"You weren't still serving our king in the future?"
Of course he had; and he'd been a lieutenant, too—but she was trying to make him into Scott Dillon, someone he'd long ago ceased to be. "Call me Jakob. Or Jake. Either one, and I'll answer."
She chewed on her lip, glancing down at where he still clasped her arm. He released her, holding a palm up to indicate his desistence.
"I've got some aspirin for you," she volunteered, popping to her feet. In a few seconds, three tablets were extended toward him in the center of her palm, and a bottle of water was held out with the other.
"You take nursing pretty seriously, huh?" He downed the medication, tossing his head back.
"Very seriously. But there's one thing I'm even more serious about, and that's following my king's directives."
Jake lifted an eyebrow. "That again?"
"If you aren't going to come back with me, I need to know what to tell him. I know you, sir, and I also know how you love Jared Bennett. I can't imagine you'd want to hurt him or defy him—not at all."
And of course she had him strung up like a roped calf. He sat up in bed, leaning his back against the wall. "What did Jared say exactly?"
Shelby walked across the room to a desk and pulled a chair out, and then she dropped into it right beside his bed. "Well"—she drew in a breath, and he guessed it was because she wouldn't stop talking anytime soon and needed to store up—"our lord has been increasing with his intuitive abilities since our queen became pregnant. They're tuned to each other, their respective gifts heightening." She sucked in another breath and dove back in. "Anyway, he's been plagued by bad visions concerning you, quite frankly, sir—uh, Jakob."
"Bad visions, huh?" He rolled his head against the wall and wished like hell that the aspirin would start their work. "That's pretty general, Medic Tyler."
"Call me Shelby."
"Shelby, why should bad visions concern me? My whole damned life is a bad vision at this point."
There was a long, heavy silence, so profound it caused Jake to open his eyes again. "He's foreseen your death, Jakob," she told him softly, her gaze never wavering from his face. "Here in Texas. It's why he wants you back."
Jake returned her stare for several silent moments, then sat up in bed. "All right, fair enough. But before you insist that I return with you, there are a few things I need to show you first."
Shelby stared at the battered wallet and other documents that Jake had spread across his desk. They'd left her motel room, riding in his mud-encrusted pickup to his place on the far side of town. If you could call Hell's Creek a town. More like an opportunity—or a state of mind—but surely not a real town, not from what she'd seen so far. It was a windy dust bowl dotted by sagging doublewides, abandoned storefronts, and a main street that consisted mostly of rolling tumbleweeds. Unless you counted the bars; too many bars for so few people, at least by her reckoning.
During their short drive, he'd made it pretty clear that there was something she had to understand about his situation down here in south Texas. One thing was obvious: He had no intention of obeying their king's directive to return to the main base.
"So what is all this?" She reached for the wallet, but he caught her hand roughly.
"Before you open that, I need to explain." He bent down slightly, lowering his hefty shoulders in order to meet her gaze head-on. "You should understand what you're seeing."
After months alone, Jake was clearly relieved—more than he'd ever willingly admit—to debrief her on his activities. "Go on," she urged.
His bright green eyes narrowed with an almost predatory glint, and he gave a brisk nod, turning toward the desk. He jabbed a finger at the wallet. "I took this off of Tierny the night he killed my wife."
"Hope." No way would she let him objectify the situation. She'd been through enough grief and loss to last more than three lifetimes, and understood the temptation to depersonalize. "You took it from Tierny the night he killed Hope," she clarified.
"Yes." He leaned a little closer, his large shoulder brushing against hers as he bent to open the wallet. "The night of Hope's murder, this was all that remained of the man who did the deed. This wallet and"—he braced both hands on the desk, slowly rotating his head until their gazes locked—"this body."
"So you killed him … took his form because he'd killed her?"
Jake swallowed, his Adam's apple bobbing wordlessly. Finally he whispered, "Payback."
