Parallel Seduction (22 page)

"Tell me one more thing. Tell me why you came back through time."

Jake bowed his head, not wanting to share the awful, ruined truth of their future. But he had no other choice. "Because we're defeated there, my lord. Everything is destruction—you sent me back because you hoped I could stop Marco McKinley from bringing even more bloodshed. But now, it seems, that version of Marco has already been stopped."

Jared nodded simply. "Yes, he has, and I trust Marco."

"He betrays you in the future."

Jared tilted his chin upward, resolute. "Another version of that man, but not this one."

Jared had him there; everything in this time was spinning out differently. "My journey was fruitless, Jareshk." He shrugged. "And yet I'm still here."

Jared stepped close. "Do the Antousians truly destroy us in your future? Is that what you're telling me?"

"They gained control of a large number of missiles over at Warren Air Force Base. They turned them on the major cities and populations … it's all in ruins. All of it—here on Earth, back on Refaria. Only the smallest remnant still battles." He glanced between them meaningfully. "And the three of us are part of that remnant."

"At Warren," Jared repeated, having paled visibly.

"They attacked the base, stormed it, and got control of the launch facilities."

Kelsey bowed her head. "We stopped it this time."

Jake staggered backward. "You stopped the takeover at Warren?" It was the first moment since arriving in this time when he'd actually felt hopeful.

"And you won't believe it, but in his own way, Marco McKinley stopped it when he traveled back from your time," Jared explained. "He left a letter for us, one that enabled Thea to see the future, to intuit the Antousians' plans at the base. Ultimately that's how we thwarted that attack."

"Nothing here is the same as in my world," Jake whispered numbly.

"My brother." Jared opened his arms wide, tears glinting in his black gaze. "I'm sorry that you've known so much pain."

Jake folded into his best friend's embrace, refusing to cry like the seven-year-old boy he'd once been with this man. "I don't pretend to understand any of this," Jared continued, hugging him close, "but we will do whatever we can to stop these
vlksai
from bringing down such destruction again. Tell me now, what can we do?"

At that moment he felt Kelsey, too, her gentle yet strong touch, as she rubbed his shoulders. Jared didn't let go of him, either, holding him chest to chest, as if he never intended to break the moment.

 And for the first time in more years than he could count, Jake cried. Like an absolute baby. At last—at long, long last—he'd come home once again.

H
ope hunkered low on the
small berth where Kryn had left her, listening to the rumbling sounds of the ship. Vibrations shot through her body; the cruiser's lurching and tilting occasionally caused her to rock slightly where she sat. In general, her unsettled equilibrium led her to believe that they were dropping low over the earth, not going farther out into the stratosphere, as Scott had predicted. Man, she'd do anything to be close to him again, to touch him … to hold him. Locked away as she was, she couldn't be sure what his enemies might be doing.

She'd been given a meal, allowed to take her accompanying insulin shot, and now that her immediate health needs were secured, she could only imagine the worst for Scott. What he'd said about being at the top of these Antousians' kill list haunted her. Leaning back on the narrow bench seat, she pressed her ear against the side of the craft, trying to discern whether they truly were landing—or even where they might be headed, period.

There was just so much Scott didn't know. Like Jake's real identity. And the truth of what had happened in their future—some future— including the fate of their sweet baby girl. Hope stifled a sob, pressing a hand against her eyes, determined to maintain clarity of mind.

Keep it together, girl. Keep it fucking together for him.

If Scott's predictions were true—if these enemies wanted nothing more than to extract a pound of his flesh—then her training and smarts might be his only prayer for survival. She couldn't afford to ruminate on futures that might not come to pass, or baby daughters that they might someday lose. All that mattered was the here, the now, and what she could possibly do to secure Scott's freedom.

The craft dipped, sending her back against the pillows of the berth; they had to be coming in for a landing. As outlandish as such a public exposure might seem, she'd already learned a lot about aliens in the past few weeks: Their craft could come and go at will, never revealing their location to human radar or USAF tracking. These alien transports brought a whole new meaning to the term
stealth technology,
which served only to fuel her thoughts that nobody—absolutely nobody, human or alien—could find them now that the Antousians had taken them prisoner.

Suddenly the compartment door slid open, making a hissing sound. Hope tensed, alert and waiting for someone to speak. Hard footsteps echoed off of the steel-framed flooring, moving with cold calculation in her direction.

"Who is it?" she called out, folding her arms about herself protectively.

"I'm asking the questions here." The voice was male, harsh and hissing.

