Authors: Lynn Hightower
Alien Blues
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PRAISE FOR THE WRITING OF LYNN HIGHTOWER
“Lynn Hightower is a major talent.” âJonathan Kellerman,
New York Times
âbestselling author
“Hightower is a writer of tremendous quality.” â
Library Journal
PRAISE FOR THE ELAKI NOVELS
“The crimes are out of
The Silence of the Lambs
, the cops out of
Lethal Weapon
, and the grimy future out of
Blade Runner
⦠Vivid and convincing.” â
Lexington Herald-Leader
“One of the best new series in the genre!” â
Science Fiction Chronicle
Alien Blues
“Hightower takes the setup and delivers a grittily realistic and down-and-dirty serial killer novel.⦠Impressive ⦠A very promising first novel.” â
Locus
“Brilliantly entertaining. I recommend it highly. A crackerjack novel of police detection and an evocative glimpse of a possible future.” âNancy Pickard, bestselling author of
I.O.U.
“[The] cast of characters is interesting and diverse, the setting credible, and the pacing rapid-fire and gripping.” â
Science Fiction Chronicle
“An exciting, science-fictional police procedural with truly alien aliens ⦠An absorbing, well-written book.” â
Aboriginal Science Fiction
“Truly special ⦠Original characters, plot twists galore, in a book that can be enjoyed for its mystery aspects as well as its SF ⦠A real treat.” âArlene Garcia
“Hightower shows both humans and Elaki as individuals with foibles and problems.
Alien Blues
provides plenty of fast-paced action.⦠An effective police drama.” â
SF Commentary
“Hightower tells her story with the cool efficiency of a Mafia hit man.⦠With its lean, matter-of-fact style, cliff-hanger chapter endings and plentiful (and often comic) dialogue,
Alien Blues
moves forward at warp speed!” â
Lexington Herald-Leader
“A great story ⦠Fast and violent ⦠Difficult to put down!” â
Kliatt
“An intriguing world!” âAnalog Science Fiction and Fact
Alien Eyes
“
Alien Eyes
is a page-turner.⦠Fun, fast-moving ⦠A police procedural in a day-after-tomorrow world.” â
Lexington Herald-Leader
“Hightower takes elements of cyberpunk and novels about a benevolent alien invasion and combines them with a gritty realism of a police procedural to make stories that are completely her own.⦠A believable future with a believable alien culture ⦠Interesting settings, intriguing ideas, fascinating characters [and] a high level of suspense!” â
Turret
“Complex ⦠Snappy ⦠Original.” â
Asimov's Science Fiction
“The sequel to the excellent
Alien Blues
[is] a very fine SF novel.⦠I'm looking forward to the next installment!” â
Science Fiction Chronicle
PRAISE FOR THE SONORA BLAIR MYSTERIES
Flashpoint
“Diabolically intriguing from start to finish.” â
Publishers Weekly
“Miraculously fresh and harrowing.” â
Kirkus Reviews
“Rings with gritty authenticity. You won't be able to put it down and you won't want to sleep again. Riveting.” âLisa Scottoline,
New York Times
âbestselling author
Eyeshot
“Hightower has invented a heroine who is both flawed and likeable, and she knows how to keep the psychological pressure turned up high.” â
The
Sunday Telegraph
“What gives [
Eyeshot
] depth and resonance is the way Hightower counterpoints the murder plot with the details of Sonora's daily life in homicide.” â
Publishers Weekly
No Good Deed
“Powerful, crisply paced.”
â
Publishers Weekly
“Refreshingly different ⦠A cracking tale told at a stunning pace.” âFrances Fyfield
The Debt Collector
“Hightower builds the suspense to an almost unbearable pitch.” â
Publishers Weekly
“Well-written and satisfyingly plotted. Best of all is Sonora herselfâa feisty babe who packs a red lipstick along with her gun.” â
The Times
(London)
Alien Blues
Lynn Hightower
For Scott, who helps run interference when I'm working, because he swears I am dangerous when disturbed. And who doesn't mind (or do you?) dropping everything to discuss the latest idea.
And for Alan, Laurel, and Rachel, who played Authors & Editors when they were little, instead of Cowboys & Indians, and who are all wonderful storytellers (sometimes when they shouldn't be).
