Migration (26 page)

The voice faded into darkness.

M
AC OPENED her eyes and winced.
It hadn’t all been a dream, then.

So much for worrying about Nik finding her skinnydipping in the cove.
Let’s try that other cliché, Em,
Mac told herself furiously as she tried to extricate herself from his arms. Woman screams herself hoarse in her sleep until Prince Charming visits her bed.

If this was a vid, she would have waked prettily to his call, hair and skin perfect. She wouldn’t have sobbed herself into a stupor, said sobbing likely including both mucus and horrible noises. And now a pounding headache.

His arm lifted, letting her scramble out. “You okay?” Nik said sleepily.

Mac clutched something—a blanket—to her and scowled down at him. He was still in yesterday’s shirt, with long pants instead of the shorts. Bare feet. The hint of morning light through the window stroked shadows along the planes of his cheekbones and neck.

Even rumpled—still yummy,
she thought, and had to smile. He smiled back.

“I’m—fine. Thank you. It’s not usually that bad.”
No, usually it was worse,
she told herself honestly.

Nik raised himself on an elbow, resting the side of his head on two knuckles and a thumb to consider her. “Want to talk about it?”

Mac hesitated, then asked: “Would it help?”

“I can’t see how.”

She was surprised into a laugh.

Nik winked. “See? Now that helped,” he boasted, sitting with a smooth, quick motion that brought his feet to the floor. For some reason, she clutched her blanket and tensed. As if it had been his intention all along, he eased back against the wall, arms folded.
Deliberately neutral,
Mac judged his positioning. Training or sensitivity to her mood?

They didn’t,
she realized suddenly,
preclude one another.
“I need to know why you’re here.”

“Officially here?” An eyebrow rose and dared her. “Or here—” he patted the bed.

Mac refused to blush or dwell on the intriguing dimple starting to show in the light beard beside his mouth. “I know why you’re—there.”
In her bed
. “You heard me having a—a nightmare. You heard me and came—” she stopped as Nik shook his head. “You didn’t?”

“Here already, Mac,” he confessed, that dimple growing deeper. “I was watching you sleep.”

She blinked. “Why on Earth would you do that?”

“Spy. It’s a lifestyle.” Flippant and quick.

Trying to distract her
. Mac frowned at him. “Then let me clarify my question for you, Mr. Spy. Fourteen and Kay said the Ministry wouldn’t let the IU contact me. When they finally found a way,
poof,
you show up. It’s no stretch to know you’re here to try and stop me from going with them. Going there.” Making sure one hand could hold the blanket securely, she lifted the other to point to the ceiling. “What I want to know is why.”

Nik pushed himself off the bed in one lithe motion. Between the sloped ceiling and small room, Mac would have had to press against the window to let him pass and reach the door. She had no intention of budging.

But he wasn’t trying to leave. Instead, he came close and gazed down at her. “I can’t stop you,” said Nik soberly. “You’ve accepted this from IU representatives, who will bear witness, believe me, if you try to deny it.” A flick of the wrist, and the IU envelope was in his hand, held at his shoulder.

Mac’s eyes locked on it. “What does it say?”

He folded it between his fingers. “I made a recording for you.” His other hand tugged his imp from his pocket.

“I didn’t bring mine,” Mac confessed, feeling like a student caught without homework.

Nik didn’t comment, simply tucked the device away again. “I’ll get you one. Meanwhile, most of this is fairly harmless. Statements of common goals, common good, a mutual desire not to be consumed by the Dhryn. That sort of thing. There’s a lengthy list of regulations and protocols regarding deportment at the Gathering, how to share information et cetera.”

She could hear the
“but”
coming. “What is it?”

“You’re expected to put the needs of member species of the IU ahead of your own. That goes both ways. This—” Nik passed Mac the envelope; it was warm from his hand. “—lets you demand help from any IU member. But not for yourself as a Human. Not from other Humans. Once you took and opened this, you were, to all intents and purposes, no longer a citizen of Sol System. Or of Earth.”

“It’s an invitation to a conference,” Mac protested.
She’d been to dozens, probably more, ranging from fascinating to how-soon-could-they-hit-the-bar boring.

“It’s an invitation, Mac, to join an elite group drawn from all over the IU, whose sole function is to stop the Dhryn. However long that takes. Whatever it takes.”

It was as if she heard trumpets, the call was so loud and sure. “If you think I regret this, Nikolai Trojanowski,” Mac proclaimed, glaring up at him, “you’re wrong. I want to find Emily. I want answers. If this piece of illegible text gives me access to the resources of the entire Interspecies Union, so be it.”

His lip twitched.
A grin?
“And far be it from me to argue your flawless logic, Dr. Connor. Not when I’d do the same in your place.”

Aha!
“You disagreed with keeping me away from the IU, didn’t you?” It was as though a weight had dropped from her shoulders. “You never intended to stop me accepting this. You—Nikolai Trojanowski—you disobeyed orders.”

Nik made a show of looking offended. “Me? Never.”

Mac snorted. “Just like you’re never late.”

“It took longer than I expected,” he said serenely, “to find one old cabin in the woods.” Then, his own expression serious: “I wanted this to be your choice, Mac, whatever you decided. If you’d said no, I would have taken the aliens with me last night and left you alone.”

“Alone is overrated,” Mac told him unsteadily.

He seemed closer without moving. “Yes, it is.” Softly, searching her face: “Gods, do you have any idea—of course you don’t—how dangerous your eyes are? A man could forget anything in them. Forget to breathe.”

