Ultimate Passage: New Beginnings: Box Set ( Books 1-4) (6 page)

F
inn didn’t know
how to reply to Kal’s email that the Installment team had returned Number 42. Anything he said would confirm that he wasn’t doing what he was supposed to be doing. That he was going maverick on them.

Another message came in from Kal.

Why do you ask that? Are you compromising the mission? Are you compromised?

He wasn’t going to reply.

He only had one choice: return to the hillside and see what the Installment team really did with the human women when they were done with them.

He drove to their temporary Earth compound under the hill, went past it a short distance and parked the car behind a barrier of mesquite trees. Then he worked his way back toward the compound, roaming through pastures and fields, avoiding the highways and unpaved country roads.

His phone buzzed in his pocket.

Another email. Kal again.

The commander wants you to come in. Someone else will finish your job.

Too late. He was already in, but he wasn’t about to tell them that. And there was no way in the Sacred Writings he’d ever allow anyone else to take over his mission. They’d bring Marissa in. Not a chance he’d let that happen.

He turned the phone completely off without responding and took up a spot behind a tree. He focused on the entrance, waiting to see what would happen when the Installment team came out. He’d follow them all the way in to Houston to see if they dropped off a live woman or if he’d been lied to.

Finn didn’t have to wait long to see the Installment team come out carrying a woman. They paused outside the entrance and had a short conversation. But it was long enough for Finn to see one thing: she was breathing. Her chest rose and fell with each breath.

Relief flooded through his body. Kal had not lied... but that didn’t explain what had happened with 42. It did tell him that his people weren’t killing the human women. He could go back to the woman now. To Marissa. To 41.

T
he lunch rush
was a bitch that day—the good kind of bitch. If only every day was like this, Marissa thought as she pushed in the till drawer on the register. If only. But she knew better. This used to be the trend, but not lately. Now it was the exception. And since it was an exception, that meant she didn’t staff her restaurant accordingly, which meant she busted her ass waiting tables, washing dishes here and there, and bussing most of the plates.

As she passed the mirror on the wall in the smaller dining room she caught a glimpse of herself.
Holy buckets
. Oily sheen on her face, no lipstick left over, even her blush had sweated off. No point in making repairs now. It was two in the afternoon. Not likely they’d have any visitors. Not many, anyway. An occasional late straggler and then the early-birders around four to four-thirty.

Oh, well. As soon as she finished bussing these last few tables and put away some dishes, she’d cut the staff down to bare bones—meaning just her and Belle, and she’d run the kitchen while Belle ran the dining room. Maybe she could slip in a trip to the bank, or her car payment would be two months behind. She’d use the drive-thru so she didn’t have to run into the jerk
at the bank. She grimaced at herself in the mirror.

The bell signaled the door opening. She did a one-eighty.

Oh god.

No. No. No, god, no. It was him.

And he seemed fresh and—

She looked down at the stains on her top from a plate that had slid off a tray, and had ended up retexturizing and recoloring her blouse. Red pasta sauce almost resembled a blossoming gunshot wound. And then there was her face. God.

Relax. He’s here to see Belle. Yes, that’s right.
But he asked for you the other day. BY name. He said Ms. Sanchez.

Stupid damned voice. If shaking her head would shake it away she’d do that, but it wouldn’t. And she’d look weird on top of nasty, grimy, and oily. She slunk toward the kitchen, avoiding eye contact, hoping that would keep him from noticing her. Six yards away. She had only six yards to go and she’d be free and clear.

Five.

Belle was giggling that cute giggle of hers, a tinkling little laugh. Forgetting or forgiving—or both—that he’d stood her up for dessert.

Four yards to go. Just four; surely she could make it.

His response to Belle, whatever it was, was low, and even though she wasn’t going to look at them, Marissa would have sworn it sounded... intimate. Ugh. And worse, why did that bother her?

Three.

Oh, yes. Almost there. Almost.

Two.

“Ms. Sanchez? Marissa?” Him. God. Ugh. His voice. Double-ugh!

She whirled around.
Shit
. He was practically on top of her. When she turned, she was looking right at his chin. And a nice, tan, strong chin it was.

Marissa chanced a look into his eyes. Amusement? He was amused? What the hell?

Suddenly her embarrassment at her appearance took a back seat to her anger at his amusement. Did he think the way she looked was funny? Marissa took a deep breath. No, she wasn’t going to react. She was going to keep it together. No more Bitch Marissa from the other day. Nice Marissa was here. Sort of. She hoped. Prayed, even.

She cleared her throat, hoping the pause would give her a chance to compose. Or recompose. Or stay composed. Or something. Anything. “Yes?” And still, she squawked the word out. What was it about this man? Every time she talked to him, at least when she said
yes,
it came out in a croak.

