Kara
Lance insisted on driving me home. Just as well, because my hands still shook so much, I didn’t know if I could have even inserted the key in the ignition, let alone maneuvered the van back onto the road and down to town. He’d given his own keys to Michael so he could drive the Jeep. The tourists, shaken and quiet, had piled into the back of the van with such alacrity that I almost smiled, despite everything that had happened. Obviously, they were more than ready to get the hell out of Boynton Canyon.
At least no one even mentioned a refund. I’d had the thought in the back of my mind — in the part of my brain that didn’t feel like scrambled eggs, that is — that one of them might ask for their money back, since the tour had barely lasted ten minutes. However, everyone seemed to be sufficiently freaked out that they only hurried to their cars once the van pulled into the UFO Depot’s parking lot. Probably most of them were headed out to get a good stiff drink.
God knows I needed one.
I wished I could have asked Michael exactly what the hell he had done to drive off the UFO, but that would have to wait for later. At the moment, my biggest problem was making sure Lance dropped me off quickly and didn’t try to loiter around the house, making sure I was all right. I had the feeling I’d completely melt down if I had to attempt explaining Grayson to Lance right now.
He was grimly quiet as he piloted the van down 89A and headed into the quiet residential neighborhood north of the highway where my house was located. We pulled into the driveway, and he shut off the headlights before killing the engine and pulling the key from the ignition.
“Thanks, Lance,” I said. I’d managed to sound almost normal, though I wasn’t quite sure how. “You can take the van. If you drop it off at the shop tomorrow morning, I’ll drive you home — ”
“What the hell are you talking about? You think I’m just going to drop you here after what happened?”
“Well, yeah. Everything’s okay now, so — ”
“Everything is not okay. You think they won’t come back? You think I didn’t see how they were headed straight for you?”
“That was probably just a coincidence,” I said, although my voice shook a little and I knew I wouldn’t have sounded convincing to anyone, let alone Lance.
“Coincidence? Nothing with these bastards is a coincidence, and you know that!”
I knotted my hands in my lap and forced myself not to raise my voice as I replied, “Okay, fine, but you know as well as I do that you can’t stop them if they really want to come after you.”
“Michael did,” Lance said, his tone flat.
“Yes, all right. But I sure don’t know what trick he used, and I’m guessing you don’t, either. So I really don’t see the point in you staying here and being my babysitter.”
“Let’s go.” Lance opened the door and got out, so I had no choice but to do the same and then wait as he locked the door and came around the back of the van to meet me. “I’m not going to argue with you, Kara.”
“What, are you going to pick me up and throw me over your shoulder so you can carry me into the house or something?”
“If I have to.”
And he had the balls to do precisely that, if I continued to cross him. Scowling, I stalked past him and up the front walk, mentally rehearsing a litany of plausible lies about Grayson. He’s my cousin from San Francisco…he’s my college roommate’s brother…he’s a member of the Phoenix MUFON group and needed crash space….
Anything except, Oh, he’s this stranger who almost dropped dead in my living room after wandering around in the desert for God knows how long. And by the way, his memory is shot, but I have a sneaking suspicion he’s connected somehow to a secret government test program.
“The light in your garage is on.”
Startled, I looked past Lance to see a thin outline of yellow light marking the edges of the garage door. It had to be Grayson, but I didn’t want to admit that to Lance. No sign of Gort, either, which meant the dog was out in the garage as well. Thank God I usually put Gort outside when I had male company, so Lance probably wasn’t in the habit of looking for the dog. “I must’ve left the light on when I was out there doing laundry.”
He apparently found the explanation plausible, because he shrugged and followed me up the walk to the front door. I turned the key in the lock, praying that Grayson wouldn’t be sprawled out on the living room couch, watching some embarrassing chick flick on the DVR, or wandering around in his underwear.
Silence greeted us, and I sucked in a little breath as I went inside, Lance a pace or two behind. The lights were on, and the air conditioning hummed away in the background, but other than that, there were no obvious signs of anyone being anywhere around. So Grayson must be out in the garage. I could only hope whatever was occupying him would keep him out there until I could get rid of Lance.
“See?” I said, after I dropped my purse on the dining room table. “All’s quiet. Just go home and get some rest.”
He ignored me and went into the kitchen. Thank God Grayson was such a neatnik. I’d left takeout for him to heat up for dinner in my absence, but the counters were spotless, the dishes hidden inside the dishwasher.
