That piece of black OQ art meant the world to Tara. It had
been left with her twenty-six years ago, when she’d been found abandoned in a
deserted boat floating in Port Chase’s inner harbor.
For all that Sheila, Mannie and Old Man Rodriguez speculated
on the statue’s origins as alien, Tara knew it couldn’t be. She liked to think
of it as a family heirloom. Otra or not, the piece made her think of her mother
whenever she saw it. A human woman who had probably given Tara height and a
slim yet athletic build. She admitted she had Otra coloring
—
black hair
and eyes so dark brown they looked black. But she didn’t think she had the true
beauty the Otra possessed. Her psychic ability to heal had made her question
her origins a time or two, but her eyes had never turned silver, she’d never
had bursts of energy the aliens supposedly had, nor the incredible beauty of
their kind.
She supposed her lips were full and maybe kissable. If she
hadn’t had overprotective Mannie for a brother, she might have experienced more
than a few flings from the all-too-brief men in her life.
As if thoughts of Mannie conjured him, he strode through the
back door she normally kept unlocked during the day without knocking.
“Hey, Tara, put that down. I brought you a real lunch.” He
stalked over to her kitchen counter, curiously graceful for being so damn big.
At six-three, her brother was anything but small. His broad shoulders, muscular
chest and monster fists encouraged those who didn’t know him to be wary. Though
not related by blood, they looked enough alike to be brother and sister. Both
possessed dark hair and eyes, and a similar caramel skin tone. Women flocked to
Mannie like bees to honey. It was no surprise when he started in about his
latest failed relationship.
“I’m telling you, the woman’s been stalking me.” He looked
hunted.
She couldn’t help laughing. “I told you this one was
unstable. She asked you to marry her on your first date.”
Mannie frowned. “I thought she was joking. Come on, Tara.
Put down that crap you’re eating. This salad’s much better for you. I brought
steamed shrimp to go with it.”
“Shrimp? Quit flaunting your money.”
“
Our
money.” He shook his head. “Honey, you’ve got to
leave this place. I have nightmares about you being robbed and attacked. At
least use the security I installed for you.”
She groaned at the old argument that never stopped. “One,
you’ve made it clear that anyone stupid enough to mess with me will answer to
you. Two, I
do
use the security system. But when the walls are as paper
thin as these, I don’t know what good it’ll do. Three, what’s there to steal?”
“Oh, I don’t know. Maybe the next fifteen-thousand-dollar
painting you’re working on, T.A. Drake?”
She flushed with pleasure. “Can you believe the last one
sold for as much?”
“Yes, I can. You’re incredible. But you’re wasting it in
this dump.”
Tossing a leaf of red lettuce at him, she scowled. “I told
you before. I can’t leave, not yet. I have something to do here. I can’t
explain it.”
He sighed. “You don’t have to.” He’d been the recipient of
her incredible healing too many times to count. And Mannie had his own sense of
intuition to guide him. “I worry about you, Tara. I can’t help it. You’re such
an incredible woman. You heal by touch, paint crap that people are finally
paying big money to buy, and you’re my little sister.” Mannie shook his head.
“You’re the touchy-feely psychic. So why do I have a bad feeling something’s
going to happen to you?” He paused and his voice deepened. “In my dreams—”
Someone knocked on the door and Mannie’s eyes flashed, a
disturbing hint of silver in his pupils. She’d never seen that before. What the
hell was going on with her brother? Was it in any way tied to what had happened
to her earlier?
The silver eyes, his prophetic dreams… Her suspicions Mannie
might not be fully human resurfaced, and she quickly buried them. She knew herself
and her brother. Orphans and psychic freaks they might be, but they were human.
“Mannie?”
“I’ll get it.” He rushed to the door and ripped it open.
From her position in the kitchen, she couldn’t see the
person in front of Mannie, who blocked her view. But heat flashed through her
body from head to toe. An odd flush, an awareness, told her to pay strict
attention. As if her entire future hinged on this one man. Uneasy, she tried to
see him but couldn’t because of Mannie. To her surprise, the visitor stood at
eye level with her brother. Not a small man then.