H
e breathed her in
. Though she had clearly worked hard, and sweated, she had a muskiness, a—he inhaled again—scent to her that reached deep down into his gut, maybe even lower. Her eyes flashed their angry green fire, and her jaw jutted out.

He fought to keep from kissing her, wondering what it would be like. Wondering what it would taste like. He was no stranger to some of the human actions, like intimacy. He’d studied the lessons the Asazi were taught about humans in preparation for a journey to Earth. But he’d always fought the impulse and fought the human emotions that drove it. Was this a mistake? Was sending him here to do this a very bad idea? He had graduated at the top of his class at the Elite Measures Academy.

Why was this happening to him? He was a soldier. He had no weaknesses. He gritted his teeth to keep his anger from raising his pulse. His shoulder blades ached where his wings demanded to be released. He feared his skin would glow in its natural state, and freak her out with its colors. Curse this mission. Would he have to leave the restaurant to keep from being discovered? Was he such a failure?

He tore his gaze away from her lips, her face, held his breath and took a step back. “Ms. Sanchez.” He released the breath slowly, regulating his pulse, regaining control of his faculties and his senses, his body. Somewhat. Yes, somewhat in regards to the body. That was harder to control.

Why didn’t he have these reactions to the very, very willing Belle? Why? Why only this female? Why not the guest clerk at the hotel?

He wanted to call his cousin and ask him if this was normal. Then again, what if they yanked him from the mission? What if they removed him from the military? Or even worse, assigned him to a desk job? No, he would not allow that. Never.

Would they make him be Bound to Alithera again? Could they? Under what threat?

He put on what he’d practiced as his best smile. “I was hoping to have a visit with you, Ms. Sanchez. Do I need to set up an appointment for that?”

An expression passed over her face. It was fleeting, but he would have sworn that it was vulnerability. What was that about?

Her shoulders slumped, almost as if she was admitting defeat. Defeat for what? What was going on in that head of hers? Suddenly and without understanding why, Finn wanted to know everything about this woman. What made her happy, what made her sad, mad, why she seemed defeated, why she’d been angry earlier. What she’d been like as a little human girl. What she liked to do for fun. Humans did a lot of that—fun stuff. The Asazi were not a fun-based culture. Theirs was based on different values. Of course, it had had to be. They had been transplanted to a new world long ago. There had been no time for luxury. And now that they were in danger of a dwindling population—

She was talking to him. What had she said? “I’m sorry. Could you repeat that?” He didn’t want to tell her why. Especially since it was because he’d been daydreaming while she was talking.

“An appointment for what? Who are you? Who do you represent?” Her eyes narrowed, as though suspicion had overtaken her fatigue and defeat.

“Represent? I’m a scout. Simply that.” This was all he could think to say. Pathetic. His plans for getting close to her vanished.

He was worthless.
A scout?
He could imagine Kal’s voice already.
That was the best you could come up with?
Now Finn was happy there wasn’t a transmitter in his phone or on his person that would relay their conversations, his blunders.

Or was there? No, surely they’d have told him. They wouldn’t risk that anyway, would they? Risk humans finding out about Asazi by discovering alien instrumentation on them if they were captured? No. Surely not. But a niggling doubt remained.

Marissa cleared her throat and tapped her foot impatiently. “A scout for...?” Then another look passed over her face. It almost seemed like recognition, or acknowledgment. Whatever it was, it was quickly replaced with anger. She seemed angrier than she had been the last time they’d seen one another.

“You work for one of those damned vultures, don’t you? One of those developers that wants me gone. Don’t you?
Don’t you?
” Her voice became louder and louder. Her face reddened. She was still a vision, but now she was a Valkyrie.

He took a step back, putting some distance between himself and her anger. “I’m not what you think. It’s not what you think.”

J
ust when Marissa
was revving up, when she was ready to blast him with both barrels—

—the phone rang. And rang. And rang. And it dawned on her that Belle wasn’t going to answer it. To compound the problem, Belle had a pleading look on her face, like she was beseeching Marissa to answer the phone so she could talk with this Finn guy. A guy Marissa was ready to kick out of her restaurant. Damned vulture.

She sprinted for the cordless. “Two West Two.”

“Ms. Sanchez?”

That voice. Marissa’s stomach felt like it was caught in a speedboat’s propeller.
That ass from the bank.
She choked back her reflex to cuss the bastard out. “This is Marissa Sanchez.”

“Ms. Sanchez, your failure to secure a loan—”

“Just get to the point.”

“Ms. Sanchez.” She could just imagine the sneer on his face. The same one he’d worn the last time they talked. “The sale of the property has been finalized. Effective at the end of the month, you will have to vacate the premises. You will receive formal notice via the sheriff’s office today.”

