Essentially Human (15 page)

Dining was easier than considering what she’d revealed back in the hotel room. Even while she read the menu and made small talk with Sam, she assessed who Rachel had been. What was the phrase that kept dancing across her mind? A wanton woman.

It didn’t altogether seem like a bad thing. But a part of her found it something to run from. And the anger toward Phillip, for some reason she could understood that. A sudden sharp pang ran through her and she gasped, the sense of betrayed loyalty welling up inside.

“Ria?”

A platter of food swept down before her and she swallowed the wailing ache. Not now. Never if she could help it. He was dead. She was…different. It didn’t matter. And there would be no more beating on Sam each night.

“This looks good.”

He wouldn’t leave it alone, but she’d dodge it and hopefully something would distract him, at least for a little while.

After the meal, they walked to the internet café and he checked into his normal chat room while she took an empty seat and scanned the news and advertising feeds. She’d enjoyed the music club, but they hadn’t tried another since then. Evidently, he was concerned about her face being broadcast over the internet. He’d checked into the club video and there she’d been.

Sam promised to consider another club before heading south of Washington DC. Every city they visited, he studied the reports from his team, sharing very little. Being kept ignorant didn’t bother her very much, just less things for her to be concerned about. And the world had grown and changed so much, she kept busy absorbing what she could. If they were being followed, she certainly saw no sign.

A headline caught her eye and she paused. A video club in Bridgeport, Connecticut, was putting on a special three band retrospect. October Project, Evanescence and Lacuna Coil. Oh! She used to listen to all three and had them on her music device even now. But Bridgeport wasn’t on their itinerary. She glanced over to see Sam tilting his head at something on the screen.

She left her chair and bent over his shoulder. “What?”

He glanced at her, typed a few words and pushed away. “We have one more target to try.” He pulled her close as they left the café. “That idiot kid of Drum ignored my advice to get away from the Hammer internship, until today. He found something about a defunct cetacean institute an hour outside of New York, in Bridgeport. It still has an active payroll. Finding it set off some sort of alarm, and he left, fast. But damn it! I hope he covered his ass as well as he thinks.”

Bridgeport?

Hermione watched Drum’s youngest son, standing in the shadows outside his friend’s house, keeping the black van in sight. She’d been deep in the computer system and sent the warning to send the young man running. He’d warned Todd when he’d walked off the job yesterday that people might come with questions. She assumed he hadn’t understood how bad it could be for Todd and his family.

They’d hauled Todd away that morning and now were watching his Mom’s house. How long would Todd be able to hold them off?

She hoped long enough. Stepping forward she deliberately snapped a twig, causing Jermaine to freeze and slowly turn his head.

“You’re a real idiot, you know?”

“Professor Bales!” He took the hand she offered. “How long have you been there?”

“Watching you, or them?” She pulled him close and backed them out of the shrubbery.

“Either?”

She snorted. “I’ve been working with electronic network of the resistance and when those flags shot up yesterday, I was able to delay it long enough for you to get out of the building. Headed here as soon as I could. How long will your friend last?”

“I don’t know. He’s stubborn. I’m worried about his mom, H. She’s legally blind and he takes care of her.” She turned toward a dark yard and led him a convoluted path back to his neighborhood.

“I’ll see someone takes care of her.”

He’d always known Professor Bales knew how to get things done. His dad admired the woman a great deal. Both he and Monty made it clear to him that he could always trust her. A shiver of excitement crawled up his spine. “I need to go underground, don’t I?”

“Probably. But I need to talk your Dad into coming, too. I’m glad he pushed your Mom to visit your sister.” She glanced back at him. “Wish you’d gone, too. But then again, what you discovered may be the break Monty needs.”

They approached the garage of his home with caution. Discovering the hidden bomb shelter under the property had been an incredible stroke of luck, back when he was ten. He’d thought it was a neat place to play terrorist and soldier, but his dad had other plans. It now housed archives of everything his dad had worked on for the last few decades. He used to store them in rented places, but this was better. No record, it was shielded from detection.

And could be used as living quarters if needed.

Jermaine had a feeling he’d be finding out how comfortable it was soon enough.

Hermione wanted to hug and smack the young man behind her. He had no idea how close it was yesterday. To be truthful, she wasn’t entirely sure how she’d kept him out of custody. Things happened so fast. She hadn’t said anything to the rest of the crew, bent over the laptops, but she was fairly certain Sam’s alien friends had helped out. A presence hovered around every Hammer computer action. A minute pause as if it were being checked.

