Beyond : Series Bundle (9781311505637)

by Miller, Maureen A.

  “Let’s have a talk,” he said.

  Raja’s smile fell and she clasped her hands together nervously. It wasn’t the prospect of a federal agent saying, let’s talk that had her anxious, though. But damn if he could figure out what did.

  When she didn’t move, he hefted an eyebrow and waited. With one last glance at her glass bowl, Raja crossed the wood floor on bare feet and slid onto the stool across from him.

  “Okay,” he rubbed his face. “Let’s start with a simple question. How did you get the substance from the barn? I don’t recall you leaning over my shoulder and stealing some out of the crate for yourself.”

  “I—” she cleared her throat, “I went back there this morning. No one was around, so I went inside. You had looked so—so—” her hand floundered as she sought the word, “depressed that you had not captured those men. I thought maybe I could help.”

  Ignoring the warmth that invaded his stomach at hearing her motivation, he jumped back into the analysis.

  “There were no police there? Have they been here?”

  Raja shook her head, a tiny hook forming between her soft blonde eyebrows. “No. They have not been around since early this morning.”

  Damn them. But he had known the novelty would wear off shortly. Craig extracted his notepad from the back pocket of his jeans, along with his pen and jotted down a quick reminder to lodge an official reprimand. He glanced back up to find those wide blue-green eyes watching him. It was hard for him to maintain his train of thought.

  “So you just went into that barn—hell, there couldn’t have been much residue left in that crate—and you brought it back here? And you just happened to have a Narco Test Kit lying around in the kitchen?”

  He could see her lips soundlessly form the word, Narco. Watching them move was riveting. He snapped his pen, the sound jolting them both. Raising the device, he pointed it at her lips. “Or did you take it upon yourself to just taste the stuff?”

  The nook between Raja’s eyebrows turned into a full-fledged frown. She reached up and touched her mouth, then peered down at her fingertips, and smiled again.

  Heat filled Craig’s stomach. Indigestion, no doubt.

  “This?” She wiggled her fingertips and laughed. “I wonder what results I would get if I tested this substance…”

  Lost in thought she stared at her fingers.

  Craig cleared his throat and called, “Hello, Earth to Raja.”

  She jerked to attention, eyes widening in fright.

  Immediately, he felt like a shmuck. “I’m sorry. That was rude. But you have to understand my frustration.” I have the hots for a woman who was playing with heroin.

  Okay, maybe she wouldn’t understand.

  Wiping her mouth with the back of her arm, leaving a trail of powder on the pale flesh, Raja hauled a box across the table. Grudgingly she lifted the lid, and turned it to face him.

  “Would you like one?”

  One thing about Raja’s face was that it was extremely expressive. He doubted she would ever be a good liar. Right now her face stated that she would absolutely collapse in tears if he took one of her donuts.

  “No thanks. I’ll pass.”

  Relief came quickly as he saw the stiffness leave her shoulders. Reaching in to touch the half-eaten powdered sugar donut, she surprised him by extending her hand across the table.

  “Sugar,” she stated, nodding at the pad of her pointer finger.

  Christ, what was he supposed to do, lick it?

  Get a hold of yourself, Buchanan.

  “Okay, okay, I get it. It’s sugar on your lips.” He waved off her hand. “Let’s get back to your opiate test.”

  “Oh, alright,” she beamed. “I don’t have whatever kit you speak of, and I left most of my tools—” Catching herself, Raja shut the box and glanced at the counter. “I found some materials in the garage. Umm, battery acid, and formaldehyde.”

  “Formaldehyde?” Were they embalming bodies out back?

  Raja rose and walked to the kitchen counter, returning with a rusted spray can. A green insect crawled between the words BUG-B-GONE. She spun the can around and read off the ingredients.

  “So you made a drug-testing kit with household products?” Just because I seemed depressed?

  “Yes.” She slid back onto the stool, zeal lighting up her eyes. “When the liquid turns purple it is a positive indication of opiates.”