And for Matt, who is terrific to work with and a good pal, and who has the endearing habit of calling and asking after my characters as if they were family. Which they are.
PROLOGUE
Out of the chill and the shadow
Into the thrill and the shrine
Out of the dearth and the famine
Into the fulness divine
âM
ARGARET
E. S
ANGSTER
,
Going Home
The old woman felt a hand on her shoulder, and the faint tickle of a kiss on her cheek. She opened her eyes reluctantly; it still felt like the middle of the night. She clipped her hearing aids on and eased her legs over the side of the bed.
It was dark out. Storm coming? Nothing better than hot coffee on a rainy day. She took a deep breath, but didn't smell coffee. She was puzzled. Earl never woke her till the coffee was hot.
She looked at the clock. Three forty-two. No storm coming, it
was
the middle of the night. And Earl had been dead three years. Her eyes moistened with tears.
A loud squeak came from the kitchen, followed by a groan. The old woman trembled. There was no mistaking that noisy kitchen window. Someone was breaking in.
She stood up. Her legs were shaky and stiffâthey never worked good in the morning. She glanced at the phone, but decided that calling for help would take too long. She needed to get upstairs, between the intruder and the children.
She took a step, then hesitated. There was no need for the stairsâthe children were grown and gone. Wake up, she told herself. Wake up.
She heard the kitchen faucet smack into the wall and the clunk of dishes on the counter. She considered hiding in the closet, curling up small and tight. She'd read that possums didn't really play dead when they were scared; they passed out. She had laughed when she'd read it, but she believed it now.
She didn't have much to steal. Who would break in and bother an old woman?
All kinds of people, she guessed. The world being what it was.
The old woman folded her arms across the sag of her tired breasts. She had nothing on but cotton underpants and a blue nylon gown that didn't quite reach her knees. The news disk was full of Machete Man bulletins, but Saigo was a large city. Why would that killer pick her out of all these people?
Because you're old, said a nasty inner voice. Because you're helpless. He likes them helpless.
When she'd had children to protect, she hadn't been helpless. Once a neighbor's dog had gone crazy during a storm, and run into the yard after her daughter. She had streaked from the house like lightning, beating the dog with a broom, screaming for her little girl to get inside. She still had the scars on her hip and calves where the dog had bitten her open.
She heard footsteps in the kitchen, and then in the hall. Get out, she thought. Get out, get out. She stumbled and fell into the dresser, wincing at the crash and tinkle of her lipstick tubes, perfume bottles, and picture frames. A sweet puff of spilled powder smoked the air. The light in the kitchen went out.
The old woman held her breath and listened. The footsteps had stopped. Whoever it was had stopped to listen, too.
She took a breath and waited for her eyes to adjust to total darkness. She let go of the dresser and walked forward, hands outstretched. She felt for the doorjamb and crept into the hallway.
Someone stood just outside the kitchen. The darkness was denser there. And she smelled himâa rank animal odor of urine and sweat. She heard a small intake of breath, and a footstep, and felt the surge of another human being heading her way.
Her legs were working now, and she ran forward, veering left into the living room. The front door was locked up tightâthree dead bolts all solidly in place, two of them requiring keys.
No, not keys. Her grandson had put the voice activator in a week ago. Bless Dennis, dear Dennis, the Good Lord bless his heart.
“Open locks!” Her voice was shrill. She heard the creak of the old wood floor as the man tried to find her in the dark.
Her hands were slippery on the doorknob, but it turnedâthank you, Godâand swung wide when she yanked it. Warm humid air rushed through the screen door, and the porch light sent a shaft of brightness into the room. Had she latched the screen? Oh, damn, oh, God, her fingers were shaking badly. The latch bit into the ball of her finger, and she slid the metal clamp aside. She jammed the handle and opened the door.
He was in the living room now, right behind her. Impossible to resist turning to look.
He was startled by her gaze. His eyes were sleepy-looking and red around the edges. She gasped and stumbled out the doorâthree concrete steps, and then she was in the yard. The grass sagged with dew, wet and cold on her bare feet, and chill bumps emerged on her arms, legs, and back. She ran across the lawn, the thin blue nightgown billowing out behind her.
ONE
David wondered how long Rose would be gone this time. He ran a finger inside his shirt collar, and wondered what he'd feed the kids for supper. It was too hot to cook.