sedona files - books one to three Page 32

  A hesitation, and then he replied, “Keep calm, fine. But no more UFO tours until we get this figured out. It’s too dangerous.”

  She couldn’t even argue with that. Only an idiot would go back out there after what had happened tonight. Yes, it would hit her in the wallet, but better broke than dead…or worse. “No tours. I’ll contact my clients for tomorrow’s tour and let them know there’s a family emergency or something. That satisfy you?”

  “What would satisfy me is to know those bastards are gone for good, but yeah, it’s a start.”

  His expression hadn’t changed all that much as he spoke, but Kara thought she detected a hint of relief in his voice. “Then can we call it a night? I’m bushwhacked and just want to get cleaned up, okay?”

  “Okay. I don’t like it, but…okay. But you call Michael or me the second you smell something that doesn’t seem right.”

  “Absolutely.” Funny how she never thought she’d be so glad to be getting rid of Lance. Most of the time she’d daydreamed about what it would be like to be alone with him, just the two of them in her house, but now all she could think about was whether he was finally about to give up on the hovering and head out.

  He fished the key to the van out of his pocket. “Michael’s going to meet me at the shop with the Jeep. I’ll leave the van in its usual space, and then I’ll drop him off at home. But one call, and I’m right back here.”

  “Got it,” she said. For some reason she didn’t think that call would be necessary. Wishful thinking, maybe, but whatever the aliens had been after, she didn’t think they’d found it. That white light could have burned her to a crisp on the spot…or laid all her thoughts bare. She’d heard of both sorts of things happening, although a lot of the UFO enthusiasts didn’t want to hear the darker stories, didn’t want to admit it wasn’t all peaceful exploration and happy hand-holding “Kumbaya” scenes like the end of Close Encounters.

  They knew who she was. They knew where to find her. If they were going to come, there wasn’t a whole hell of a lot she could do to stop it.

  In the meantime, she was going to live her life.

  Another one of those hesitations. Lance was being awfully irresolute for him. She had the wild thought that maybe he was going to try to kiss her. He stood just a little too close, was focused just a little too intently on her face.

  That thought didn’t last long, though.

  “Okay, I’m heading out. Make sure you turn on the alarm.”

  “Will do.”

  And then, finally, thankfully, he was gone. Kara turned the deadbolt, but she didn’t engage the alarm. Not yet.

  First she was going to find out exactly what Grayson was up to in the garage.

  * * *

  Lance drove away into the darkness, cursing the aliens, cursing himself, even cursing Kara for being so damn stubborn. Maybe that was what he’d been hoping for — that she would be all nervous and afraid, and would beg him to stay. Maybe that would have finally given him the cojones to do what he probably should have done months or even years ago.

  Instead she acted as if she couldn’t wait to see the back end of him. Not very flattering, and somewhat mystifying. You’d think she’d want someone around after an experience like that. Hell, he had to admit he was a little glad he wasn’t going right back to his empty condo, but rather dropping Michael off at his place before heading home. And after an experience like that, there was a very good chance that Michael might invite him for a little of the surprisingly world-class tequila he kept around the place.

  The Jeep was already waiting in the lot at the UFO Depot when Lance pulled in and parked the van in its regular spot on the north side of the building. Michael stood next to the driver’s-side door and extended one hand with the key as Lance approached.

  “That didn’t take very long.”

  “No,” Lance replied curtly as he took the key and got behind the wheel. He waited while Michael crossed to the passenger side and got in. They pulled out onto 89A and headed south. For a few minutes neither one of them said anything. Finally Lance asked, “So how did you do it?”

  “Do what?”

  “Push back a two-thousand-ton alien spaceship with your bare hands?”

  Michael stared out the window. “I’d rather answer that over a shot of Alquimia.”

  “Done.”