He probably wanted to gloat, but she bit that accusation back. “You can’t do that. That’s less than ten days away. I have rights.”

“When your lease expired, you went month-to-month. Read your lease terms.”
If you can read at all,
his tone implied
.

The room closed in around her, getting smaller and smaller, darker and darker. She slumped into a booth, wishing she could sink into the upholstery.

Ten days. Ten days to erase all traces of Two West Two. “How am I supposed to do that? To move an entire restaurant in ten days? And where am I supposed to take everything?” She regretted the questions the minute they left her lips. She didn’t want him to hear the pathetic desperation she felt. She pressed the
End Call
button and put her head between her hands, resting her forehead on the table’s cool surface.

It was hard to breathe. For the first time in two years—
since Dad died—
she wanted a drink. A whole lot of a drink. That sounded like a winner, right about now.

“Marissa?” Belle’s voice had a faraway quality.

“I don’t feel very well. Can you call in some help? I—” Marissa rose, bracing her shaky legs by holding on to the table. “I—I’ll see you later.”

She picked up her bag from behind the register and made for the door. The man called Finn said something, but it was a low rumble and sounded more like a distant, muted thunder than words.

And then she was out in the blinding brightness of the afternoon. After slipping her sunglasses on, she fished her keys out of her pocket.

A
nd just like that
—no notice, no clues, nothing—she was gone. The phone rang, she answered it. The call couldn’t have been more than a minute, maybe two. Then she looked like a balloon that had had the air drained out of it. She laid her head on the table, then got up and grabbed her purse. She didn’t respond to his question, didn’t act like she’d heard it, or that he even existed. And then she was gone.

He wondered if he should let her go. He wondered if he should abort the mission altogether, maybe move on to the next target, because this one seemed so unpredictable.

Then the inexplicable happened. As if someone else was controlling his body, his mind, his actions, he found himself telling Belle he had to run an errand. And he followed her, this dark-haired, green-eyed woman with a warrior’s spirit. He knew why he was doing it. He’d seen that look she had on her face. He’d seen it on shell-shocked soldiers who’d seen too much, lived through too much, and were numb. And numb soldiers did stupid things. Dangerous things.

Did female humans—women; Kal’s word reverberated in his mind—did women do stupid things when they were numb or shell-shocked? He wished he’d paid better attention to some of the lessons. Right now, knowing more about humans would serve him better than knowing all the different techniques of killing, survival, espionage, evasion, reconnaissance, and escape. He slipped into the foot traffic, keeping enough of a distance behind her, and hoping she wouldn’t notice him. Of course she wouldn’t, he chastised himself. He was trained well. Sure, he argued with himself, but it hadn’t taught him to evade discovery in a densely populated area.

As soon as he was home, as soon as this mission was complete, he would suggest to the Elite Measures Academy that they implement evasion in populated areas to their curriculum, but for now, he needed to pay better attention. To stay on his guard so she wouldn’t notice him. Who knew how she’d react to his following her. If she had been mildly hostile earlier, now she might be outright antagonistic.

She stopped in front of her car, keys in hand. Then she shook her head, as if she was arguing with herself. Her hair caught the sun’s rays, a deep auburn tint in the dark waves. She turned around, a full revolution, and Finn stepped behind a light post, while maintaining an appreciative eye on the way she filled her jeans. She made a sharp 180 and headed down the street.

What was that about? What had that phone call meant? Belle had seemed concerned when Marissa told her to get help and run the dinner shift without her, as if this was not a commonplace event. As if Marissa never missed a day’s work. Was she going somewhere to a business meeting? What kind of meeting would have her looking so defeated, so emotionless?

He walked behind her, keeping his distance varied, on occasion crossing the street as she trudged on, almost in a stupor. An hour later she stopped and surveyed her surroundings. He guessed they’d gone a good couple of miles from Two West Two. This was a far shabbier part of town, mostly dotted with bars, car repair shops, and homes with occasional bars across their windows. Those homes weren’t in disarray. The ones that were in disarray, well—he supposed there was no reason to bar anyone from entering those.

She hurried across the street into a—

Finn looked for a sign. Anything that would identify the building. It wasn’t a place of business, as far as he could tell.

A couple followed her in. Then another couple, holding hands. Odd. Maybe it was a business? But one that was unmarked? What sort of business would that be? The green door had no identifying marks, not even a street number. In her state of mind, probably not even paying attention, she’d be easy prey. He couldn’t just let her be in there alone. Or maybe he was overreacting. Maybe he should go away.

And go where? There was nothing else for him to do, nowhere else for him to go. He had one mission. Marissa. Leaving her would mean he wouldn’t be accomplishing his mission. Well, that and the fact that he didn’t want to admit to himself that he wanted to be where she was. That in itself was too confusing to deal with. So what else was there to do but go in?