  “Aimee mentioned that you were a scientist, but she was very vague. She was very vague on a lot of things. Perhaps you can clear up some of my unanswered questions.”

  That set her on edge. He almost regretted having to ask, just for the opportunity to see that enthusiasm light up her eyes again. But this was work.

  As he studied the queries listed hastily on his pad after he had completed his research, Craig felt fatigue gnawing at the insides of his eyelids. In the past seventy-two hours, he had about six collective hours of sleep.

  “Where are your friends?” he started automatically.

  “They are—Aimee’s father took them to his factory.”

  Check.

  “This is the same factory that sent the three of you to Europe for five years?”

  A hesitation. “Yes.”

  Check.

  “What country did you visit in Europe?”

  The tick of a clock sounded somewhere in the house.

  “Ger-many.”

  Ger-maine-eee? Check.

  “What city in Germany?”

  The hesitation extended. Raja stared at her sugar-tipped fingers, and then hastened a response. “New York City.”

  No check.

  “New York City?” Craig eyed her. “Are you mocking me?”

  So deep in thought was she, it almost appeared that she was in pain. Craig hated this. He still wasn’t convinced she was completely right-in-the-head. But she was obviously brilliant in some respects. A savant.

  “Alright, Raja.” He pushed the pad to the side and rested his hands on the counter, leaning forward slightly. “We’ll skip that for now. Tell me what you know about Aimee’s kidnapping when she was 17 years-old, and where she spent those five years that she was missing.”

  Chapter Seven

  Raja’s scalp itched.

  Aimee was not going to be pleased with this development.

  What had she been thinking in calling this man on the cell phone? Never had someone intrigued her so, with such captivating eyes, and wavy hair that tempted her curious fingers. His shoulders beneath the crisp blue shirt were wide and brawny, like a warrior. And when he stood, except for Zak, he was the only other man that could look down upon her.

  “Raja, I’m not the enemy. I’m here to help catch the enemy.”

  And his voice. It soothed and intrigued, and intimidated—and yes, stimulated.

  “If Aimee was taken by Diego when she was a teenager, it’s nothing to be ashamed of. She doesn’t need to hide it—” he hesitated, “—unless she’s protecting him.”

  “No!” she exclaimed and then started at the volume in the stillness of the house. “No,” she repeated, quieter. “Aimee was not abducted by your Diego.”

  A tension in his expression eased. Some minor lines around his mouth and eyes relinquished their grip. He had facial features that were so unique. Broad cheekbones and a chin carved in shadows.

  What was she going to do now? What was she going to say? Around this man, she spoke too much—her only motivation was to hear his voice in response. What was wrong with her?

  * * *

  Craig forced himself to relax. Raja’s honest outburst revealed that Diego Carlo was not a part of Aimee Patterson’s life. But something was responsible for her disappearance...and this woman knew. If Diego did not fit into the equation, personal curiosity played no role in Craig’s interrogation.

  Fiddling with the pad, Craig glanced up to find her watching him with the look of a cornered prey.

  “Diego Carlo—not the man who captured us in the field, but the other man
in the van—is someone I have tried to bust for nearly two years now. He is wanted for drug trafficking, murder, and most important to the FBI, the deaths of several of our own. Opiates would be an affable reference to the drugs this man is dealing with. Heroin. Cocaine—to name a few.”

  She focused on him—watching his mouth—watching his eyes. It was disconcerting, but also provocative. Never had anyone been so rapt by what he had to say.

  “It was a small operation at first—under our radar. Diego is from Bogotá, and as the story goes, initially he transported the first wave of drugs onto our shores personally...strapped to his body. Many years later he had an army of mules to traffic for him.”

  Raja frowned. He waited for her to inject a comment, but she cocked her head, absorbed.

  “We’ve been able to catch many of his people, but never Diego himself. The first time we closed in on him, two federal agents were killed. The last time we—I—cornered him, a young girl slipped right under my nose with 5 kilos of heroin in her school bag.”