"I understand payback, sir." He cut his eyes at her continued use of the formality, and she lifted a hand. "Jake, I'm sorry, but it's danged hard to relinquish the chain of command."
His shoulders sagged and his grip on the desk tightened. "If you need to call me sir, then do so, Shelby."
"I'm more comfortable that way."
"So long as you have a clear handle on the facts."
"Which are?"
"That I am not the man you're convinced I am. I changed after Hope's death, after taking this body"—he tapped his chest—"and this man's identity. You can't understand it; you're not Antousian."
She couldn't help but flinch, and she saw the instant regret in his eyes when he stood upright again, backing away slightly as he continued, "I'm sorry to remind you of my genetic heritage and am well aware of how distasteful that must be for a Refarian such as yourself."
She shook her head dramatically. "I ain't got no problem with you."
His eerie green eyes filled with unexpected amusement. "What is the deal with this accent of yours, Shelby? This way of speaking? 'I ain't'? You studied human language, the same as me, and the emphasis was on non-regional dialects."
She felt her face flush; if only the man knew. If only he could understand why she spoke the way that she did. "I perfected my English down this way, sir. That's all."
"I'm not buying it."
Shelby bent over the desk, reaching for the wallet where it rested just beneath his hand. "Give me this thing, okay? I'm ready to find out what's really going on here."
"Tactical avoidance." He chuckled, a low rumbling sound that would have turned on any woman this side of the Rio Grande, and plenty more on the other side, too.
She avoided his electric gaze, focusing on the wallet. "No, sir, but I have a mission here, and I'm keen to fulfill it."
"A woman with a purpose," he purred with a sly, seductive smile. "I like that."
Scott Dillon, through and through, no matter what name he goes by, she thought. Ever the purveyor of his masculine charms. Still, she was fairly certain his tone was more show than anything else; the sadness in his eyes was much too obvious to indicate otherwise.
"Give it to me." She yanked the wallet out of his grasp, but he caught her hand, and for an infinite moment nothing mattered except the touch of his swarthy skin against hers. He seemed to feel the same electric shock because he grew still, arrested, a slight scowl creasing his midnight black eyebrows.
At last she jerked the wallet to her chest, holding it there protectively. "You've got to give me a while to catch up, Tierny." Hell, if the guy wanted to live the role, she'd call him by whatever godsforsaken name he asked of her.
He waved his hand magnanimously. "Be my guest. I'd love to get your take on its contents."
Cradling the wallet close below her chin, her gaze never leaving Jake's, Shelby flipped it open. The first thing she saw nearly sucked the wind right out of her: a driver's license dated four years in the future, bearing the photo of a man who might have looked exactly like the one beside her. Only he didn't, not in the ways that really counted. Sure, this Jake Tierny was older than the one in the photo—a strange trick of time-traveling fate that she couldn't begin to reason out—but it was far more than that. The stranger in the photo ID had cold, lifeless eyes, the kind you wouldn't want staring back at you on the wrong end of a gun. Or alley, if it were a bad time of night or even day.
She studied the address on the ID. "He lived here, in Hell's Creek?" .
"Not a man or woman I've met has ever
heard of him."
"So he hasn't moved here yet—this thing's dated four years from now."
"Maybe. Or maybe there's just more to it than that."
She eyed him suspiciously, opening the billfold section of the wallet. "What's this, huh?" It was a computer chip—typical Earth-based technology, more or less state of the art down here.
Jake crossed both arms over his chest, his green eyes assuming a sly, seductive glint. Just like his younger self, he exuded sensuality without even trying. "Oh, it's nothing much." Then he laughed, a bitter, hollow sound that filled the room. "It's only the key to absolutely everything."
Chapter Two
Thea jogged onto the main hangar deck—with any luck, she'd be early for the upcoming debriefing with Jared and his other advisers. She certainly needed the extra time to gather her thoughts after receiving this latest report from her source. It had come in just an hour ago, intel from deep within their enemy's camp, information that had chilled her to the very core.
