Sonora herself—a feisty babe who packs a red lipstick along with her gun.” —The Times (London)
This one is for Scott
The light that lies
In women’s eyes,
Has been my heart’s undoing.
—Thomas Moore, The Time I’ve Lost in Wooing
Each man kills the thing he loves.
—Oscar Wilde, The Ballad of Reading Gaol
ONE
It was going to be a heartbreaker. In a nice neighborhood, where things like this didn’t happen.
David moved across the ivy ground cover, plants tearing underfoot. The SWAT team was supposed to be on call only, but they’d already taken positions around the house. An ambulance stood by, red lights pulsing. People and Elaki pressed against the barriers. If the Mother-One inside hadn’t freaked already, she was going to.
“Yo, David.”
A shrill whistle caught his attention, and he narrowed his eyes, searching through the noise and bright lights for his partner, Mel Burnett.
Mel stood under the eaves of the small front porch. The late-afternoon sun sent rainbows of color through the scalelike shingles on the side of the house. The Elaki shockee was tall and narrow.
Mel handed David a vest. “Captain said wear it.”
“She armed?”
Mel blew air through his nose. “Six millimeter Glock with ablative sheath bullets.”
“So much for that.” David tossed the vest behind a bush. “What’s she saying? Got any background?”
“Captain sent String in before you got here. Figured Elaki to Elaki, right? Ever see an Elaki Mother-One have a shit fit? She thinks we’re all Izicho secret police.”
“Izicho not a secret. Elaki enforcement, all aboveboard.”
David turned, saw String, raised a hand.
“All aboveboard unless they decide to cho you off in the night,” Mel said.
“You all right?” David asked.
String rippled, shedding scales. He was tall, as were most Elaki, roughly seven and a half feet. His inner pink coloring had a yellow tint, and there was a certain rigidity in his normally fluid stance. He teetered back and forth on his bottom fringe.
“I want only to help,” String said. “Is most distressing. She must know Izicho not hurt the Mother-One.”
“Not what she said.” Mel scratched his left armpit.
“Kids inside?” David felt sweat in the small of his back. It was hot out.
“Pouchlings, yes,” String said. “Four of them.”
“Four?”
“Big litter,” Mel said.
String’s eye stalks swiveled toward Mel. “Large birthing.”
A helicopter passed overhead, blades thudding.
“Aw shit,” Mel said. “Press is here. It’s official; we’re a circus.”
“Media blackout,” David said.
“You’ll get reamed for it.”
“Blackout.” David looked over Mel’s shoulder. “Della? Good. See the techs. Media blackout.”
Della was compactly built, her hair done in cornrows. She put a hand on her hip. “David, don’t we got trouble enough?”
He ignored her. “Mikes in place? Cameras?”
She nodded and handed him a headset. “Captain’s got a command post a mile up the road. Want to ask him about the … okay, no you don’t. He’ll be feeding me info whenever he gets it, and I’ll be watching all the monitors and feeding it to you. Soon as I’m in the truck you go.”
“Do it,” David said. He handed his gun to Mel. “I want you right behind me. I don’t want to scare her, so I’m going in raw. If we have to kill her to save the kids, I want you to do the snipe.”
Mel frowned, chewed his lip. Nodded.
“Trust me to call it?” David said.
“Be right behind you.”
David put the set in his ears, and Della’s voice came through immediately.
“… ready for takeoff. David?”
“Yeah, Della, I’m here.”
“Okay, good, you’re coming through. Wait a sec.” Her voice was muffled. “Okay. I got you on the screen.”
David looked at String. “Any advice?”
String’s belly slits flared. The Elaki was an unattractive specimen, his scales patchy, his left eye prong drooping.
“She is badly alone,” String said. “Neighbors say no visits from chemaki. This is Elaki—”
“Family?”
String teetered on his fringe. “Something like. Sex group—”
“Dance partners,” Mel said.
“Not sex the human relationship. Elaki responsibility and friendship and procreation connections.”
