Bad Vibrations: Book 1 of the Sedona Files (15 page)

“Los Angeles,” Paul said promptly, eliciting another one of those grins.

“That’s easy enough. Whereabouts?”

I thought furiously. Santa Monica was the closest general aviation airport to where I lived…not that I was planning to go home any time soon. There was also Van Nuys, but I didn’t know the area very well, and somehow I sensed it was important that I be closer to L.A than stuck out in the middle of the San Fernando Valley.

“Santa Monica Airport,” I told him.

“Nice airport. Convenient, too, because we’ve got some helpers in Venice who can come and get you sorted after you land.”

Paul raised an eyebrow. “Helpers?”

“We’ve got quite the network. But I suppose they’ll explain more to you when we get to Los Angeles. Go on up to slip 22A—I need to get a few things out of the car.”

Since there didn’t seem to be much else to say, we both nodded and followed where he pointed, climbing up toward the top of the mesa, past the small terminal, and on to an area where everything from a sleek Gulfstream jet to a vintage biplane were parked. At 22A we found a small, neat twin-engine plane.

“Piper Seneca,” Paul said, and ran an admiring hand under the belly of the aircraft.

“You fly?” I asked.

“No. Always wanted to learn, but there never seemed to be enough time. Or money.”

He spoke unself-consciously, with just the smallest of self-deprecating shrugs. I hadn’t expected that; there were very few men of my acquaintance who would openly admit to not being exactly flush in the pocketbook.

“And it’ll get us to Santa Monica?”

“Definitely. Take maybe four hours if he’s being conservative. It’s a good plane.”

“Glad you approve,” came Matt Forrest’s voice. He patted the underside of the Seneca. “We need to fill up, but it won’t take too long. I just figured you all might as well get aboard, since the fueling station’s on the other side of the mesa.”

It was a little awkward to climb up into the passenger compartment, but Paul gave me a boost. Inside, the cabin was decorated in soothing tones of blue. I settled myself into one of the seats directly behind the cockpit, and Paul sat down next to me.

I started a little as Matt revved the engines.

“You ever been up in one of these things?” Paul asked.

“No. I went on a hot air balloon ride once.”

To that he just grinned and shook his head.

The engines were louder than I had expected, even though all we were doing was taxiing across the tarmac over to the fuel depot. Once there, Matt climbed out and entered some negotiations with the attendant on duty, who picked up the nozzle for the pump and began to fill the plane’s gas tanks. I guess full service wasn’t completely dead.

Fascinating as that exchange was, I couldn’t help looking through the window and scanning in every direction, eyes straining for any sign of the MIBs, as Kiki & Co. so affectionately called them. I didn’t see anything suspicious, though—just a series of light aircraft lining up for takeoff and then ascending into the achingly blue skies. From up here, you could see all of the valley, with the red rocks thrusting skyward everywhere you looked.

“It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” Paul asked, and I turned back toward him.

“I’m surprised you’d say so.”

He lifted his shoulders, then ran a contemplative hand along the bruise on his jaw. “Just because I wasn’t given the courtesy tour doesn’t mean I can’t appreciate beauty when I see it. Funny…I always heard people talk about how stunning Sedona was, but I never had the chance to make it out here. I know it wouldn’t be smart to stick around and sightsee, but…”

“Something in you doesn’t want to leave,” I finished, and he nodded, looking a little startled. “I feel the same way. Well, maybe after we kick the aliens’ asses we can come back here for a spa weekend.”

A flash of white teeth. Thank God the hybrids or MIBs or whomever had given him that impressive shiner hadn’t seen fit to knock out a few of his teeth while they were at it. “Deal.”

Matt returned then, and climbed into the cockpit. “We’re ready to go. Once we’re in the air, I’ll make a few calls.”

“You’ve got a phone in this thing?”

He gestured toward a clunky-looking device he’d just dropped on the front seat next to him. “Satellite phone. Very difficult to trace. Not that they’d even know who they’re supposed to be looking for.”

With that he began taxiing the little plane down toward the runway, taking its place in the queue behind some kind of sleek private jet. With one of those we could have been back in Los Angeles in half the time, but I wasn’t about to look a gift plane trip in the mouth.

