Season of Strangers (4 page)

More questions appeared on the screen, one in regard to the proceedings.

Yes,
he replied,
the tests have been stopped. We don't want to lose another subject.

He turned to the short lab technician and ordered him to finalize the tests on the younger sibling, to complete the external examination of the older, and return them both to the point of origin.

The screen on the console began to flash another communication, countering his orders.
You must proceed, Commander. We must discover the cause of the older sibling's reaction. We cannot afford to let her go.

He had known his superiors would want to continue, no matter how dangerous it was. Probing the outer boundaries of scientific knowledge was the first directive of their mission, one of the reasons others had come here before. It was an accepted fact that furthering that knowledge inevitably demanded a percentage of casualties.

But Val wasn't prepared to lose the woman, or any more subjects in the future.

He turned back to the screen.
There is another, better way. We have the technology. Why should we not proceed?

The symbols flashed in rapid succession.
Such an undertaking would be dangerous. Who would take the risk?

He logged in the reply he had thought long and hard about.
I have been working on this project for years. I am the logical choice.

The
Ansor
cannot afford to lose its most valuable research officer.

All men are expendable in the name of science.
It was a basic tenet of their work.

The screen went blank. He waited with less patience than he usually displayed and even a hint of anxiety.

The recommendation will be made to the council at our next session.

Relief filtered through him. He didn't want to see the woman die, and ever since his arrival three years ago, he had hoped for a chance like this.
I am grateful for your assistance.

A long line of symbols appeared.
I hope you will still be grateful once you are confined in such an uncivilized environment.

P
ain. Excruciating pain. Julie felt the throbbing, pulsing ache well up from the deepest part of her brain.

The slatted wooden blinds over the bedroom windows were closed, yet tiny cracks of light seeped in, stabbing like white hot rays behind her eyes. The hot, damp skin across her forehead felt stretched and swollen as if it might burst. Her lips were dry. She moistened them with her tongue. Nausea threatened, a reaction to the incredible pain in her head.

Julie rolled to her side, her small hands fisting the pillow, her teeth biting into her lower lip. It wouldn't last much longer. It never did. No more than a couple of hours. The brief duration made them bearable, and the fact she had never had them until these past few weeks.

Perhaps it was some sort of virus, an illness that was fleeting. She could stand the pain, if only she knew the cause.

Knew for certain the headaches wouldn't get worse.

A second hour passed. Her body lay on the sheet bathed in perspiration, but the pain had begun to recede. She felt limp and drained. It was nine o'clock in the morning. She was late for work, had already missed the weekly office meeting. She wished she could just stay in bed, but headache or no, she had to go in. There was too much to do, too many clients who depended on her.

Another fifteen minutes and the last of the vicious migraine—the worst she'd suffered so far—had ebbed away. Julie gripped the pine headboard, used it as a lever to swing her legs to the floor and ease herself up off the bed. As she passed the mirror over her dresser, she paused, took in the dishevelment of her hair, and the pallor of her face that made the freckles stand out across the bridge of her nose. She headed into the bathroom, turned on the shower and stepped in before the water got good and hot.

Perhaps the test Dr. Marsh was giving her this afternoon would provide the answer. A dozen horrible scenarios flashed through her mind, everything from cancer to the brain tumor the doctor had mentioned.

She had to find out. Then again, maybe she didn't want to know.

Julie washed her hair, grateful for the soothing feel of the water running over her scalp. She shaved her legs, lathered her breasts and belly, then moved lower. She felt a twinge as her hand brushed sensitive flesh. It had been so long. Three years since she had been with a man.

Not like Laura. Laura had to have a man, needed one like people need to breathe. And her sleek model's figure and glorious long blond hair made attracting them easy. But Julie wanted more from a relationship than just a sexual fling, and if she couldn't have it she was happy to do without.

She stepped out of the shower and reached for a towel. Her head still throbbed and her hands were a bit unsteady, but her strength had begun to return. Maybe the headaches would disappear as quickly as they had started. She hoped so. With her worry for Laura, the problems she was facing at work, and her burgeoning expenses, she had enough problems already.