"Well, pal, you'd better identify yourself if you want answers," she said, squinting against the dim cabin lights. Without warning, a fist struck her across the jaw, sending her sprawling against the wall.

So much for putting on her tough-gal routine, she thought, giving her head a shake.

Before she could sit up again, a pair of rough hands slipped about her throat. "Listen, human, I can fuck you blind right now. Rape you. Kill you. So you'd better start showing a little respect."

She pulled at the stranger's hands, trying to breathe. "I already am blind, you freak," she squeezed out.

"Good, then you won't mind"—one of his hands slid down the front of her sweater, palming her breast—"if I take whatever I want."

She screamed, trying to bite his hand, but he just slammed her up against the wall, pinning her. For a moment everything within her said she was going to die … or worse. Then, just as suddenly, he released her, and she heard him back away.

"This won't get either of us what we want." His tone had changed, becoming perversely jovial.

"I want off this ship."

"Not to worry, Ms. Harper. That will happen soon enough." He let loose a sneering laugh. "And when that time comes, you'll know exactly why I'm the most feared Antousian among your friend Dillon's pitiful ranks."

Rotating her head sideways, she planted both palms against the wall. She couldn't see much, but the man seemed tall, towering over where she sat. It took everything within her, but she forced herself to appear calm and collected.

"I'm new around here." She rubbed at her jaw. "You have to help me out some. What's your name?"

"'What's your name,
sir
!'" he corrected in a thundering voice that caused her to shiver.

Did this alien maniac really think she'd call him
sir
?
When silence grew between them, he pounced on her again, twisting her hair in his hand and jerking it hard. "Show respect, human."

"What's your name,
sir
?" she asked weakly, feeling dizzy and terrified.

"Call me Veckus. That's the only name you need to memorize around here."

"S
trip that soldier down,"
Veckus ordered, glancing between his two captives. He'd brought them to their current warehouse hideout, the one where a number of his grunts had been making base in Montana for the past month. He could have kept them in orbit around Earth indefinitely, but something in Veckus's gut told him that down on the ground would be the best place for interrogating Scott Dillon. Yes, right on Earth was the place to act out the final scenes of this little drama. Oh, it would be fine torture indeed, extracting every detail of the Refarian operation—and he planned to take his time about it. Nothing he'd ever dreamed of could be such enjoyable sport as personally torturing Lieutenant Scott Dillon. He licked his lips, practically feeling himself grow hard with arousal at the prospect.

He perused the scene before him—Scott kneeling at gunpoint, and his companion, Hope Harper, mirroring the same position. The female was a luscious little human, all ripe and full-breasted. Plus, when she'd gotten so feisty with him, it had been more than a rush. Too bad he'd chosen not to rape her. For now, he told himself, just for now.

Then he turned and faced Scott Dillon. So many years he'd been plagued by this one. He shook his head, trying to decide the best and most delicious plan for exacting payback in exchange for every time Dillon had outflanked him— most recently at Warren. Veckus rocked back on his heels, meeting the man's steady, hard gaze; perhaps what made him sickest of all about Dillon was that he was a traitor to his own people. Watching the small blind woman shiver, a faint smile formed on Veckus's lips as a plan began to blossom in his mind.

"Strip that soldier down, Lieutenant," he ordered Dayron again with a flick of his wrist.
"All
the way down."

Strolling slowly past Dillon, he eyed him. "Get ready for the longest night of your life," he promised, exposing his teeth in a threatening gesture.

Scott glowered at him, never so much as blinking. Veckus knew the soldier wasn't intimidated; from what Veckus had learned about his adversary over the years, nothing ever frightened him.

Dayron wrestled hold of Scott as two of Veckus's other under-lieutenants began jerking off his jacket, shirt, and every last item of his clothing. Ah, yes, Veckus would ensure that Scott Dillon passed a very long night in hell.

Objective: to learn the location of Jared Bennett's main bases from Dillon, using the cold night—and as much torture as possible—to achieve that aim.

Planned result: Veckus would firebomb the Refarians' secret installations, annihilate them, just as he'd done to their Texas facility years ago. In the process, he would quell their intolerable rebellion once and for all.

Dayron shoved Dillon to the hard warehouse floor, sending him sprawling face-first. Veckus studied the man's naked form, saw the battle scars and lines of hardship in the soldier's body. But he would never pity a traitor like this fellow Antousian rebel.

"Sir, what would you like us to do?" Dayron prompted him, planting a boot in the center of Dillon's naked back.