And then it was our turn, and the Seneca glided smoothly down the tarmac, pointed south, and we lifted into the air. Sedona fell away beneath us, red rock formations and dark evergreens and the slow winding curve of Oak Creek resolving themselves into a serene landscape. The town had seemed far more populated when I was down in it; from up here I could see how little space the developed areas actually occupied.

The dark shape of a helicopter appeared off to our left, and I let out a little yelp. Paul leaned past me and squinted out the round porthole window. His hand closed around mine.

“It’s all right,” he said. “Look closer.”

It was my turn to squint. I saw letters on the side of the helicopter, letters that resolved themselves into the words
Arizona Helicopter Adventures
.

“Okay, now I feel like an ass.”

“Don’t. I think it’s all right to be a little on edge after having a bunch of guys in a helicopter trying to shoot you up.”

I was silent for a few seconds. “Do you really think Kara and everyone will be okay? That helicopter—”

His fingers tightened around mine, and he stared out the window as if considering his words before replying. “We have to hope they are. Matt doesn’t seem too worried, so that’s something. And it’s clever of them to be so visible. If you’re a fixture in the community, there’s a far greater chance that someone’s going to notice when you go missing.

Even though I still wasn’t totally reassured, I knew there wasn’t much else we could do at the moment. Besides, we had our own business to deal with.

I said, “Paul, I’m so sorry I left you at Lampson Labs. I didn’t know what else to do—”

He cut me off. “Don’t. You did the right thing. I would’ve loved some video of you hitting that one commando upside the head with your purse, though. That was the stuff of legends.” His smile faded. “I was just glad you were able to get away.”

“Weren’t—weren’t you scared?”

“Of course I was scared.” One corner of his mouth lifted, ever so slightly. “I’m an astrophysicist and lecturer, not James Bond. I didn’t know what those men were going to do to me. And after seeing what happened to Raymond…” He let the words trail off.

A shiver passed through me. Raymond Lampson, while not exactly the sweetest guy on the planet, definitely hadn’t deserved to be suborned by an alien intelligence. “It could have been a lot worse,” I said.

“Exactly. As it was, well, I struggled a little—who wouldn’t—but one guy hit me in the jaw with the butt of his gun, and another got me in the eye…just before they dropped a bag over my head and threw me in the back of one of their Hummers. Then they moved out—bringing me here to Sedona, although of course at the time I didn’t know where we were going. It’s hard to keep track of time when you’re stuffed in the trunk of a Hummer with your head in a bag.”

“I would imagine.”

“Once I was at the base, they started asking questions—how I knew you, what Alex Hathaway had told you, but I wouldn’t say much. I didn’t have a serial number to give them, since I’m not in the service, but I think I did rattle off the ISBN for my last book.”

I laughed then. “Wonder what they made of that.”

“They weren’t amused. I could tell they were holding back, though. I’m not an expert, but it could’ve been a lot rougher than it was. I got the impression they were waiting for something…or someone.”

Another of those little shivers trickled down my back, although this one didn’t have anything to do with the presence of hybrids. “Good thing we got there when we did.”

“That’s for sure.” He paused, then watched me carefully. “How did you know where I was?”

I gave a nervous little laugh. “What, you still don’t believe in my psychic powers?”

“I didn’t say that. But still…this wasn’t exactly like tracking down somebody’s lost dog.”

No, it wasn’t. At first I didn’t say anything, but only watched the sere desert landscape passing far beneath us, obscured from time to time by a passing cloud. “I had a feeling. No, it was more than that. A compulsion. Something drawing me eastward. I didn’t even know where I was going until I saw the road sign for Sedona. The rest…just sort of fell into place. I was told I would have help, and I did.”

Those keen hazel eyes missed very little. “The absent Otto put in an appearance?”

“Well, I wouldn’t really call it an appearance, since he never materialized, but he did show up to give some timely advice. For all his faults, he’s never steered me wrong. I had to trust him—and the universe—and follow my gut.”

“That explains how you got here. But how did you get past all those guards?”

That was a question I didn’t really have an answer for, since I still couldn’t entirely explain it to myself. I knew I had done something to make those walkie-talkies come to life with false commands, but I wasn’t sure exactly how I had done it. And Paul, for all his credulity when it came to aliens and conspiracies, would probably have a hard time swallowing the fact that somewhere along the way I’d picked up a Jedi mind trick or two.

