Red Night ((Book 1) Timewalker Chronicles) (3 page)

Luke got up, fixed his chair, sat down, and stared, dumbfounded, at his computer screen again. “All right. Enough.” With an impatient shove, he closed the laptop and slammed it into its case. He grabbed a couple of periodicals off his desk and headed for the door.

Alexa would have jumped for joy, but she barely had the energy to keep up as his much-longer legs ate up the distance between the building and his black vehicle. The door said Cherokee, and for a fleeting instant she wondered if the Nation of United Tribes had started producing vehicles. This world was so like her own, and so not home.

She waited until he had the driver’s door open to knock the magazines out of his hand. While he retrieved them, she crawled over the front seats and into the back. The moment the engine came to life she curled into a ball, prayed he wouldn’t find her, and allowed exhaustion to overcome her.

When she awoke, she knew two things. It was dark. And she needed food. Her hunger went beyond the normal twinge of the stomach. The searing hunger pangs spread to her entire body, made every muscle quiver. She crawled into the back seat and looked around. She was in a garage. There was enough room for another vehicle, but parked there instead was a motorcycle with the words “Harley Davidson” on its side and several different styles of bicycles. A row of small windows stretched across the large door. Beyond them night had fallen.

A quick glance at Tinkerbelle’s green glowing dial assured her the day was gone. Ten o’clock. Time was racing. The Red Death would soon be waving the final flag.

There was a single door she prayed led into his house. She grasped the door handle and breathed a sigh of relief when it turned easily in her hand. “Ready or not, here I come.”

He was still awake. A light was on and background noise came from the other side of the house. She didn’t care. All she cared about was food. If she didn’t eat soon, the whole world could self-destruct and she wouldn’t even notice. Her mother had always laughed at times like this, when she’d nearly gone mad with hunger after practicing her cloaking. Dad had accused her of being unreasonable and grumpy. Well, yeah. So, what? A girl couldn’t save the world on an empty stomach. But it wasn’t just her stomach that screamed for food. Her entire body felt hollow, like someone had sucked the marrow from her bones while she slept.

One more tiny problem. She didn’t have enough energy left to hide her presence. The floor dipped and spun under her tennis shoes. Her stomach rolled and threatened the plush green carpeting in the hallway with a nasty deposit. “Damn.” The whispered curse flew from her lips before she thought to stop it.

Leaning heavily against the wall, she felt her way down the dark hallway. The flickering of his television lights allowed her to find the kitchen.

The kitchen was separated from the other room by a row of cabinets on the floor and a chest high tile countertop bar and eating area. If she crouched below the bar level she wouldn’t be seen. She was nearly too hungry to care. As quietly as possible, she eased open several cabinet doors until she found something edible. She examined the blue liquid in an unopened bottle that said “Gatorade”. After a quick glance at the label, she decided it wouldn’t kill her, and promptly drained it dry.

Her entire body sighed in relief as the sugar rush surged through her bloodstream. The stainless steel refrigerator door beckoned her from where she sat slumped on the cold tile floor. She needed more. What were the chances of him having a large turkey on wheat waiting for her, heavy on the mayo? Slim to none was her guess. But she was beyond being picky.

Luke was moving around in the other room. She heard a door open and close. Her eyelids drifted closed and she leaned her head against the oak cabinet door. How could she pull this off? How would she tell a complete stranger his bug was going to wipe out the planet? How would she convince him to destroy his life’s work?

A quick peek up over the edge of the counter assured her that he hadn’t moved in her direction, so she sank back onto the tile floor. Luke Lawson seemed like a decent man. He’d held his own against Trent. He’d been courteous to all of his staff during meetings when she was sure he would’ve been just as happy strangling some of them. What was going on inside his head? Would he think she was insane and call the police? Kick her out on her ear?

It didn’t matter; she had to find a way to make him believe her. Without help, she couldn’t get into the lab. She was no magician or electrical whiz. She wasn’t a spy or even a very good sneak. Nope, she was just a normal everyday girl who happened to be able to be invisible once in a while. But you didn’t need to be seen to be infected by a virus.