She'd worked this particular spy for the past year, milking her dry, draining her totally when it came to sensitive information. They'd traded e-mails across cyberspace, pretending they were part of a multilevel scheme for forty-somethings who wanted to keep their skin "elastic." The hoax masqueraded as a truly simple sales game, the perfect front for exchanging classified information.
It really is just that simple, Thea thought upon entering the conference room, thankful that she was the first to arrive. For every bit of subterfuge she'd ever practiced in this war, for every weapon she'd ever fired, in the end it was all simple. Only the consequences weren't.
Pacing around the table, Thea worked to still her thoughts. The truth was that it didn't exactly feel good knowing she was collaborating with the enemy. Who cared if her source was a spy, feeding her critical information? Who cared if that same soldier had helped her free Scott Dillon and Hope Harper back in December? She was still partnering with a full-blooded Antousian, a member of the same race that had decimated her home world. The very same race that now sought to devour Earth without compunction. It wasn't exactly the sort of thing that helped her sleep any better at night.
She pressed her fingertips against her temple, determined to train her racing thoughts into a central point of energy. Too much was at stake this morning to do otherwise—at least according to her spy's latest transmission. A wave of panic speared through her, but she shivered, shaking it off.
She needed Marco now.
Reaching across the permanent bond she shared with her lifemate, she linked with him. Where are you? I feel you getting stronger. She could sense Marco very close by, his energy radiating in a more powerful rhythm with every one of her heartbeats.
Almost there, baby. Jared's with me. See you in two.
It had been days of barely passing each other in their quarters, with Marco on double duty guarding Jared, and with her wrapped up in … too many things. Too many worries about Marco and her people, fears that multiplied gravely because of her intuition, thoughts that she couldn't yet verbalize. Couldn't even materialize, not in her quiet time, when she tried so hard to give every sensation a physical form.
Whatever was shaping up, the information her spy was feeding her, all of it tied into her uncertainties, those black-shrouded vosii that haunted her meditations. With another shiver, she stared at the meeting room door, ready. Waiting. For whatever might be coming down the pike.
She told herself that her premonitions had nothing to do with Kelsey's father visiting the next day. Outsiders rarely came onto the base, not without extremely compelling reasons, and Thea wasn't convinced that Kelsey's need to see her family justified such risky measures. But she'd come to love her queen very dearly over the past months, and understood the isolation the human had been experiencing during her pregnancy.
The sound of booted footsteps moving in unison filled the corridor, a precise, familiar cadence of military order. Several high-ranking officers filed into the room. Commander Bennett swept in behind them, Marco at his side, both of their black uniforms flawless, striking. A shiver of sexual heat shot through her core as she glanced at Marco, but she suppressed it. Instead, she trained all her energy toward her cousin, focusing on giving him a crisp salute.
"At ease." Jared dropped a sheaf of papers onto the table, waving a hand to indicate his permission for them to take their seats.
Lieutenant Daniels paused, dipping into a formal half bow as he placed one fist over his heart.
"Rise, Lieutenant," Jared muttered, a look of annoyance shadowing his features. Thea fought back a smile: Her cousin's impatience with old-guard respect always amused her. He could decry it all he wanted, but he was still their king.
Marco stood, waiting patiently; only after Jared was fully settled did he slide into an adjoining chair. Jared murmured something under his breath, expressing some need that only Marco could hear. In turn, Marco issued a quiet order to the attending officers within the room, and a flurry of movement ensued. As always, Thea was awed by the balance between king and protector, the symbiotic relationship that went back at least a thousand years in their royal traditions.
Marco bent sideways, whispering something in Jared's ear. Heads inclined together, they looked shockingly alike. The same broad shoulders, the same gleaming black hair, the identical long noses. And of course they shared the same sultry-dark skin, hardly enough—in either case—to contain so much raw masculine energy within one body.