“Hi. Can you tell me where to find Talson Shipping?” The
deep, soothing voice of the stranger intrigued her, and Tara left her stool.
She stepped closer to see who’d knocked. Standing next to
Mannie, she couldn’t help staring, enthralled at the man meeting her brother’s
glare. As tall and broad as Mannie, if not as heavily muscled, this stranger
looked even better than Trotter.
Cropped, jet-black hair so dark it looked blue surrounded an
arresting face. His eyes reminded her of Romec’s, both almond-shaped and with
an arrogant expression in them. Unlike her cat’s beautiful gray-green color,
this man had dark eyes, black eyes.
Otra eyes.
Again the similarities to
Trotter grabbed her. But this man also had laugh lines and smooth lips that
quirked easily. His nose was patrician straight, his chin strong, as defined as
his angular cheekbones.
To her shock, she felt a familiar tingle. The need to heal,
yet nothing in the man seemed unhealthy. Just the opposite, he fairly glowed
with health, and something more. An odd power that gave him a sense of
infallibility.
He looked human enough. But she knew he was Otra. He seemed
almost magnetic. She took a small step forward, but Mannie cleared his throat
and deliberately moved to block her way.
“Talson Shipping is next door,” Mannie said brusquely,
apparently not liking the way the stranger’s eyes had gravitated to her face.
He had yet to blink. “Hello,” he drawled. “I’m new to the
area, just transferred into Port Chase for Talson Shipping.”
Hearing him mention the Talsons a second time made her want
to groan. He was so handsome, so big and strong. He radiated sex in waves,
enough to awaken even her slumbering libido. And he worked for the jerks next
door. Life was
so
unfair.
The more he stared at her, the faster her heart raced. An
almost drugging sexual hunger seemed to fill her, and she had to work to shake
off the erotic sensation. First the bathroom, now this? What the hell was wrong
with her?
She took a hasty step back and fought the desire turning her
nipples into visible beads of arousal. She crossed her arms with a belligerence
the stranger couldn’t miss, while inwardly she sighed.
What a waste.
Time to set the stage for Mr. Friendly. “Look, buddy,
Talsons’ folks aren’t welcome here, so move along to the thugs you work for and
stay off my property. My brother is Killer Drake, the heavyweight boxing
champion of the BCF Southeast. So if I’m not scary enough to listen to, he is.”
The stranger’s eyes widened and he grinned at her brother.
“No kidding? Yeah, I thought you looked familiar. Great bout against Murmo last
year. You have a helluva right hook. I won a bunch of money on the outcome.
Thanks.”
Mannie shifted on his feet, fisting his hands. He seemed
unsure about the compliment. “Whatever.”
“Hey, I’m sorry for intruding. I’ll get out of here and out
of your hair. Don’t worry. I have no intention of bothering you. I’m just here
to do my job for the Talsons.” He stepped back and waved, as polite and
charming as Trotter was lecherous and slimy.
“Hope you like Majesty,” Tara muttered as Mannie closed the
door behind him.
“What did you say?”
Crap.
Mannie heard everything. If he knew the Talsons
were moving drugs right next door, he’d pick her up over his shoulder and haul
ass out of town.
“I said I hope you like His Majesty, as in Trotter.”
Her brother stared with suspicion but eventually moved back
to his lunch and continued to nag her about leaving. After half an hour of
refusing to budge, she pushed him out the door with a promise to visit next
week. As if a trip uptown, and to one of the nicest penthouse apartments in
Port Chase, was a hardship.
Sighing at the amount of time and great lighting she’d lost,
she hurried back into her studio and applied paint to canvas. But as she
worked, a dreamy lassitude seemed to fill her, and her heart directed her
strokes as a face slowly took life in her painting.
* * * * *
Romy dragged his feet back to his rental hovercraft, a
sporty little three-door, and sat in the driver’s seat in silence, pondering
the day’s significance.
A strange, sexual dream, a visit to Earth after so many
months of being away, and a misdirection that may have just sent him hurtling
into his destiny.
He’d never in his life felt such incredible hunger for a woman
before. He’d barely focused on the large man—her
brother
, thank God—by
her side. The minute the bruiser had opened the door, he’d sensed her there
behind him. Willing her to step forward, he’d done his best not to stare
openmouthed in shock.