No, he’d wait and see if she came out. But first he had to make sure that there were no other exits. The building was two-story, whitewashed brick, with a metal staircase that led to the second floor on the outside. It had concrete steps and an ornate metal handrail.

A quick trip around the building assured him there were no windows. Odd, a building without windows. It used to have windows, but they’d been sealed with bricks.

Finn picked a spot across the street at a café and kept an eye on the green door. For more than an hour, no one came out, but four more laughing couples went in, along with a couple of unaccompanied women and one man.

Finn stretched in the chair, the human epidermis uncomfortable over his own skin in this heat. The sun was lowering, but not going down, not yet.

Maybe he should make an entrance, just to verify she was okay.
For the mission
, he told himself, knowing he wouldn’t believe his own lie.

He crossed over and approached the door. Not even a peephole for security reasons. He tugged on the handle, and the door yielded without hesitation. Dimness greeted his eyes and took some adjusting to.

A bar.

This place was a bar. Jazz music drifted throughout the space, which was furnished with a collection of sofas and love seats. Candles and large, overstuffed chairs added to the ambience.

But no Marissa.

He made his way upstairs. More sofas. No bar. Couples were sitting on the sofas, but no one who was unaccompanied. Had he missed those? Where were they?

He skimmed down the steps, two at a time. Around the corner. There she was. Her back was to him, but she was in front of the bar’s mirror with a drink in her hand.

He stepped back quickly, but not quickly enough. She frowned at his image in the mirror, as if to be sure she wasn’t seeing things, and turned around.

She scratched her head, almost childlike in her action. He knew what that meant, though he hoped it didn’t mean what he thought it did.

“Finn.”

Her slurred word confirmed it. She was drunk.

“You’re following. You. Are. Following.” She took a drink. “Me.”

He didn’t know what to say. If he confirmed it, would she accuse him of being a stalker? Would the bartender call the cops? That would be ugly. If he denied it, she’d know the truth.

“I was concerned.” Might as well go with the truth.

“About me? Little ol’ me?” She set the drink down, and it splashed up, clearly a hard landing. “You’re a scout. For one of those developers.” A sneer marred her features.

He was confused. What developers? Did he want to let her know he didn’t know what she was talking about? Might as well, since her thinking he was a scout for a developer wasn’t working out too well for him. “I don’t know what you mean. What developers?”

She drew back, exaggeratedly so, almost theatrical. The stunned expression that replaced the sneer would have been funny, if the circumstances weren’t the same, if she didn’t hate him without a reason. “What do you mean,
what developers?
You don’t know? You didn’t—Belle didn’t—you—”

Evidently she wasn’t going to assemble a sentence that made sense, so he would have to take the lead. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. I left right after you did. You didn’t seem to be okay.”

“And you were worried about me.”

“We’ve already established that.” He pushed her drink away. She’d had enough and was too difficult to communicate with.

She brought it closer, took the straw between her teeth. The fluid rose through the opaque straw. She closed her eyes as she drank. If she weren’t getting on his nerves with her incomprehension, he’d have been—

—cancel that thought. Too late—

—he
was
aroused. Very much so.

Cursed woman. Her cheeks hollowed as she sucked on the straw, and damn if his body didn’t have a surge of electricity flowing through it. Thoughts ran rampant through his mind. Thoughts and a visual. And just like that—
wham!
—his wings pushed up against the human skin. He hoped they wouldn’t pop through. That’s all he needed. Functional or not, his wings wouldn’t go unnoticed, even in a dark bar.

He shifted away, hoping that everything would subside. He hadn’t spent much time in this body and it was already controlling him. In return, it threatened results that were uncontrollable.

“Oh, now you’re mad?” Her head was cocked, one eyebrow raised, green eyes gleaming in the dancing candlelight.

“No, but I am wondering what this developer business is all about.”

“Don’t worry about it. So if you’re a scout, but you don’t work for a developer, then...” She swirled the straw around and around in the glass, the ice tinkling a soft jingle. Her eyes followed the tiny whirlpool created by the straw. In a flash, her head popped up, her eyes wide, like she’d seen something. Or knew something. “I get it. You’re a talent scout. A headhunter for restaurants? Looking for managers?”

He took a second to evaluate an answer. She didn’t seem to be appalled by that idea; in fact, she seemed pleased by it, as if it wasn’t a bad thing. As if it might actually be a good thing.

“Yes.” He tried to keep his tone confident, as if this was the truth. He raised himself taller on the stool. “That’s exactly right.”

She sank into a more relaxed pose.

He didn’t exhale in relief, not wanting her to know, but he felt his pulse going back to normal along with his passion
,
and with it his wings retracted.