As much as she hated to admit the truth, she needed him, needed his help. She had to trust him. Unfortunately, thinking about it and doing it were two very different things.

* * * * *

Luke couldn’t believe this day from hell. First, Trent came to him with a crazy scheme for a new strain and animal testing on the Ebola mutation. No one else in the project meeting had any objections to Trent’s insanity. And, last but not least, he was sure he’d been followed all day. By an angel.

He’d finally done it, lost his mind. Willingly given himself to the insanity of her until he realized he was looking over his shoulder and actually hoping to catch another glimpse of silver hair. His angel had the fair face of an innocent young woman, but the haunted blue eyes of a woman who knew too much. His. The woman he’d dreamt about nearly every night since he was sixteen years old. The woman who’d marked him as her own when he was still just a boy.

On the night of his sixteenth birthday a strange man in a white robe had led him to her in a dream. In truth, he’d never believed it was real. But he’d never been able to stop thinking about her either. And in his dreams? No sane man would admit to the things he’d seen in his dreams.

Never before had his visions invaded the waking hours. Today, all day long, he’d caught glimpses of her flickering in and out, an illusion that stalked him. That’s what he’d believed anyway. He’d even hung around work longer, hoping to see more of her, until a couple of books had fallen from his bookcase. His computer had gone crazy. And, he swore he’d heard a feminine voice whispering in his ear to go home. A voice that made his spine tingle and his pulse leap. Not good.

He’d given in and gone home. Just as he’d feared, she vanished. He was thirty-two years old. Too old to believe in nonsense.

He’d spent the evening in his study, on the telephone. Trent wasn’t the only one with contacts in the Army’s Biological Defense Program and the NIH. Luke hadn’t worked very hard to convince the colonel the study was too dangerous. Especially once he read through the colonel’s copy of Trent’s M-6 report. Half of it, lies. Trent was obviously willing to do anything for a few million in grant money. Including risk the lives of everyone in the Hot Zone, a place Trent never entered unless he absolutely had to. The jackass always preferred someone else take the risks.

Luke chuckled to himself. He’d never liked Trent. Luckily, Trent had a few too many enemies in the Army. They’d been looking for an excuse to kick him off the project and transfer him out of BL4. Luke had happily supplied one. Day after tomorrow, more importantly, the day after their annual fundraiser, Trent was going to be in for one hell of a shock. The whole mutant project was going down. Every culture was to be destroyed. Luke was looking forward to doing the honors. He wished the colonel would let him do it tomorrow, but Trent was too good at schmoozing the moneymen. No one wanted to fire him until after he’d brought in the cash.

Luke leaned back in his brown leather sofa and propped his feet up on the mahogany coffee table. He’d won, beaten the slimeball at his own game. Tonight, he was going to sleep like a baby.

Shuffling?
Was that his refrigerator door?
Soft, muffled sounds drifted from the kitchen. Luke froze.

Someone was in his house.

Silent as a stalking panther, Luke eased off his couch and glided like a shadow into the adjacent room. He hadn’t turned his alarm system on yet, but he had too many friends who knew too much about electronics, security, and international espionage. They had insisted on installing a video surveillance system in his house. The cameras were on twenty-four seven.

Quickly, he scanned the split screen on the large monitor. For a moment he couldn’t move. His heart skipped a beat. She was in his house. Solid. Real. Classically beautiful, and not at all what he would’ve expected in a dream. Dressed in white from head to toe, she looked more like an angel than a thief. Capri pants. Short-sleeved shirt. Tennis shoes and bobby socks. She looked like a teenager on her way to a picnic. And she wasn’t armed.

For a split second he wondered if he was dreaming. Had he fallen asleep on his couch?