She sighed as she walked to the closet and slid open the mirrored doors. Her beige suit would do. She wasn't in the mood for anything but plain-and-simple. She took her time dressing. Her muscles ached and she still felt a little bit shaky. As soon as she stepped into her matching leather pumps, she made her way to the guest room in search of Laura, but her sister wasn't there.

The guest room looked a shambles. The bed was unmade, the sheets thrashed off haphazardly, the bright-colored quilt shoved carelessly onto the floor. Julie crossed to the closed bathroom door.

“Laura, are you in there? Are you all right?”

“I-I'm fine,” she answered through the door. “I'll be out in just a minute.”

When Laura finally appeared, Julie was stunned at the sight of her sister's pale, haggard face, at the faint purple smudges beneath her brown eyes and the sunken hollows in her cheeks. “My God, are you sick? You should have said something.” She set her palm on Laura's forehead, checking for any sign of temperature, but the skin felt cold and slightly damp instead of warm, as she had expected. “Get back in bed. I'll go down and get you something to eat.”

“I-I'm all right, Julie. I'm just a little tired is all.”

“You look like you're a lot more than tired. Maybe you've got the flu or something.”

“Maybe. That's kind of the way it feels.” A hint of embarrassed color rose into her ashen cheeks. “I-I was bleeding this morning…from inside. It wasn't much, just a trace or two. You don't think it's anything serious, do you?”

“I-I don't know. Has it happened before?”

“Only once. The morning after we suntanned in the cove on the beach.”

“I think we'd better have Dr. Marsh take a look at you. I have to go in for a few more tests this afternoon. You can come with me.”

“You're still having those headaches?”

“Bad one last night. I finally took some sleeping pills and eventually fell asleep. I must have slept pretty hard once I did.”

Laura frowned. “I had a terrible dream last night. I can't remember it now, but I remember at the time it was really scary.”

“It probably is the flu. You'd better stay here through the weekend, at least until—”

“No! I-I don't want to stay here. As a matter of fact, I'm going home this afternoon. I'll feel better sleeping in my own bed. That's probably all that's wrong with me. Too much dampness in the air.”

“I don't know, Laura. Dr. Heraldson thought staying here was a good idea. And now that you're sick—”

“I'm going home, Julie. I promise I won't call the police or do anything crazy, okay?”

Julie looked at her hard. “Are you sure about this?”

“I'm sure.”

“And you'll go with me to the doctor's this afternoon?”

“I said I would, didn't I?”

Julie sighed. “I don't mean to be pushy. I'm just worried about you is all.”

“I know that.” Laura walked over and hugged her. “Thanks for caring so much. You've always been there for me, ever since Dad took off. Mom wasn't much of a mother, but you were always there. I appreciate it. I don't know what I'd do without you.” She smiled. “But I promise I'll be okay, so you don't have to worry.”

Julie fidgeted, smoothed the skirt of her tailored suit. “I guess neither one of us got a good night's sleep last night.”

Laura just shrugged, but she looked uncomfortable with the subject. For some strange reason, Julie was uncomfortable with it, too.

“I'll be back to pick you up around noon. In the meantime, why don't you go back to bed for a while? You'll be all right until I get here, won't you?”

“Sure,” Laura said lightly, “I'll be fine.” But as soon as her sister left, she got up and bolted the doors. She checked and locked all the windows in her bedroom, then locked the ones in the rest of the house. She didn't open them, not even when the sun came out and the day turned warm. Not even when the temperature began to climb into the nineties and she began to perspire in the closed-up, airless bedroom.

 

“I'm worried about her, Babs.” Julie shifted restlessly in the black leather chair behind her desk. “I can't figure out what's wrong with her.”

Seated on the opposite side, Barbara Danvers made a rude sound in her throat. “You're always worried about your sister and there's always something wrong with her. Until she takes control of her life, there always will be.” Black-haired and dark-eyed, Babs had just turned thirty. She'd been married three times, to a banker, an actor and a successful television producer. She was divorced again, worked too hard but didn't really have to, not after the settlement she'd received from Archibald Danvers two years ago.

“You're too tough on her, Babs.” Julie sat forward in her chair, propping her elbows on the desk. They were working in her office, going over the Richards file, an estate in Palos Verdes that Babs had listed and Julie had sold. “You know the kind of life Laura's had. A father who was gone by the time she was five years old, a mother who was never home. No supervision, no direction, never enough money to make ends meet. It's a wonder she hasn't had more problems than she has.”