For some reason, Mac found herself intensely conscious of both breathing and wearing only a blanket.
What if she—

A clatter from downstairs shattered the moment, restoring Mac’s badly skewed equilibrium. “I’ve aliens in my kitchen,” she explained.
Damn, he was too good at distracting her.

“Worried they’ll burn the place down?” That dimple again.

“No. Kay’s a great cook. He—Stop changing the subject,” she snapped.

Nik held up his hands in surrender. “Whatever you say.”

Mac took a deep breath. She tapped the floor with a bare foot. “What I say is that the Dhryn, the Ro, Emily, even traffic reports on Little Misty Lake are higher on your list right now than—”
She hadn’t meant to go quite that far.

“You,” Nik finished, his face now inscrutable.

“Yes.” Mac stood perfectly straight and still, daring him to deny it, knowing that if he did, she’d never believe him again. “So why were you watching me sleep?”

Nik lifted his hands, then let them drop at his sides. “We don’t—” he had the grace to look uncomfortable, “—have this place rigged. You took us by surprise, coming here.”

“It’s our family cabin,” Mac said tightly. “Last time I checked, my movements weren’t restricted, even if my privacy is.”

He shook his head. “You dream about the Dhryn, Mac.” As if that was sufficient excuse.

“You didn’t need to climb into my bed to find that out.”

The corner of his mouth twitched. “No, I didn’t.” That dimple. “I’m here under orders, Mac. Allow that I can also be glad to be here. With you.” This last in that low, quiet voice, the one Mac found disturbed things, things she didn’t need disturbed while trying to think clearly.

She marshaled her thoughts. “If you’re planning to stay until we leave, unless you want to introduce yourself as a Ministry agent . . . ?” He made a face. “Thought so. Then we’ll need to explain your being here with me. In the cabin—not here,” she added quickly, gesturing at her bed.

“ ‘Here’ would keep it simple,” Nik proposed, smiling down at her, eyes warm.

Mac couldn’t smile back. Her hands tightened on the blanket until her knuckles turned white.
Coward,
she railed at herself. Fun was fun. She’d accepted offers before now, had a pleasant dalliance, forgotten names the next day.

Nik lost his smile. “I see,” he said, his voice grown thick. “It wouldn’t.”

Mac made an effort. “You could be my cousin, visiting for the week.”

“Better if I could come and go without questions asked,” he said, the sound reassuringly normal again.
Spy training,
Mac thought enviously.
Her voice still had a wobble to it
. “A neighbor?”

“You’d need a reason to hang around.” Then Mac began to smile. “I have an idea.”

Nik gave her a suspicious look. “Why does that make me nervous?”

“Depends. Are you any good with a shovel?”

“Good morning, Mac! I have made potcakes!”

“Idiot. Pancakes. It’s not hard to remember,” Fourteen grumbled. He busied himself pouring coffee, but gave Mac a quick wink.

Mac winked back. “Good morning. And thank you. It smells amazing.” She took her seat in the kitchen, heart pounding.
Great spy she was.

“We are serving you first, Mac,” Kay announced, stepping to her side with a plate stacked five high with fluffy pancakes. Fourteen passed her the container of syrup. Both waited, watching her. “And will wait for you to eat.”

“If this is so I can help with the dishes,” she grinned,

“it’s a deal.”

“Irrelevant,” Fourteen claimed. “It is so I can tell if Kay has poisoned us with this concoction.”

Kay’s eyestalks, the two alert ones, bent to glare at Fourteen. “I refuse to serve cold poodle for breakfast. If you have to eat it, go outside.”

Mac used her first mouthful of pancake to hide her smile. Their bickering, to her Human ears anyway, had an affectionate undertone, much like her brothers. It was odd how homey it was, sitting to a meal with them, despite the twisted gray locks that served Kay for a head, and Fourteen’s dubious color sense. He must have raided the clothing trunk for that red plaid shirt.
If only he’d changed the paisley shorts
. It didn’t help that his knees were again coated in bright green ointment.

Knock, knock
. “Hey, Mac? You home?”

Kay and Fourteen froze at the sounds coming from the porch. Despite expecting Nik’s imminent “arrival”—he’d slipped from her room and gone outside—Mac jumped in surprise. “Door’s open,” she called, recovering. The two aliens stared at her, then at the kitchen door, as if expecting the worst. “It’s okay,” Mac reassured them. “It’s only—”
Oops. Nik went to the consulate regularly, his name would be on records.
“—Sam,” she continued, taking a deliberately casual sip of her coffee. “Sam the landscaper.”
Emily,
Mac sighed to herself,
would have quite a bit to say about that slip of the tongue.
“He’s local,” she finished lamely.

Nik/Sam popped his head around the frame of the kitchen door. “Sorry to intrude on your breakfast—”

“This is Sam Beckett,” Mac said hastily, before Nik could introduce himself. He shot her a look she didn’t dare read.

“How are you, Mr. Beckett?” Kay said, rising to the occasion like a born host. “Have you eaten yourself? We have plenty. Please join us.”

“Call me Sam. And thanks. If that’s okay with you, Mac?” a respectful salute of fingers to brow in her direction.

Nik must have taken the time to rummage through the workshop portion of the outhouse building. Her father’s old leather tool belt hung around his lean middle, complete with ax-hammer and pliers. He’d put on a slouch as well, a subtle drop of shoulders and hips that stripped away his usual grace.