  Sedona designated itself as a “dark sky city,” which meant it was careful about the lighting on its streets. On the twisty little side road that led down to Michael’s property, the lighting was nonexistent. Lance flipped on his high beams and navigated the Jeep the rest of the way to the house, pulling up in front of the garage next to an ancient El Camino. Michael swore it still ran, but Lance had never seen the man actually drive it.

  Michael’s transportation issues weren’t his concern right now, though. Lance watched Michael open the front door — which he never seemed to lock — and wend his way toward the kitchen.

  Even though Lance had been here scores of times, he still found the place slightly unnerving. His own condo was as spartan and military as one might have expected, given his background — furniture chosen for utility rather than style, walls bare of paintings or any adornment, plain vertical blinds on the sliding glass doors. And Kara’s was warm and comfortable, maybe a little too typically Southwest for his taste, but welcoming and attractive all the same. Whereas Michael’s shabby little two-bedroom house looked like a row of Sedona’s kitschiest tourist traps had exploded inside the place.

  Every inch of the floor was covered in Navajo rugs. The walls were painted a dark adobe color and covered with tin road signs, metal sculptures, woven dream catchers, and shelves crowded with statuettes, old copper kitchen implements, and potted plants. The furniture was a similar hodge-podge, from the table of carved juniper to the old barstools lined up against one wall.

  Lance had asked Michael about the place once, since its hectic melange seemed completely opposed to Michael’s outwardly calm and serene demeanor. He’d just shrugged and said, “People like to give me things,” and left it at that.

  Maybe some of those things included the row of tequila bottles in the liquor cabinet. Funny thing was, Michael really didn’t drink that much. He’d nurse one shot in the same amount of time that Lance could put back three or four. And the levels in the tequila bottles didn’t seem to change all that much between Lance’s visits.

  Some of the precious fluid already gleamed pale gold in the two shot glasses sitting on the pink tile counter, more kitsch from the ’50s when the house had been built. Lance reached for one of the glasses, but Michael put out a hand.

  “Outside. It’s better.”

  Mystified, Lance could only shrug and follow the other man through the kitchen door and onto the patio, which, in direct contrast to the rest of the house, was completely bare, save for a wrought-iron bistro set and a couple of potted cactus. Oak Creek rustled and chattered to itself only a few yards away; the house might be kind of a dump, but the location was incredible.

  After they’d sat down and shared their first ceremonial swallow of tequila, Lance asked, “You going to reveal the mysteries of the universe now?”

  Michael smiled, head tilted upward to the sky. The moon had begun to rise at last, a thick crescent just appearing above Wilson Mountain. “We’re not the only ones who don’t want the aliens here. She doesn’t, either.”

  “She?” Lance repeated, mystified.

  “The earth. The mother goddess. I asked to borrow some of her strength, and she lent it to me.”

  “Simple as that.”

  “The simple things are often the strongest.”

  Great, so now Michael was going to lapse into some of his shaman mumbo-jumbo. Lance was tempted to make a comment about leaving that sort of thing for the tourists, but he remained silent. He didn’t pretend to understand what Michael had done, and apparently Michael had no explanation that wasn’t couched in mystical terms. All the same, the alien ship had gone, which, at the end of the
day, was the most important thing.

  “Think you’ll be able to do it again?”

  “I won’t know until the time comes.”

  It must be nice to be that placid, that unconcerned. Lance had never been able to achieve such a zen-like state, even though his training in the remote viewing program had allowed him to detach his emotions when necessary. But he couldn’t maintain that state indefinitely, whereas it seemed to be an integral part of Michael’s being.

  Lance took another sip of his tequila, let the mellow, smoky heat of it work its way down his throat. If he drank enough of it, he might be able to achieve nirvana. On the other hand, he wouldn’t be able to drive home.

  “Kara was acting strange,” he remarked.

  “She had a shock.”