  How had Diego recruited her? Money? Family threats? Charm?

  “I screwed up, and no, I’m not some maniac looking for redemption. I don’t have blood lust. I don’t enjoy walking that tightrope between justice and possible death. It wasn’t what I signed on for—but now justice tempts me greater than any siren. I cannot permit that man to continue to worm his way through the southeast like a cancer. I—”

  Dammit, Buchanan. What the hell just happened?

  He was the interrogator. He possessed the notepad brimming with questions. He was supposed to control the situation. Where the hell had the simple life gone? Where were the things he used to enjoy? Reams of excel sheets. Loan schemes. Fraudulent mortgages. Numbers.

  Craig rubbed at his eyes. He dropped his hand, and still she sat there...composed and beautiful, neither bored, intimidated, or impressed.

  “Say something.” Christ, just speak.

  Raja blinked. She made a sound with her throat and fidgeted on her stool.

  “The other man,” she spoke softly. “The man who tied us up in the barn. He is related to this Diego?”

  “What makes you say that?” All of Craig’s loose thoughts dispersed as he honed in on her. “Yes, they are both probably from Colombia, so they bear similar characteristics.”

  A twitch of her head dismissed that. “The jaw is the same. The ring of the eye sockets is the same. I did not bring my genetic analyzer with me, but my educated guess would be that they share the same Y-chromosome, which means they most likely share the same father.”

  The clock ticked loudly.

  “Couldn’t you just cook up a genetic analyzer in the kitchen?” he joked, while his mind assimilated the possibilities. Come to think of it—it was not that far-fetched a theory. Diego’s family traced back to an alternate surname in Bogotá. Moreno. But the lineage was vague.

  Craig caught Raja staring at the stove with a contemplative look.

  “I was kidding,” he added.

  “If you could bring him here, I could probably draw some blood—”

  “Whoa.” He raised his hand. “We’ll leave that to the authorities. If, I could ever bring him anywhere.” He paused and considered her. “You fascinate me, Raja.”

  Her neck cracked when she looked his way. “And you fascinate me, Craig.”

  It was pronounced Creeg, with a heavy emphasis on the g.

  “You were under that water for no less than 8 minutes,” he segued. “That is physically impossible.”

  Sleek blonde hair shimmered in the sunlight streaming through the windows. Her shoulders were drawn back, her head was held high, and her lips were ringed with sugar. “It’s not physically impossible if I did it,” she challenged with a grin.

  * * *

  “Alright,” Tom Patterson wrapped his burly hands around the steering wheel and stared through the windshield at the approaching security station. “All along I’ve told everyone here that you’ve been abroad.”

  Seated in the passenger seat, Aimee gazed out at the familiar industrial park, and the extensive compound of the NC automotive plant. Trepidation about returning churned in her stomach like a sour batch of crup. Settling her hand on her abdomen to quell it, she mumbled humbly, “Dad, I really am sorry to have put you in that awkward position.”

  Grey-blue eyes sliced towards her. “I know. You said that in your letter, basically.” A chuckle rolled off his lips. “I’m not going to lie. I teetered between missing you and wanting to throttle you. But you were a grown woman by that time, and you conveyed that you were going to be happy. Now, in retrospect, I understand your need to keep information at a minimum.”

  Tapping the gas to pull up alongside the guard shack, Tom slid down the window and added hastily, “But please don’t tell these people that you’ve been on an alien spaceship for the past five years.”

  “Hey Sam,” Tom turned his head and called out to the guard.

  “Hey Tom, you have some guests with you?”

  Sam leaned his elbow on the window ledge and peered down into the car. “Aimee? Sweet baby Jesus, is that you?”

  Some of her trepidation fled at Sam’s white-toothed smile. “Hey Sam. It’s good to see you again.”

  The guard’s eyes slid to the back seat.

  “This is my husband, Zak.”

  “Nice to meet you,” Zak’s deep-voiced response sounded from behind.