And she swore things were changed in that blink of an eye. One of the reasons she gave for breaking out and insisting on escorting Jermaine personally into the fold involved the need to talk to Drum.

She found him at his backyard barbecue. He looked up, saw her and broke into a smile that made her heart melt. She’d missed the camaraderie of seeing him every day. Would things ever get back to normal? If what they’d known was normal!

“Hermione!”

His embrace warmed her to the core. He rocked her a moment, then pushed her away and lifted a hand to the short dark crop she now wore. “Ah, had to disguise yourself.”

“Hell, you and Jermaine knew me fast enough. Fat lot of good it did.” She grinned.

“You have  distinctive facial structure.” He glanced at his son and frowned. “What now? Is Todd back home yet?’

“No, dad. And his house is under surveillance.”

“I’m sorry, Drum. I want both of you to join me. There’s a ghost in the machine at Hammer, but he’s still going to figure out the connection.”

“A ghost, eh!” He turned back to his grill, chuckling. “I figured as much. I’ve seen the shadows at the office. Must be driving Hammer insane. Monty’s friends?”

“That’s what I figure, but I wanted to see if you’d seen it. How long have you been aware of it at work?”

“Weeks. Facts…” he held up his hands, mimicking apostrophes, “…keep changing. They can’t keep the false picture Hammer gave them in the records. But the description of the fugitives keeps shifting. They have a sense of humor!”

Hermione sank into a chair, just shaking her head. “I get what they are doing, but it could work against them. When they eventually reveal themselves, it will look like they’ve been toying with us and could scare the population. Give the propaganda machine something to focus on.”

“Not if they stick to the truth. I have faith in this race, H. I’ve continued to study the samples from Ria and my god, what they can offer us! Not just the Shakes cure.” He poked at the chicken breast before continuing. “And no, I’m not going with you. But you take my young genius here.”

“Hey! No way am I going anywhere without you!”

“Yes, you are. I have a secure position that is only peripherally involved with Hammer’s lies. I’m the only medical specialist they have and they simply can’t afford to let him spirit me away.” He gestured at the separate garage. “That is set up to incinerate the contents if seriously meddled with. But only if they actually break the seals, and without that, there is no evidence against me.”

“Oh, and they wouldn’t manufacture what they need?” Jermaine tried to argue with his dad. Hermione listened, knowing it was moot. Drum wouldn’t give in.

In the end, Jermaine left with her.

“Where are we going, H?” He tossed his backpack in the seat behind him, after she’d shaken her head at trying to leave it in the back.

“Always keep your gear where you can get it fast,” she advised.

She pushed the start button on the small SUV. “We’re going to aim for Bridgeport in case Monty needs a hand. It looks like the Aleena are close to stepping up their attacks on Hammer and he might need the help to keep Ria out of danger.”

“Ria is this woman who they brought back to life? Man, that must be strange.”

“Yeah, I’m not sure that goes far enough.” She thought about the woman she’d met at the cottage. She appreciated seeing Monty show compassion, but worried this author wasn’t the safest person for him to become emotionally involved with. After his sister’s deaths, he’d grown terribly distant and clinical, quit dating and resisted getting together with the team after hours. He actually had no after hours, but spent all him time at the office.

She exhaled, hoping whatever bothered her about Ria proved a false alarm.

*****

“Sam?” Ria stared out at the passing landscape and hadn’t said a word since they’d left the café. “Do we go straight to the center?”

“Yes, but we’ll take our time. I want to arrive just shy of sunrise. You should try to get some sleep.”

“I’m not sleepy.”

He glanced at her and saw she’d shifted to face him. Something appeared to be bothering her. “Then what?”

“You’re not my therapist.”

That surprised him.

“I want to help you.”

“I understand, but I assume the ethics of the profession hasn’t changed all that much. And I didn’t hire you or agree to be your patient. You needed me to stop beating on you at night and I grant you had the right to ask me about it. But it isn’t up to you to fix me.”

He had to tread carefully here. “I don’t think you need to be fixed, I do think you need help to recover from the trauma of…”

She interrupted him. “Living with the Aleena? They didn’t induce trauma. Life aboard the ship was extremely calm, the opposite of traumatic.”

“And finding yourself alive after leaping from the ship? The emotional upheavals that caused Milaar to implant the sleep coping mechanism? None of that you consider trauma?”

“It’s in the past. I’m doing better with the volatility of my emotions. My sleep patterns have normalized…”

“Save for when you slap at me.”

She blew out a breath. “I won’t do that anymore. You are not Phillip. Regardless, you aren’t my therapist.”