“Where’d she get the gun?” Mel asked.
“Not known, and very odd,” String said. “Please to see to the pouchlings.”
“What’s her name?” David asked. A fly buzzed his ear and he batted it away.
“Packer.”
“Her Elaki name.”
“Dahmi.”
David nodded. “Going in.”
The front door was ajar. David pushed it open. His hand shook, just a little. The door hinge groaned softly.
It was dark inside, the temperature over ninety. Sweat coated David’s cheeks and slid down his back. The ceiling was high, the hallway so narrow David could touch both walls without stretching.
“Dahmi?”
The heels of his shoes were loud on the ochre-colored clay tiles that Elaki favored. Mel was silent behind him.
“She’s close,” Della said. “Kitchen on the right, some kind of little room on the left. The hall turns a little to the left, yeah, the left, and opens into the living room. She’s in there.”
“The kids?”
“Not sure. Pouchlings are hard to pick up, but we get bursts of something in back. No window in the living room, but there’s a small one in the bedroom. We got a snipe set up from there.”
“Lose it.”
“Captain’s orders, Silver.”
Noise came from the living room, a one-note, whispery whistle that made him stop and listen.
“Dahmi?” David said. He swallowed.
The noise stopped.
David paused where the hall turned to the left, looked at Mel, mouthed the word “stay.” Mel nodded once, his back to the wall. The whistling noise started again.
David moved down the short, dark hallway into the living room.
The Elaki Mother-One was backed into a corner. Her eye stalks were rigid, the pistol held snugly in extruded sections of her right fin. The whistling noise came from the oxygen slits in her belly. She was pressed against the wall, like a boneless, beached fish. Scales littered the floor around her, iridescent, catching the light that came from slits in the walls.
“Izzzzzicho,” the Elaki whispered.
David looked over his shoulder, hoping for a glimpse of the pouchlings. He could barely breathe in here. Why had she turned off the air conditioning?
“Dahmi?” He kept his voice gentle. “My name is David. I thought maybe you could use some help. The Elaki Mother-One next door called me in. She wanted me to check and see if you needed anything. She said she hasn’t seen you in a couple of days, hasn’t seen your little ones running around. She said you wouldn’t come to the door.”
“Izzzicho.”
“No, Dahmi, I’m not Izicho. I’m David. David Silver. I’m a detective with the Saigo City PD.”
“Izicho coming.”
“No. Nobody’s coming. Just you and me, Dahmi. Just to talk.” Just to keep you from killing your children, he thought.
David glanced over his shoulder. There was a familiar feeling here, one he didn’t like. His mind brought the memory of the woman who had drowned her baby in the toilet and kept the body in the living room for six weeks. Paranoid delusional, the experts had said. David remembered the small efficiency apartment, and the woman crying and talking about getting pregnant again.
David smiled gently. “Dahmi, how many kids … how many pouchlings do you have?”
A wonder, how friendly and conversational he sounded.
The Elaki watched him. “My little baby ones.”
“I’ve got three kids myself,” David said. He moved closer, watching from the corner of his eye. Another few steps and he’d be able to see into the bedroom. “All girls. It must be hard for you, taking care of four pouchlings all alone.”
“Alone,” Dahmi said. “Little baby ones.” Her voice was young and tired.
David moved closer. “I bet you spoil them, don’t you?”
“Four.”
“Four?” David said. “You have four pouchlings?”
“Four.”
“You must be proud of them.”
“Little baby ones. Proud?”
“Love them, feel good about them, like to show them off.”
“Proud,” Dahmi said. “So proud of little baby ones.”
“Why don’t you let me take the pouchlings next door for a while? Then you and I can talk. I think you need somebody just to talk to.” David glanced over his shoulder. “Are the little ones in the bedroom? They back that way?”
“Little baby ones.”
The light in the bedroom was off. No noise. Dim gloom. The pouchlings might be very quiet if they were afraid. They could well be all right, just frightened.
