Enemy Overnight

An Ellora’s Cave Romantica Publication

www.ellorascave.com

Enemy Overnight

ISBN 9781419922565

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

Enemy Overnight Copyright © 2009 Robin L. Rotham

Edited by Sue-Ellen Gower

Cover art by Syneca

Electronic book Publication June 2009

The terms Romantica® and Quickies® are registered trademarks of Ellora’s Cave Publishing.

With the exception of quotes used in reviews, this book may not be reproduced or used in whole or in part by any means existing without written permission from the publisher, Ellora’s Cave Publishing, Inc.® 1056 Home Avenue, Akron OH 44310-3502.

Warning: The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. No part of this book may be scanned, uploaded or distributed via the Internet or any other means, electronic or print, without the publisher’s permission. Criminal copyright infringement, including infringement without monetary gain, is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by up to 5 years in federal prison and a fine of $250,000. (http://www.fbi.gov/ipr/). Please purchase only authorized electronic or print editions and do not participate in or encourage the electronic piracy of copyrighted material. Your support of the author’s rights is appreciated.

This book is a work of fiction and any resemblance to persons, living or dead, or places, events or locales is purely coincidental. The characters are productions of the authors’ imagination and used fictitiously.

Enemy Overnight

Robin L. Rotham

Acknowledgments

My books would not be what they are without all of the following people—

The three greatest editors an author could ever hope for—Heather, Mary and Suz, who had her work cut out for her with this one.

My insightful and, when necessary, brutal critters—Sher, Anne, R.G., Red, Feisty, Crys, Kate and Janet.

My support groups, where I go for sympathy and adult conversation—Romance Divas, Passionate Ink and Prairieland Romance Writers.

Sexy Mr. Robin and my beautiful kids, who are learning how to fend for themselves when I’m on a deadline.

VAST, whose music is endlessly inspiring.

And my wonderful readers, whose
kicks in the ass, constant prodding
unfailing encouragement galvanized me into finally getting Shauss’ story down in writing.

I love you all!

Trademarks Acknowledgement

The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of the following wordmarks mentioned in this work of fiction:

BowFlex: Nautilus, Inc.

Gatorade: Stokely-Van Camp, Inc.

Hershey’s Kiss: The Hershey’s Company

Independence Day
: 20th Century Fox

iPod: Apple, Inc.

Lady Chatterley’s Lover
: D. H. Lawrence

Mr. Clean: The Proctor & Gamble Company

Olympics: International Olympic Committee

Pepsi: Pepsico, Inc.

Scrunchie: L&N Sales and Marketing, Inc.

Star Trek
/
Enterprise
: Paramount Pictures Corporation

The Stepford Wives
: Ira Levin

Terminator
: Warner Bros. Entertainment, Inc.

UPS: United Parcel Service of America, Inc.

Zumba: Zumba Fitness, LLC.

“Real isn’t how you are made,” said the Skin Horse. “It’s a thing that happens to you. When a child loves you for a long, long time, not just to play with, but REALLY loves you, then you become Real.”

“Does it hurt?” asked the Rabbit.

“Sometimes,” said the Skin Horse, for he was always truthful. “When you are Real you don’t mind being hurt.”

“Does it happen all at once, like being wound up,” he asked, “or bit by bit?”

“It doesn’t happen all at once,” said the Skin Horse. “You become. It takes a long time. That’s why it doesn’t happen often to people who break easily, or have sharp edges, or who have to be carefully kept. Generally, by the time you are Real, most of your hair has been loved off, and your eyes drop out and you get loose in your joints and very shabby. But these things don’t matter at all, because once you are Real you can’t be ugly, except to people who don’t understand.”

—from
The Velveteen Rabbit
by Margery Williams, 1922

Dayree King had only been driving for twenty minutes when the hairs on her arms prickled to attention. She hadn’t felt the whisper-soft charge of flare energy in decades, but she recognized it in time to keep from careening off the road when her husband materialized in the seat beside her.

She tensed, deliberately backing off the accelerator. Ragan’s use of the advanced technology spoke volumes about his determination to keep her home and she didn’t want to have this argument at breakneck speed.