Luke pinched himself. Hard. It hurt like hell. No. This was no dream, but a real, flesh and blood woman. The same woman he’d seen flickering in his peripheral vision so many times today, he’d thought he was going crazy. So, what the hell was she doing crawling around in his kitchen, stealing food? She didn’t look homeless or malnourished. His gaze rested on the generous curves beneath her blouse. Quite the opposite. “Interesting.”

The thought crossed his mind that he should be concerned. But he worked in a lethal environment on a daily basis. Life took on a whole new perspective. He never had the privilege of panic. This small, unarmed woman wasn’t high on his worry list. He’d take his chances on her not being a true member of the heavenly host. If she struck him down with a lightning bolt, well he’d take it up with God when he saw him. But nothing was going to stop him from finding out what she was doing in his house.

He gave her no warning, just strolled into the kitchen, pulled open the refrigerator door, and turned around to where he knew she was sitting. “Anything in particular I can get for you?”

She gasped, her mouth forming a perfect ellipse, then disappeared into thin air. The smile he’d had in place to accompany the sarcasm fell like a two-ton rock and landed in his stomach. He shook his head to clear it, blinked several times. She was still gone. Vanished.

An angel, huh? Yeah, right. Years of Sunday school teachings were running rampant in his head. Maybe he was hallucinating. How many cups of coffee had he had today, anyway? Ten?

Fervently, he hoped she wasn’t an angel. She was most definitely the woman he’d seen in his dreams. If she was an angel, he’d surely burn in hell for the things he’d fantasized about her.

No. She must be real. The camera couldn’t lie. Neither could the heat in his chest.

The sound of glass shattering on the tile floor in his study broke the silence. The tight band around his chest eased. She was still here. Breaking things. He smiled. An angel wouldn’t break furniture. “There went Grandmother’s lamp.”

He followed the sound to the dark doorway of his study and squinted into the inky blackness of the room. “Don’t walk around. That lamp was glass.” No response. Then crunching. Obviously, she wasn’t a great listener. Slowly, enunciating every syllable, he took his voice up a couple of decibels. “I’m going to turn on the light. I’m not going to hurt you.”

“No!”

The word froze him in place. He waited in the darkness while the silence stretched on. “Why are you in my house?” Silence. “And why were you following me around all day?”

Her quick gasp was his only indication that she’d heard him.

“I’m turning on the light now.”

“Please don’t.” The words were more a resigned sigh than a request.

“Why not?”

“Because I’m not ready to talk to you yet.”

Too bad. He’d been ready to talk to her for sixteen years. With a decisive flick of his wrist, he flipped the light switch up. He blinked a couple times as his eyes adjusted to the shocking glow of the naked bulb in his antique glass table lamp. The broken lamp was lying on the hardwood floor, its faceted body in shatters. At least it still worked.

The light coming up from the floor cast shadows in reverse on his angel’s face. But was she an angel, or a beautifully seductive demon? And what was she doing here?

“Who are you and why are you in my house?”

Her clear blue eyes held censure, and fear. The fear held him in check and kept him silent. She eased around the edge of the desk and stood in front of the lamp. Once again, the shadows swallowed her face. He resisted the need to reach out and touch her skin, to make sure she was real and not some twisted game his imagination was playing to torture him.

Innocent but sassy. Sexy. Afraid. But of what?

“M-6.” Her voice was a mere whisper of sound but it thundered through his mind, whirling and destroying his thoughts like a mental tornado.

“How do you know about M-6?” No one knew. The project was classified. The first shiver of real dread raced up his spine. How could she know? He grabbed her shoulders and pulled her small frame directly in front of him. “Who are you?”

She squirmed for a moment in protest and he loosened his grip, but didn’t let go. She wasn’t going anywhere until he had some answers. He couldn’t risk her disappearing act again. If she escaped now, he’d truly believe he’d gone crazy. Lusting after a figment of your imagination for years was bad enough. Believing he’d held her in his arms and then lost her would make him certifiable. And he knew, beyond a shadow of a doubt, she was not a woman he could ever touch and then forget.