He remained silent, resisting giving in to her on this point. He doubted he could stop trying to help her, or working to uncover the roots of what blocked her from human behavior. Finally, he cleared his throat. “I don’t know if I can agree with you.”

“It isn’t up to you to agree with me. It’s my decision. I’ve undergone therapy…Rachel visited…”

He shot a look at her, her head nodded, her face blocked by the rapidly growing hair. He growled and took the next exit. Pulling off on a wide area to the side of the road, he climbed from the sedan and over to her door, yanked it open and hauled her out.

She snapped out of the stupor and pulled free.

“You are Rachel,” he calmly stated. “And if you’d had the right therapist you wouldn’t have thrown yourself off the bow of that ship.”

She blinked at him, the nearby streetlight illuminating her face. She licked her lips. “I had good therapists. But I decide the path my life takes…took.” Spinning about, she took half a dozen steps away from him and then stopped, turned and faced him, head high. “No, I am Ria. Rachel is dead. She jumped from the ship. And you are not my therapist.”

“You can no more ignore your past than I can resist wanting, needing, to help you heal.”

“You’re an investigator. I do not want you to be my therapist.” Blinking, she took a step back toward him. “I want you…”

He tilted his head, standing very still as she fought to get the words out.

“I want you as…my friend. I want…” She reached up and ran her right hand through her hair. “I…when I wake up in the morning with your arms around me…when I am almost awake. When…” She took another step closer. “If…you’re my therapist, I can’t feel…”

Oh, god. He closed the distance between them. Her face tilted upward, her mouth still open. Every profession instinct, ingrained for decades, warned him away from the contact. Training in psychology drummed against his heart…
don’t, don’t, don’t
.

He ignored it all and touched her face, lowered his lips to hers and kissed her.

Ria’s skin caught fire, her body roared with want and longing. Every long denied ember of desire flared into life. The small part of her from the ship catalogued how she found herself here. From thinking about music in the car, about the club she hoped to convince Agent Montgomery to take her to, wondering why he didn’t dance with her in New York…was it because he saw her as a child? As a ward? As a…patient?

The conversation spun out of control so quickly, then this stop in the dark, along a little traveled road, underneath an odd lone light pole…into his arms. His lips covered hers with soft desire, growing to impatience. She moaned, pressed herself against him, the voice of the Aleena faded to nothing inside her, replaced by a cascade of music as their bodies met in harmony. She raised her hands and held to his waist, feeling every inch of him tight against her. He shifted, lifted a hand and slid it between them to cup her breast.

She gasped and his tongue swept into her mouth, his hot breath igniting an eruption below her waist. God, she wanted to crawl inside him and…

His right hand cradled her head and suddenly, he jerked away from her, pushing her away. She stumbled back, barely catching herself from going backward. His silhouette loomed above her.

“What…what are you?”

When something moved against his palm, he ignored it. But when it pressed between his fingers, coiling about two knuckles he had a vision of the MRI and the seven shadows on the film. And he thrust her away, staring at his hand, at her, demanding an answer.

“I…I don’t understand!” She reached out a hand toward him and he stepped away. The soft, almost imperceptible gasp that came from her almost broke through his fear.

“What are you? Are you one of them, just more adaptable?” The fury at being fooled shot through him.

“I am Ria! I’m not…not an Aleena? Am I?” She fell to her knees with a cry. “What did you feel?” Almost frantically, she grasped her shirt and yanked it off, looked down at her breast and began to prod at it.

The urge to cackle ran through him.

She ran fingers down her arms, searching.

She didn’t know.

The anger disappeared, replaced by loathing and sorrow, at war with each other. He bent and handed her the shirt. “Put it back on. We need to get to Bridgeport.”

“No, tell me! What is wrong with me? Why? Why?” The plaintive pain in her voice broke his heart.

He closed his eyes, not knowing what to do and suddenly very, very tired. He swallowed the bile rising up his throat but it did no good. With a curse word, he jerked to one side and vomited.

Ria said nothing, oddly silent. When the nausea passed, he wiped his mouth and turned. She was  gone.

“God damn it!” He spun and saw the interior light on in the car. Then it went out. He strode to the vehicle and saw her, curled up on the seat, face to the back, very still.

“Bridgeport,” she hoarsely whispered.

It took the better part of an hour to find the road where the facility squatted. A fingerling of the bay bisected the town, moved after tidal surges destroyed its original location. He finally figured out they were on the wrong side and dawn closed in as they found a road that led to the fence on the north side.