“Taking the scenic route to the theater?” he asked acidly.

Dayree spared him a wary glance. It was strange to see him in the passenger seat—he always insisted on driving even when they took her SUV.

The greenish glow from the dash did nothing to warm the arctic planes of his face as he stared back at her, and suddenly it was hard to remember what she’d ever seen in either the scientist she’d served with or the lover she’d married. They hadn’t had sex since the Garathani settled into orbit six months ago and, as far as she knew, he hadn’t slept in all that time.

Once the Garathani forged an alliance with the Terrans and began recruiting females for sexual service, Ragan’s devotion to duty, once so appealing in its zeal, had morphed into a fanaticism that bordered on hysteria. That fanaticism was going to cost innocent lives, and though it went against her training—indeed, her very nature—to challenge her mate, Dayree couldn’t let Jasmine be one of those casualties.

“I have to go, Ragan.”

“Enough of your foolishness,” he replied, tugging at the cuffs of his gloves. One would think after all these years on Earth, he would have developed some tolerance, perhaps even affection, for the planet and its inhabitants, but he still acted as if all things Terran were contaminated with fecal material. “Turn around and I’ll endeavor to forget you ever defied me in such a manner.”

“I can’t let her do this.”

“You can, and you will. She’s a stubborn, ungrateful little wretch who owes us this, at the very least.”

“No.” Her fingers clutched the steering wheel convulsively. “She’s got to know.”

Worry for her beloved daughter was like a wild bird trapped in her breast. It was bad enough that Ragan was infecting their cell with his paranoia and whipping Earth’s population into an exophobic frenzy—sending Jasmine in to monitor the enemy’s activities armed with anything less than the truth was something she simply could not allow.

Even as they zipped through the moonless night, Jasmine was sorting and packing and making the final preparations for her move to the alliance compound, and Dayree felt almost frantic with the need to get to her. She should never have let things get this far, should never have let Jasmine give up the teaching job she loved for a fight that wasn’t hers—a fight that by all accounts wasn’t even theirs anymore.

“For the last time, Dayree,” Ragan said with exaggerated patience. “The less she knows, the safer she is.”

“You mean the safer we are.”

Ignoring her barbed observation, he tugged at the black leather cuffs again, obviously preparing to grab her. Never mind that flaring her out with him would leave the unpiloted vehicle barreling into oncoming traffic. Typical Ragan—the cost of such an act, be it in dollars or lives, meant nothing to him.

Her grip on the wheel tightened. Damn it, if he wanted to take her, he’d have to take the car too.

“Are you going to turn this vehicle around and return to the house?” he asked.

“No. I’m going to Denver and nothing you can say will change my mind.”

“I’m sorry to hear it,” he said flatly. “Your presence will be sorely missed.”

Taken aback by his reversal, she blinked. “Well, I’ll be home by—”

He grabbed the steering wheel and Dayree’s heart jumped into her throat as they swerved sickeningly.

“Ragan, stop it!” She fought him for control of the big vehicle, unable to believe he would put both their lives in jeopardy like this.

Then his foot came down on top of hers, depressing the accelerator slowly to the floor.

“All right, all right!” she screamed over the revving of the engine, terrified by their out-of-control speed. “I’m sorry! I’ll go home, I’ll stay home, I’ll do whatever you say, just stop!”

He jerked the wheel hard to the right and Dayree screamed again when they veered across the shoulder and jumped the guardrail with a horrendous screech of metal on metal. His boot ground into the top of her foot and they bumped blindly down the grassy hill toward the cliffs.

Her mate was killing her.

Before she could pry her frozen fingers off the steering wheel and reach for him, Ragan disappeared in a flare bubble. She slammed on the brake, but it was too late. The bumping stopped and she sailed off the cliff into the chilly northern California night.

She knew it was a long way down when her disbelief had time to give way to anger and betrayal. And then fear—for herself, for the people of Earth, but mostly for her daughter. Jasmine would be alone and utterly unprotected now.

Although it was too dark to see her doom rushing up to meet her, Dayree closed her eyes. She’d die on impact, so at least her death wouldn’t be painful.

She prayed Jasmine would be as fort—

One year later

“You are being dishonest.”