“Luck of the Irish,” I told him.

“I thought you said you were Greek.”

“Half.”

He stared at me for a moment, apparently nonplussed, and suddenly let out a chuckle, right before he leaned in and planted another one of those unexpected but entirely welcome kisses on my mouth. A quick one, with a shift of his gaze toward the cabin where Matt Forrest was sitting, but still, it was enough to send a rush of heat through me, right down to my toes.

“Guess you can tell me later,” Paul said, with a weight of significance in his tone.

Later…when we’re alone.

I hoped we’d have a chance to have that private conversation once we got to Santa Monica. Or maybe “conversation” was the wrong word for it.

Roughly three hours later, we landed at Santa Monica Airport. By then the sun had almost set, and thin trails of fog were drifting in off the ocean. When we alighted, the air seemed far too damp and heavy, laden with salt. Odd that it would seem that way to me, since I’d been breathing in L.A.’s sea breezes for the last fifteen years, ever since I left Claremont to attend UCLA.

A woman was waiting for us at the airport, a stranger, of course. But she was probably the last person I would have ever expected to be mixed up in an alien hunters’ underground—I was no expert, but her suit looked like Chanel, and the diamonds in her ears and on her perfectly manicured fingers had a wicked glitter that told me they were genuine.

“Bettina Croft,” she told us. “Dr. Oliver, I have to say this is such an honor—”

“We’re just grateful for the help,” he said, after shooting me another one of those embarrassed little sideways glances.

I repressed a smile. By this time, I was pretty much inured to the adulation.

“And your eye—do you need to see a doctor?”

“I’m fine, Ms. Croft. Really, I think all Ms. O’Brien and I need is a place to regroup.”

“Well, I have the perfect thing for that. I’m sure you’re on urgent business, but I think you could use a decent night’s sleep.” She looked past us to Matt Forrest. “Are you staying?”

He shook his head. “Got to get back, make sure those girls haven’t gotten into any more trouble. Besides, I was never one for the big city. You take care of them, Bettina, and my thanks.”

With that he gave us a wave, and got back into the Seneca’s cockpit.

“As I thought,” Bettina Croft said. “But I do always like to ask. Now, where was I? Oh, that’s right. I’ve set you up in a bungalow at the Fairmont. I hope that will be all right?”

“All right?” Paul said faintly.

“It sounds lovely,” I put in. More than lovely. The Fairmont was definitely above my pay grade, but not, apparently, Ms. Croft’s.

“Excellent. Well, best be going.”

Feeling a little shell-shocked, we followed her off the tarmac, through the small terminal, and out to the parking lot, where a driver in a dark suit waited next to a massive black vehicle that my befuddled mind belatedly realized was a Bentley limousine. As soon as Ms. Croft approached, he opened the back door, and we all climbed in.

The smell of expensive leather surrounded me. I took a deep breath and decided a girl could get used to this sort of thing.

“So…erm…Ms. Croft,” I ventured, as the car glided away from the curb and headed northwest toward the ocean and the hotel, “how do you know Matt Forrest?”

“Oh, I’ve been part of the network for a long time, and so has he.” Her blue eyes twinkled beneath eyelashes coated with what I guessed was the most expensive mascara money could buy. “My husband always thought I was a complete lunatic for being interested in these things.”

“Thought?”

“Oh, he passed away three years ago. Since then, I’ve done what I can to keep busy. Supporting the network is just part of it, but I have to say it’s far more interesting than planning another charity luncheon!”

I smiled wanly at that, since she seemed to expect some sort of response. The next leg of the journey passed in relative silence, although I couldn’t help wondering who the dead husband had been. Judging by the car, either a Rockefeller or the Sultan of Brunei.

The Bentley sailed majestically down Ocean Park Boulevard before turning north on Pacific Coast Highway. From there, it was just a slight jog to where the Fairmont was located. Before I knew it, the Bentley had pulled up in front of an impressive lobby.

“The room is reserved for a Mr. and Mrs. Anderson,” Ms. Croft said, sounding almost apologetic. “I just thought it would be simpler that way. They’re expecting you.”