  “I don’t think that was it.” Lance mentally replayed his conversation with Kara, noting the strain in her voice, the way her gaze kept flickering down the hallway toward the bedrooms. He could flatter himself and try to think she’d been looking for a more physical form of comforting, but he knew that wasn’t it. She’d been on edge, nervous. True, she’d almost gotten flattened by a UFO. Somehow he didn’t think that was the cause of her agitation, though. Something else…something he couldn’t quite put his finger on. And that bothered him. He thought he knew her pretty well. She was a stand-up girl, not one to dodge the truth. So what could be so important that she’d risk lying to him?

  “Everything will be revealed in its own time.”

  “Thanks, Confucius. Do I get a fortune cookie with that?”

  Michael’s smile flashed white in the darkness. “No fortune cookies around here. We’re on the edge of something. I can feel it, but it’s not here yet. So drink up. Worry about tomorrow, tomorrow.”

  Sound advice. Lance drained the rest of his tequila and considered going back inside for a refill. He’d still be okay to drive after two shots. Something stopped him, though, something that told him he needed to be relatively clear-headed. Michael had said to worry about tomorrow when it came, but that wasn’t good enough. Sometimes storms arrived earlier than when they were forecast.

  “I think I’m going to head out,” he said, and got up from the little wrought-iron chair.

  Michael’s eyes were a darker gleam in the black night. “Be careful.”

  “I always am.”

  And Lance set the shot glass down on the table and left.

  * * *

  Kara waited until she was sure Lance had backed the van out of the driveway and headed out toward the highway. Then she turned the knob and went into the garage.

  It was stiflingly hot, even with the two fans she kept out here for laundry days going at full blast. The fluorescent shop lights overhead illuminated the space above the workbench, showing Grayson hunched over her grandfather’s Indian, a clutter of sockets and wrenches and other tools scattered around him. A few paces off, lying on a carpet remnant, was Gort. He thumped his tail at the sight of his mistress but didn’t get up.

  “What are you doing, Grayson?” she asked. She wouldn’t let herself get upset that he was monkeying around with Grandpa’s bike — after all, the thing hadn’t run for years, so it wasn’t as if he could do much to screw it up any more than it already was.

  He looked up. A smudge of grease traced its way across one cheek, and sweat gleamed on his forehead. Somehow that made him look even more distractingly attractive rather than disheveled. In answer, he reached over and turned the key in the ignition, then touched the throttle.

  The Indian roared to life, the sound of its engine shockingly loud in the enclosed space. Kara took a step backward despite herself, then shook her head and moved back toward Grayson. “How the hell did you do that?”

  He lifted his shoulders before reaching down and shutting off the bike once more. “It wasn’t that complicated. Two of the lifters had gotten knocked out of place, and after I fixed that it was just a matter of adjusting the carburetion.”

  Never mind that she didn’t even know what a lifter was, let alone why having one knocked out of place was a bad thing. But maybe this unexpected display of mechanical prowess had provided a clue to his past. “So…does this mean you’re a motorcycle mechanic?”

  An expression of confusion passed over Grayson’s regular features, and he slowly shook his head. “I don’t think so. That is, I don’t remember anything about motorcycles specifically. More that I could just tell where it had gone wrong somehow, and the best thing to do to repair it. It needed to be fixed.”

  Well, she couldn’t really argue with that, had felt guilty about letting the bike go for so long. Not that she could have ridden it even if it were up and running. But she knew Grandpa, wherever he was, would be glad the Indian had finally been brought back to life. He’d loved the damn thing, held on to it long after his riding days were over.

  How exactly Grayson had been able to hone in on what was wrong and correct it, she couldn’t begin to guess. Maybe he was some kind of mechanical savant. That didn’t seem any more implausible than any other explanation she could cook up.

  “Well, maybe you can try a test drive tomorrow when it gets light,” she said, her tone deliberately casual. She wouldn’t let herself get worked up over this. After all, it was possible that he’d been some kind of mechanic or bike builder and simply couldn’t remember. “It’s stifling out here, though. Since the Indian is back from the dead, how about you come inside and have some water or something?”