Commander Kellen’s accusation hovered in the air like a swarm of killer bees, and Jasmine King gripped the edges of her seat with palms that had suddenly gone clammy. Had she really thought she was prepared for a confrontation with this big, pissed-off alien?

“No!” she gasped. “I swear, I’ve told you everything I know.”

The commander continued to search her face as he leaned over the table, and she didn’t have to be psychic to know he didn’t like what he saw. His stony expression said it all—she’d deprived him of his mate, and for that there would be no mercy. Even if she got off this ship alive, he’d hunt her down and kill her.

Jasmine’s breathing quickened and surging adrenaline set up a fine vibration in her joints, but she forced herself to sit there and stare back at him. She’d known this was a possibility. No wimping out now.

God, she had to pee. Nerves had made it impossible for her to eat more than a few bites of the pizza they’d brought aboard, but she’d guzzled enough Diet Pepsi to float a battleship while she sounded Monica out about the state of her sex life. And once Monica admitted she hadn’t slept with Shauss yet, Ambassador Pret had swooped in and whisked her away before Jasmine could ask where the bathroom was.

You should have gone before you left the planet.

She swallowed hard, locking down a giggle. If she so much as squeaked now, she’d break.

Kellen straightened, his long tawny hair scattering over his shoulders, his thunderous blue eyes never wavering from hers. “Minister, this female has cost Lieutenant Shauss his chance at a mate. He must be compensated.”

“Lieutenant, the female is yours,” the Garathani minister replied.

Kellen straightened and the killer bees gathered to strike. “Take her, Shauss,” he said flatly, “and make it as painful as you possibly can.”

Jasmine gaped at him.
Take
her?

Her eyes dropped to the scissors she’d just used to cut Monica’s hair, but before she could snatch them up, Shauss grabbed the collar of her blouse and hauled her sideways out of the chair.

“No!”

As he swung her around, Jasmine caught a glimpse of Shelley’s shocked face and bitterly regretted not getting the little nurse off the ship while she had the chance. She shouldn’t have to witness this, especially in her condition.

Fighting panic, Jasmine lashed out sideways with her right foot, but her skirt was too tight—the kick didn’t even come close to touching him. Shit, how was she supposed to defend herself against a seven-foot alien whose arms were probably longer than her legs?

Shauss reeled her in closer and Jasmine screamed in growing horror, clawing at his wrist and kicking out at him again. He restrained her with humiliating ease, pinching her wrists together behind her back, and she shuddered at the vibrant energy blazing from his palm. He’d never touched her before, never so much as shaken her hand. Why did it have to happen now? Why this way?

When he ripped her skirt off, she froze, her heart fluttering like it was about to stop altogether. This was all just a dream, another bizarre, stress-fueled dream. She’d wake up any minute and—

His fingernails scraped her hip as he snapped her panties off and panic won. She screamed and jumped and kicked and twisted hard enough to pull her arms from their sockets, but she couldn’t break free of his brutal grip.

“Shauss, please don’t,” she cried.

His boot swept her feet out from under her and she went down hard, barely turning her head in time to avoid landing on her nose.

He followed her down, leaning hard on her wrists, still pinned in the small of her back. The pressure on her bladder made her squirm with a different kind of panic.

“What’s the matter, Jasmine?” he asked. “Don’t you want me?”

“No!”

“That’s funny, I heard you did.”

Nauseating heat gushed up her neck into her cheeks and she closed her eyes, pressing her forehead into the smelly blue biologic pad. His mocking observation cast an ugly light on her actions, but damn it, she’d had no choice. Monica had signed on to care for the Garathanis’ sexual recruits, not to become one of them, and the fact that she’d turned out to be half Garathani didn’t change that. She was an American citizen and, as such, entitled to choose her own mate. She wouldn’t get that choice while she was trapped on a Garathani vessel.

Jasmine seized that righteous anger and held on, taking deep breaths to center herself. Monica was free now, and that was all that mattered.

The long, slow buzz of a zipper crawled over her skin like an electric current and she stiffened again. This could
not
happen. If they discovered what she was, her father’s life would be in jeopardy. What would happen to her didn’t even bear thinking about.