She studied the matching sweep of both men's eyebrows, the elegant arch that reached a little too dramatically into their respective hairlines. They looked alike … too much alike, and she couldn't imagine that the speculations weren't flying wild all over camp. Everyone had to have noticed that, somehow, some way, the two men shared a bloodline.
She was shaken from her thoughts by Jared's deep voice. "I'm told there is news from within the Antousian camp," he began, opening his handheld. Forever multitasking, he was perfectly capable of reading transmissions, following his comm, and listening to a complex conversation all at once. She'd always been too single-minded to manage that kind of juggling act.
"My source has sent a disturbing transmission, sir." Thea knew her next words would rock the gathered advisers to the core, but she barreled ahead. "I'm told that our enemies are receiving very sensitive information from high up within the American government."
Jared's black eyes fixed on her. "How high up?"
"From inside the White House, our source suspects."
Jared leaned back in his chair, forming a steeple with his fingertips. "What makes your source so sure of that fact? Couldn't it be someone within the CIA or the FBI? Not knowing your source, Lieutenant, makes it hard for me to decide what to think or even how to analyze this information."
Nevin Daniels cut in. "My lord, it's for your protection that we've set this system in place. The less you know about our spies' identities, the safer you'll ultimately be." Nevin turned to face her, black eyebrows lifting. "But, yes, we do need to know how you're so confident the leaks are coming from the White House."
Thea had to tread carefully; she wanted to assure the team that her source was reliable but also had to protect the soldier's identity.
Marco caught her eye, giving a slight nod of encouragement. Just tell them, baby, she heard within her spirit. Jared's safety depends on this source—not you protecting her identity.
She bowed her head, averting her eyes lest any of the others realize she and Marco were communicating.
If Jared is ever captured, she reminded Marco, knowing the source's identity could mean he'd be tortured … or worse.
If Jared's ever captured, your spy would be the least of our problems … and his.
Marco's words caused Thea to shiver yet again, despite the heat coming off the adjoining hangar deck.
"There's been a great deal of backlash since the Antousians' defeat at Warren," she began. They'd recently quashed an attempt by their enemies to seize US missile control at
Warren Air Force Base, and their enemy's casualties had been considerable. "The revenge quotient is very high right now. Apparently a plan was mentioned—one Antousian in particular was a huge proponent of it. The idea was to intercept the vice president when he visited Warren in the attack's aftermath. To intercept him and … replace him."
"And this plan has been carried out?" Jared's voice remained calm, but after years under his command, she could easily read the grave emotion in her leader's tone.
"The man who concocted the idea has vanished from camp," she explained, "and now very high-level intel is coming down their pipeline from the Americans. Very accurate information, as well."
Jared slid his chair back from the table and rose to his feet; placing both hands behind his back, he began to walk the room. "Kelsey's father is friends with the vice president. Knows him well from years ago here in Wyoming, as well as from his political consulting work."
Nevin raked a hand through his silvered hair. "I don't believe it wise, sir, to involve an outsider in our situation."
Everyone knew that Patrick Wells would be visiting the next day. After months of waiting, Kelsey would finally see her father for the first time since marrying Jared—and at slightly more than four months into the five-month gestational phase, her father would glimpse, firsthand, just how pregnant his only daughter truly was.
"I have to agree," Marco added. "It is risky enough that her father is coming on base at all. We can't involve him, not in any way."
"Someone in the human command's structure needs to know our latest intel," Thea argued, locking gazes with her commander and cousin. "The FBI … the USAF. We can't just sit on this—it's too big."
"Agreed. We bring the alien task force in on this one." Jared nodded thoughtfully, returning to his place at the table. "We'd best begin analyzing what it might mean for Earth if the vlksai have truly infiltrated the American government at such a sensitive level. Damn it, we need Jakob back in camp." Jared drummed his fingertips on the table, clearly thinking. "How is Shelby Tyler's mission faring?"
Parallel Desire Page 3