A pure-blooded Otra female, one with a noble face, powerful
psychei
,
and a body that clearly sang to anyone with a heartbeat. Tall but slender, she
still possessed curves in all the right places. Damn, but he’d been
hard-pressed not to reach for those luscious nipples hardening while he stared
at her. Her inky eyes and full, pouty lips brought to mind midnight secrets and
fertility rites. Her long hair lay like silk around her neck, bound in a blue
band that let more strands fall than it held.
Which was to say nothing of the effect she had on his
psychei
.
Standing there, staring at her, he’d felt at peace as he hadn’t in years. His
energy no longer seethed and warred within him. Instead, he’d felt both excited
and in control, his power growing in her presence.
She was almost too perfect. A siren’s face, a sinful body,
an inner power that called to him…and a mouth that had unfortunately brought
his libido to a regrettable halt. Her attitude toward Talson Shipping annoyed
and worried him. But her last comment that he’d easily heard through her closed
door jarred him. Majesty? Trotter was running
Majesty
through the
shipyard?
Anger burned. With deliberate movements, Romy started the
vehicle and drove several hundred yards down the road, through the chain link
fence and onto the dilapidated property. Hell, he’d thought the place
abandoned. It had no sign for Talson Shipping and looked deserted from what he
could see.
Though he’d never been to Port Chase prior to today, he’d
studied the initial reports his father had made on the Barkins shipping center.
Whereas before the place had been somewhat busy, it now looked like a
graveyard.
As he drove farther onto the property he noted a few cargo
boxes being loaded from the large space freighters, while two tankers refilled
the water haulers. But where was all the bustle and noise he heard when
visiting Werfal 6’s ports of call, or his younger brother’s docks in Port
Watch? Nonexistent. A few humans patrolled the fence, looking more like bums
than security, and the small contingent of workers by the docks made him wonder
if he’d arrived on a holiday. Sure, it was hotter than hell, but this was a
working, money-making shipyard, wasn’t it?
He’d yet to see one of his kind working, which was odd
considering the employment report he’d read on the shuttle. According to Talson
records, Trotter had hired nearly thirty Otra from the ’Or Fal and ’Or Ryi
clans. Yet the dozen Otra Romy psychically sensed on the compound remained
inside one of the complex’s buildings. Unease slithered through him. Trotter
had been in charge of the Port Chase facility for the past six months. What the
hell had he been doing in all that time? And why hadn’t Romy’s father caught
wind of the wrongness of this place before now?
Romy parked the craft and strode toward the nearest
building. He’d been planning to arrive for an inspection of the property, but
now he thought the better of it. His mind raced to come up with something he
could use to slip in undetected as a Talson. Spreading his
psychei
, he
picked up several thoughts and concocted a hasty plan that might work.
Most people knew Roarke, Val, Z and Rhenec—their father.
Talson Shipping’s heavy hitters. But very few knew or had ever seen Romy, and
he liked it that way. He’d spent much of his growing years in academia, and
lately, trying to get a handle on his emerging abilities. Normally his brothers
and father handled the family business.
“Hold it, friend,” a growling Otra declared the minute Romy
stepped into the large warehouse. “Who sent you?” He latched onto Romy’s arm
when suddenly another Otra appeared out of nowhere. The pair effectively caged
him between their brawn. The names Min and Daket Yal ’Or Ryi settled over them.
“Never mind. The boss will talk to you himself. And you’ll tell him everything
he wants to know.”
The two men chuckled, their eyes flat, their hands hard, as
if used to manual labor. They looked enough alike to be kin, both dark eyed and
dark haired, with narrow faces and thin, bloodless lips. A cunning intelligence
mirrored the hardness in their gazes. Yet their thoughts were loud and
surprisingly unguarded as they talked to one another.
Think he’s a spy? Trotter said the Talsons were starting
to grow suspicious about the arms shipments.
I don’t know. Either that or he’s Fromer’s favor paid in full.
You know Trotter’s been wanting a pyrotech to protect us from the Threader
gangs across town. They aren’t very happy about Trotter’s recent success in the
Majesty trade.