Unbelievably, his grip on her wrists eased for a split second and she took her chance. If Shauss went with her, so be it.

Wrenching one hand free, she reached under her blouse.

He caught her before she even got close.

“What are you up to now?” he said tightly as he rolled her to her side.

The massive erection thrusting from his open uniform made her squeeze her thighs together. “Don’t do this, Shauss, please don’t!”

“What were you trying to do?”

He used his free hand to push her blouse up and jolted at the sight of the activator taped to her ribs. Then his furious eyes bored into hers. God, he absolutely hated her.

She hissed in agony as he tore the device from her skin and shoved it under her nose.

“Why would you do this thing for Pret?” Minister Cecine looked like a flame-haired Grim Reaper as he loomed over her in his long robes. “Do you have any idea of the kind of pain this death would cause you?”

Every drop of blood drained from her head. “D-death? He said it would tr-transport me out of h-here.”

“Miss King, this device is a feyo shell,” Kellen said harshly. “It will incinerate you and anyone you’re touching from the inside out.”

Her world tilted. Oh God, she’d been set up.

“Jasmine?” She flinched at the accusation in Shelley’s tone. “You
helped
him?”

“How did he convince you?” Shauss barked, seemingly oblivious to his nudity. “Promises of money? Power? Technology?”

“Nothing!” Jasmine’s eyes fell again to his angry, mile-long penis and the appendage emerging above it before skittering to the commander. “He came to me and said that Monica didn’t want to be with you, that she was miserable and had begged him to get her out of here, and I thought it was true because I heard her yelling at you in your office that day before she disappeared! Please, Commander, I swear to God, I was only trying to help her!”

“Where has he taken her?”

“I don’t know!”

Shauss rolled her to her stomach again, forcing her thighs apart with his knees, and she squeezed her eyes shut, nearly hyperventilating with the expectation of a vicious rape and the horrors that would inevitably follow.

“Tell me where he took my mate,” he roared, shoving the blazing-hot hardness of his cock against her bare bottom, “or I and every soldier on this ship will fuck your ass into useless, bloody shreds!”

“I don’t know!” she screamed again. “All I know is they’re underground somewhere!”

A loud thump made everyone still, and then Kellen said, “Ketrok hasn’t removed her biomet.”

Shauss heaved her off the floor and spun her around just as a flare bubble engulfed the commander. Clamping her arms in an excruciating grip, he pulled her up until her toes dangled in the air and his clove-scented breath gusted over her face. “If Monica’s lost to me, I’ll be back for your ass.”

His snarl shattered what was left of her composure and she whimpered weakly as a cold sweat broke out on every inch of her skin.
Oh God, no…

Her bladder released in a scalding torrent down her legs. The splatter on the biologic pad seemed to go on forever as his gaze dropped to her privates and his expression went from murderous to cruelly amused. “Well, I didn’t see that coming.”

“Please just kill me,” she choked.

He raised one sleek black eyebrow. “And waste a perfectly good piece of ass?” Setting her down, he shoved her toward one of the guards and zipped up his suit. “Don’t let her out of your sight, Zannen.”

The instant he disappeared in a flare bubble, Jasmine swayed, rubber-kneed and shaking. Only the grip around her abused arm kept her upright. Tears of shame streaked down her cheeks in cooling echoes of the rivers drying on her legs.

“Miss King.” The minister’s tone was flat as he approached. She couldn’t bring herself to look at him but she could just imagine the expression of scorn on his face. God knew she’d seen it often enough on her father’s.

“You will remain here,” he continued, “under guard until my daughter’s status has been determined. Do not create any further difficulties for yourself.”

“Your daughter!” Her eyes jerked up to his and suddenly the ambassador’s true motive for spiriting Monica away from the ship slammed into her—he planned to forge a political alliance with their leader by claiming the man’s only living daughter.

And she had helped him do it.

Jasmine felt sick. When Pret had come to her, she’d considered the possibility he wanted Monica for himself and immediately dismissed it. He was a fussy old diplomat who exhibited none of the brooding sexual hunger all the other Garathani males radiated, while Monica was a belligerent little Goth doctor who loved nothing more than letting the air out of pompous windbags with her verbal darts. She’d drive him crazy within five minutes.