“I hate to remind you, but Laura had the same childhood you had and look at the difference in the way the two of you turned out. You put yourself through college. You're a successful real estate agent with a lovely home on Malibu Beach. Laura's a twenty-first-century hippie.”

“Hardly that.”

A sleek black brow arched up. “No?”

“Just because she's had a number of different jobs—”

“She hasn't worked more than three months in a row since I've known her. How much did you spend on Laura's medical bills last year?”

“That isn't fair.”

“I'll tell you what isn't fair. Having to work the kind of hours you do to support your sister's hypochondria.”

Julie glanced away. “This is different.”

“I'll just bet it is. What does the psychiatrist have to say…Dr. What's-his-name?”

“Heraldson.” Staring through the glass into the main part of the office, Julie jumped up from her chair as Patrick strode in, grateful for the chance to avoid Babs' last question. She almost wished she hadn't brought the subject up, but maybe she needed a dose of Babs's honesty. “I have to speak to Patrick. I have an offer on one of the units in his condo project.”

“Brave girl. You're actually going to sell something Patrick Donovan's involved in?”

Julie jerked open the door without responding. Another shot of Babs' honesty right now was more than she could manage. She hurried out into the office, running to catch up with Patrick's long-legged stride.

“Sorry to bother you, Patrick. Have you got a minute?”

“Sure, come on in. Shirl said you wanted to see me.” He led her into the plush interior of his spacious office, remodeled since the days when the place had been his father's. Instead of the understated mahogany and beige used throughout the rest of the building, Patrick's office was bold and energetic, done in electric blue and black. Julie took a chair in front of his black lacquered desk, settling herself in one of the deep leather chairs, and Patrick sat down across from her.

“What can I do for you, love?”

Julie glanced up from the manila file folder she'd been rifling through. “I asked you not to call me that. Save it for Anna, or Charlotte, or another one of your bimbos.”

He leaned back in his chair, crossing one long leg over the other. “My, we're testy today, aren't we?”

She looked up at him, saw the usual dark shadows beneath his eyes, as well as a puffiness she hadn't noticed before. Some of her anger at him faded. “You look like hell, Patrick. You've got to start taking better care of yourself. If you won't do it for yourself, do it for your father.”

He said nothing to that, but his shoulders sagged a little, and some of his cockiness faded. “He's not doing so well, Jules. The doctors are afraid he might have another stroke.”

“Oh, God, Patrick.”

“I'm sure he'll be all right. The old goat's too tough to die.” He smiled but it came out a little shaky. “You said you needed to see me. What about?”

Escaping the painful subject of Alex's failing health, Julie pulled the thick sheaf of documents out of the file she'd retrieved from her briefcase. “I've got an offer on one of the units in your condo project. Mr. and Mrs. Harvey are interested in buying number thirty-three.”

His long fingers tightened around the burgundy Mont Blanc pen he was holding. “I thought you said you didn't like the project, that it was too shaky, that you wouldn't put one of your clients into the development until it was almost full.”

“I think the construction could be better. You skimped too much as far as I'm concerned. But the Harveys insisted I show it to them. They like the location—so do I for that matter. Santa Monica is growing and this is very near the beach. Besides, you said the units had finally begun to sell. The last time I checked the board it looked like over fifty percent of the project was now sold out.”

Instead of looking happy, Patrick looked grim. “Condos aren't your normal dose of poison, Julie. Are these people friends of yours? How did you wind up working with them?”

“I got them on a floor call while I was covering for Fred. Mr. Harvey is a retired aerospace engineer. They made a little money buying and selling houses when the market was good. That's why they're purchasing a condo. They plan to pay cash for it, and whatever is left will be a nest egg for their old age.”

Patrick said nothing for the longest time.

“I thought you'd be happy,” Julie said. “I know how much that project means to you. You risked everything when you decided to build it.”

His shrugged his wide shoulders, rustling his custom-fitted Oxford-cloth shirt. “In the beginning, I may have felt that way. Not anymore.”

“Why not?”