David wiped his palms on the sides of his jeans. The hair on his arms felt prickly. “Dahmi, I’m going to check on the kids, okay?”
She surged forward, the pistol pointed at his neck. “No one hurt my pouchlings.”
“No.” He took a breath, held his hands up. His heart was beating—faster, faster. “No one’s going to hurt your pouchlings.”
“Cannot hurt the pouchlings. No more cannot hurt the pouchlings.”
He didn’t like the sound of it.
“Do you, David Silver, you must …”
“I must what, Dahmi? Go on, sweetheart.”
“The right … the … is it too much love, or not enough? How is it for the human?”
“It’s hard for the human, Dahmi. It’s hard for any parent. I know you’re a good Mother-One, I know you love your pouchlings, but you need to let me go in and check on them. Put the gun down, Dahmi, okay? Want to set it down … okay, that’s all right, just don’t point it at me. You stay there, and I’ll just look in on them.”
“Wait,” she said. “I come.”
He waited, watching her belly plates ripple beneath her fringe, watching her move slowly across the tiles, her body tilting sideways in some odd manifestation of Elaki distress.
David glanced out the small square window. No sign of the cop who was there, waiting to kill.
He went in first, staying clear of Dahmi and the window. Elaki slept standing up. No bed in the room, no mattress. The room was dark, thick with odor. A white chenille cloth, lumpy underneath, was spread over something on the floor.
David’s left fist clenched and unclenched.
“Cannot take them next door, David Silver.”
“No,” he said, and cleared his throat.
The Mother-One raised the Glock pistol, waving it from side to side. David knew that she meant him no harm. He also knew that Mel, and the cops outside, would see it another way.
It might be kindest to let her die.
Mel’s voice echoed in his mind. Ablative sheath bullets.
The weapon came full circle, and the Elaki Mother-One aimed it at the delicate juncture of brain and nerve in her midsection. David leaped forward and grabbed her just as the fusillade broke out.
The thin, whippy body was easy to bring down. There were tinging noises as scales broke from the Elaki and showered the floor. The gun went off and David’s shoulder burned. He covered Dahmi’s
fragile body with his. The window shattered, someone fired through the walls, and glass, wood splinters, and shingles rained upon his head. The Elaki mother trembled beneath him.
“Hold your fire,” David yelled. The gunshots drowned him out. “Hold fire!”
No chance. The bullets stayed fast and furious. No one was going to quit shooting till the clips were spent. The walls shredded, and splinters showered the floor, in jagged, glistening fragments.
Silence suddenly, tense and expectant. David waved a hand in the air, and no one shot it. He lifted his head. A knot of cops in flak jackets peered in the window like juvenile delinquents.
“David?” Mel ran through the doorway. “You okay?”
The Glock pistol was too close to Dahmi. David snatched the weapon and took a deep breath.
“You were supposed to wait for my signal.”
“Hell, David. I made a habit of waiting, you’d of been dead years ago.”
There were more footsteps, pounding in the hall, and lights shining in the window. David reached for the white spread that was covered now, with bits of wood and glass. He peeled back the edge and looked, because he had to see for sure what he already knew.
He let the spread drop, and moved to shield Dahmi from the cops who crammed through the narrow doorway.
“Mel,” he said. “Clear us a way. She’s shocky; she may be hurt.”
It was wrong to pick her up, but he couldn’t leave her on the floor, the cops milling in the room, heavy with weapons, flak jackets, and attitude. He carried her out of the bedroom, and dodged the techs who were already filling the living room, setting up the nano machines that would sweep through the scene.
“C’mon,” Mel said. “C’mon, let him through. Yeah, I mean you, asshole, we can go through you, just not around.”
David went sideways, trying not to bump the rigid Elaki into the walls. Sweat poured off his forehead.
And then he was out, out of the small, dark house that dredged up black claustrophobic memories. It was cooler outside, dusk now. The glare of lights hit his face like a blow.
Alien Eyes Page 1