  He put up a hand to his sweaty brow, as if realizing for the first time how hot it actually was in the garage. “That’s probably a good idea.”

  But before he would follow her inside, he carefully picked up all the tools and put them back in their various cases and boxes, then slid the containers back onto the shelves under the workbench where they usually resided. Kara began to offer to help but realized she didn’t even know which bits went in which cubbyholes — most of that stuff had been untouched since her grandfather’s death.

  Until now.

  Gort let out a little grunting bark of relief at coming back inside in the air conditioning and went immediately for his water bowl. Strange how he’d stayed out there by Grayson’s side despite how hot it was. Gort was a loyal dog, but he loved his comforts. It was always a struggle to get him to go outside in the summer during the daylight hours; coaxing him out of the house usually involved some sort of doggy treat bribery.

  Grayson ran a hand through his shaggy hair as he entered the kitchen, obviously trying to get some of the air flow on his overheated brow. “I guess it was pretty hot out there.” He frowned then, seeming to take in Kara’s appearance more closely in the brighter light of the kitchen. “What happened? Are you all right?”

  For the first time she looked down at herself, saw the smudges of dirt on the knees of her jeans and up one side of the tank top she wore. Her elbows smarted, and she realized she must have skinned them when she took that header into the dirt. “Oh, it’s nothing — I took a spill. Wasn’t paying attention to where I was walking.”

  “It looks a little worse than nothing. I didn’t know UFO tours could be dangerous.”

  You don’t know the half of it. She gave a shrug that she hoped looked realistic and replied, “I guess they can be if you’re a klutz like I am.”

  The crease between his brows only seemed to deepen, as if he somehow knew she wasn’t telling him the whole truth but couldn’t figure out how to challenge her on the subject. “But it went well?”

  “The tour group definitely got an eyeful.” That wasn’t even a lie, but she still couldn’t quite meet his gaze. To cover up her discomfort, she went to the cupboard and pulled out a couple of glasses. “Water?”

  “Sure.”

  She busied herself with pouring some cold water from the pitcher in the fridge and then adding a few ice cubes to each glass. Grayson took his from her without comment, but those green eyes were too speculative. He obviously could see that something was wrong. She had no idea what to tell him, and he
seemed reluctant to ask too many questions. Just as well; she had no idea what she would even say.

  After an uncomfortable silence that lasted about ten seconds too long, she said, “Well, I’m beat. It’s a long day when I have to do a tour. Feel free to stay up and watch some TV or something if you like — I know I’ll sleep right through it.”

  “That’s all right — I could do with some sleep, too.” He drained the rest of the water in his glass. “Mind if I get more?”

  “No, go ahead.”

  Even sweaty and mussed as he was, she had to admit he was awfully easy on the eyes. It was a pleasure to watch him cross the kitchen and pour himself some more water.

  And not ten minutes ago you were standing in the same spot and wondering whether Lance was going to kiss you. You really need to get a grip, Kara.

  Well, it wasn’t a crime to feel attracted to two men at the same time, especially when the odds of anything happening with either one of them seemed pretty damn slim. Sooner or later she’d have to do something about the Grayson situation, but after all, he’d only been here two days. She wasn’t about to shove him out on the street, especially since his memory showed no signs of returning.

  And making any kind of a decision when she was exhausted and wrung-out and more stressed than she wanted to admit was definitely not a good idea. She didn’t know if the world would look all that much better when she woke up the next morning, but at least she’d be a bit more rested.

  So she allowed herself to utter the only words she trusted herself to say.

  “Good night, Grayson.”

  CHAPTER SIX

  Kara blinked at the line of bright sunlight peeking past one edge of the blackout curtains in her bedroom and thought, I need a day off.

  Oh, sure, she’d already planned to cancel the tour tonight. She’d start making calls and sending texts as soon as the hour was a little more decent. But this was something different. She wanted nothing to do with the store, knew if she forced herself to go in she’d end up walking right back out an hour later.