  “Well, I’ll be damned. Aimee Patterson gone and got married. What’s your last name now?” He held his pen suspended over his pad, ready to write the guest names down.

  “Aimee’s one of those independent women, Sam.” Tom spared. “You know, keeping their last name and all.”

  Sam drew back into the shack. “She always was an independent soul. No worries. Everyone will be happy to see you and meet your husband. Husband—” he shook his head, “—I’ll be damned. I remember you when you were barely as high as your Daddy’s knees.”

  The gate slid open before them and with a polite wave they were through.

  “Whew,” she exhaled, and swiped her forehead.

  “You up for this?” Her father looked concerned.

  “Yes. Yes. I want Zak to see the factory, and I do have to get back to work eventually.”

  A strong hand gripped her shoulder from the back seat. There were no words. Just that gentle touch of encouragement. She reached back and held his fingers.

  Inside the plant, amid a flurry of activity and awkward reunions, Aimee was finally able to break away with Zak to conduct her own tour.

  “Are you okay?” His arm slid around her back.

  “Yes, sure, why?”

  They were in an empty corridor. Zak drew her to a halt, placing his palm flat on the wall behind her shoulder.

  “Aim,” His head dipped so he could look into her eyes. “I know you. Something is wrong.”

  It was a wonderful sensation to have someone connect with you so completely that the most minor of fluctuations could be detected when no one else noticed a thing.

  “I’m nervous, Zak. And I’m mad at myself for being nervous. As you pointed out—I’ve been in so many insane situations, and none wormed through my stomach like everything is doing right now. If I had on the suit it would probably light up orange...or heck, maybe black.”

  Zak touched her face. “Do you want to go back to the Horus? Is that what this is about?”

  Why did that sound so tempting? This was her world. Her home. And yet, she felt uncomfortable—downright edgy.

  “Come here.” Zak drew her into his arms and all the anxiety drained from her.

  Tucking her head against his throat she nestled into the heat there. He was all that mattered. Nothing else counted like this man.

  “You know I’ll go anywhere with you,” he whispered into her hair. “We’re kind of stuck here for a while—but when the time comes, I will respect your decision.” Dropping his hand from her face, he traced it down her chest, brushed it across her hip, and linked his fi
ngers with hers. “When you get nervous—you just hold on to this.” He squeezed. “Hold on to me, Zer-shay.”

  Aimee looped her free arm around his neck and murmured into his shoulder. “I love you so damn much.”

  “Good.”

  “Good?” Her head tilted back. “Good?”

  His grin would be the death of her.

  “You look smug,” she chided.

  “So damn smug. And I am. I have the most beautiful woman on the whole planet in my arms.”

  Snorting, Aimee plopped a hand on his chest and tipped him back. “Come on, Prince Charming. I want to show you something.”

  Still locked by their hands, she urged Zak down the hall to a set of industrial oscillating doors. Ready to use her shoulder to push one open, she hesitated and announced, “This is my domain.”

  With that, they passed through and out onto an elevated platform with a yellow railing barring anyone from dropping down to the expansive floor below. Stretched out as far as they could see was the mass assembly line of automobile skeletons. Hulking orange robots with suction cups affixed to the ends of their arms swung sheets of glass around to fit into the nooks where windshields belonged. Other stations affixed door panels, as the parade of car carcasses inched forward on automated belts. Cranes suspended from the lofted ceiling hauled chassis into place as blaring sirens alerted their movement.

  Zak uttered something in his native tongue.

  “Impressive, huh?” She cocked an eyebrow, marveling at the industrial mecca.

  Earth may not possess superior intelligence…but they were trying.

  “You must love this,” Zak marveled, squinting against the overhead illumination.

  “It was always hard for me here. My ideas were met with resistance by engineers who have been established for so many years.”

  “Just like Wando resisted you with the terra duster design.”

  Aimee snorted. “Bah, Wando’s first reaction to everything is resistance.” She looked at Zak. “Are you saying that I don’t fit in as an engineer in either world?”