So much for her powers of deductive reasoning. The idea that Monica might be fighting Pret off right now just about killed her. Thank God the doctors hadn’t removed her biometric implant yet so Kellen and Shauss had a chance to find her before it was too late. The man was old and thin but he was Garathani-tall and he hadn’t just gone through a life-threatening physical transition. If anything happened to Monica, she’d never forgive herself.

“Yes, my daughter—whom I may never have a chance to know now, thanks to you. I suspect she would die before submitting to Pret. So you understand,” his pointed look became even more pointed when it drifted below her waist, “why I’ll be disinclined to protect you should anything happen to her.”

A tremor shook Jasmine as sharp prongs of awareness penetrated her shock. She was mostly naked in front of a bunch of seven-foot-tall aliens who hadn’t had sex in over a decade. If Cecine chose to withdraw his protection, Shauss would probably order them all to fuck her to death—after he’d exacted his own personal revenge.

“I’m so sorry,” she whispered, quelling the urge to slide a palm protectively over her crotch as more tears rolled down her cheeks.

After staring at her for another agonizing moment, Cecine snatched a roll of fluffy white material out of thin air and handed it to her.

“Clean and compose yourself as best you can.” He turned to Shelley. “Nurse Bonham, do you require a physician?”

“No!” Still sitting at the table, Shelley kept her arms wrapped over her bulging stomach. “I just want to go home.”

“In due time.” He sent stern a look Jasmine’s way. “Zannen, see that she conducts herself appropriately until I return.”

“With pleasure, Minister.”

She pressed her lips together, not daring to look up at the source of the growl as Cecine stalked out.

“Jasmine, what did you do?” Shelley whispered, leaving dark mascara smudges as she wiped her eyes with unsteady fingers.

Jasmine couldn’t speak around the tears. And what could she say that she hadn’t already? That she was trying to think for herself, to do the right thing, to prove that she wasn’t just Daddy’s little embarrassment? Her father would say that’s where she’d made her first mistake—thinking for herself. She hated that he was right. If she’d just stuck to the mission, none of this would have happened.

But if she hadn’t acted, she would have spent the rest of her life wondering if she’d deprived Monica of her one chance at freedom. That was a burden she couldn’t have lived with. Period. She’d made the best decision she could based on the information available to her at the time, and now she’d just have to live with the consequences.

Unfortunately, so would everyone else.

She stood up straighter and swiped eyes with her free hand, determined not to act like any more of a victim than she already had. After all, Cecine hadn’t withdrawn his protection just yet.

Taking a deep breath, she glared down at the long, hard fingers clutching her arm. “Do you mind?”

“Not very well,” came the gravelly reply.

“Listen, you…” She glanced up and gasped, instinctively trying to pull away. Jesus, he looked like Mr. Clean’s evil twin, with flat black eyes, bushy black brows, a big pitted bowling ball of a head, and a grid work of scars ringing his thick, tanned neck. She hadn’t even realized there
were
bald Garathani, much less ugly ones, but this guy was all that and more.

Her eyes widened—he even had a shiny black ring in his left ear.

“I’m listening, but I’m not hearing anything,” he informed her with a smirk.

She jerked her arm. “Let go of me.”

His grip tightened for an instant before he relented, and she flexed both arms gingerly. She’d be one big bruise tomorrow. Assuming she was still alive tomorrow.

Taking a deep breath, she unrolled the spongy fabric, which turned out to be a large towel of some sort. She looped it over her hips and then hesitated, glancing around at a half-dozen chiseled faces. They all just stared at her like stray dogs at the butcher shop window, so even though it went against every instinct, she turned her back and leaned over to pat her legs and feet dry, making sure her rear stayed covered. Everything else could drip-dry—there was no way she was wiping her crotch in front of all these males.

When she rewrapped herself and tucked in the corner of the towel at her waist, a guard she recognized from the compound, Ensign Verr, scooped up her skirt and held it out to her. It was completely ruined, the back seam ripped from top to bottom, so she folded it and set it on the table.