"Our goal is simple—I want to know if Dillon is our future traveler, the one I sensed traversing the time-space continuum." He wouldn't let Dillon in on his plans for learning the facilities locations—not yet. "And if this is
not
our man, Lieutenant Dayron, then we will learn who we should be pinpointing … perhaps the other rebel Antousian who was there at the mitres. The one who took out two of our soldiers. Either way, Dillon knows the truth, and I intend to extract that knowledge out of him … piece by bodily piece, if need be."

"Very well, sir." Dayron nodded in understanding. "Usual methods?"

Veckus smiled. "I like the idea of the cold as a tool," he hissed. "Let's try that one this time."

No matter what, Veckus had narrowed his search down to just two men. It was either Dillon, right here before him, or the other Antousian they'd pursued on the snowmobile. One of them had traversed time itself, and whether he had to torture Dillon or kill the luscious human woman, he would learn the identity of his future traveler.

Result: Veckus would learn the secrets of time, and would thereby guarantee the defeat of the Refarian resistance once and for all. A most satisfying result indeed.

C
hris sat in his rat
hole of an office in Jackson, ready to strangle someone—anyone—if he didn't get clear facts as to his sister's position, and soon. This was the office that he normally worked out of, and in all fairness it really wasn't a genuine rat hole—just small, and a one-man shop. The situation at Mirror Lake had reached a crescendo, then fallen flat before he and Blake had even arrived in Jackson. Now he sat in his home office, smelling the lingering perfume of the woman who'd been temporarily manning his desk during his absence.

Blake leaned against one of Chris's top-heavy filing cabinets, doing what he always did best: running scenarios in his head. "So her cell phone fix faded in and out, kept changing. When they dialed it, nothing happened."

"Airborne," Chris told his supervisor dully. In some ways it was unfortunate that the two of them were such close friends; it gave a lot of leeway for Chris to question the agent's analysis about things rather than accept his leadership. On the other hand, given their mutual line of work, there weren't that many guys who understood the way they lived. Or accepted aliens as a natural fact.

Blake opened and closed the top drawer of the file cabinet, not really looking at his surroundings, just absently fumbling with things. "They chased the lead into the park, but then hit a dead end," he explained.

"Because, again, they're fucking airborne!" Chris shouted again. "Geez, people, how hard is this to figure out?"

Blake shot him a look, and Chris mumbled under his breath, shifting weeks' worth of piled-up paperwork atop his desk. "So Denver has nothing on her now? Nothing the fuck at all, huh?"

Blake looked away. "The signal went dead, Harper. They'll keep trying to triangulate her position. Until then, we don't have any leads."

"So what are we even doing here?" Chris kicked back in his chair, cursing Hope for her stubborn streak, her ability to always seek out danger.

Blake shrugged into his suit jacket, giving a brisk nod. "Agent Harper, we get ourselves out to Mirror Lake. We'll comb that site until we come up with something—anything at all—that might provide a lead. I want to get your sister back as much as you do, all right?"

Chris didn't question that fact, although he did seriously doubt that Blake would ever find what he wanted in terms of his sister's affections. What he'd told his parents about her falling in love had been true, even though he'd hedged about that alibi with Blake. He'd known Hope all his life and they shared a connection as twins that most people would never understand. That connection gave him an understanding that defied surface explanation at the moment. But it boiled down to one clear fact: his sister had fallen seriously and unquestionably in love … with an alien.

S
cott shivered, huddled naked
on the warehouse floor, wondering what Veckus's next move would be. He'd been bound about the neck, hands, and feet—even his waist—with reflexive metal cuffs. It was a type of alloy forged only back on Refaria, a psychic metal that reacted to mental energy. If he wanted to flee, the bonds would cinch about him much tighter. If he sought to rest, the metal would loosen somewhat, but would always anticipate his next move, so there was no hope of ever getting away.

He was manacled, pure and simple, by a living alloy that served as Veckus's most personal henchman, binding and restraining him before Scott could even dream up his next step. Veckus had gleamed with pride as the restraints had been placed upon him, rejoicing in such a base victory. To have Scott this low—naked, freezing, and bound to the highest degree—was what his enemy had spent years anticipating. Now in the dark, unable to detect Hope's whereabouts, Scott felt more frightened than at any other time in his military career.

And it didn't have a damned thing to do with the restraints binding him against the shoddy and cold warehouse wall. No, it all had to do with Hope: with the fact that the woman he loved needed him, but he was held captive by reflexive cuffs that wouldn't allow him to so much as contemplate an escape strategy.