“I’ve got some leftover Indian food in the fridge if you’re hungry,” I suggested.
“I’m not hungry.” In the fluorescent light, his eyes looked almost like molten silver, and far too sharp. “You always leave the air on like this when you go out?”
“I was in a hurry. Normally, I turn up the thermostat before I leave. What, are you the conservation police now?”
“No. Something doesn’t feel right.”
“Of course it doesn’t feel right,” I snapped. “We almost got strafed by a UFO tonight. So if you want to go look under my bed for little gray men, feel free, but I doubt they’re hiding in the fridge.”
For a minute, he didn’t say anything, but only surveyed the kitchen with that gray laser-beam stare. “Kara, what aren’t you telling me?”
Over the years, I’d wondered exactly how psychic Lance really was. He always denied it. However, I didn’t see how someone could be in the army’s remote-viewing project and not have at least some latent abilities. I had to hope to hell he wasn’t reading my mind now, but instead interpreting some wordless tell that had betrayed me without my knowing it.
“I’m not not telling you anything, Lance. Well, okay, besides the fact that I’m tired and want a long soak in the bathtub. I’ll just have to hope the aliens don’t want to jump in and play with my rubber duck.”
His gaze flickered at the mention of the bath, although he didn’t say anything at first. Finally, he stalked out of the kitchen and through the living room, then down the hall. I found myself holding my breath as he peered into Kiki’s old room. All it would take was one sock left in the middle of the floor, one abandoned flip-flop, and I’d find myself having to invent explanations I really didn’t want to make.
But here again there was no visible sign of Grayson’s presence, and after doing a quick survey of the office, the bathroom, and my room, Lance seemed almost satisfied.
“Not going to look under the bed?” I inquired after he’d completed his sweep and headed back into the living room.
“It looks clear.”
“It is clear.”
Still, he stood there, looking oddly irresolute for Lance. I tried not to recall how it had felt to have the weight of his body against mine, the heat of his breath on my neck as he shielded me from the aliens. It was the closest physically we’d ever been. He’d only done it to protect me, though. Maybe in the movies such contact would lead to other things, but I knew better than to hope for such an outcome here.
Hoping to mollify him, I said, “If I notice anything strange, I’ll call. I promise.”
“I might not get here fast enough.”
I asked, “Isn’t that a risk I’ve taken ever since I got mixed up with you guys?”
It was only the simple truth, but before that moment, I’d never had the guts to say such a thing out loud. For the first year I’d run the shop, I’d thought of it as a harmless enough endeavor, the legacy of a beloved grandfather who had a fascination with UFOs. I hadn’t believed in any of it until Michael Lightfoot approached me one night, spoke to me gravely about the the real situation in the depths of Secret Canyon…took me to see the orbs, and then the mysterious lights in the sky. From then on, I’d been a believer, had used the shop as the nexus of the underground UFO activity that swirled around Sedona and through the greater desert Southwest.
Lance’s mouth tightened. “Maybe it is. But it sure seems a hell of a lot worse now.”
“Then we’re all facing it. And unless you’re suggesting that we all bunk down together someplace, present a united front, I’m guessing the best thing to do is just keep calm and carry on.”
A hesitation, and then he replied, “Keep calm, fine. But no more UFO tours until we get this figured out. It’s too dangerous.”
I couldn’t even argue with that. Only an idiot would go back out there after what had happened earlier that night. Yes, it would hit me 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 I thought I 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 I never thought I’d be so glad to be getting rid of Lance. Most of the time, I’d daydreamed about what it would be like to be alone with him, just the two of us in my house, but now all I 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,” I said. For some reason, I didn’t think that call would be necessary. Wishful thinking, maybe, but whatever the aliens had been after, I didn’t think they’d found it. That white light could have burned me to a crisp on the spot…or laid all my thoughts bare. I’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 I was. They knew where to find me. If they were going to come, there wasn’t a whole hell of a lot I could do to stop them.
In the meantime, I was going to live my life.
Another one of those hesitations. Lance was being awfully irresolute for him. I had the wild thought that maybe he was going to try to kiss me. He stood just a little too close, was focused just a little too intently on my face.
That thought didn’t last long, though.
“Okay, I’m heading out,” he said. “Make sure you turn on the alarm.”
“Will do.”
And then, finally, thankfully, he was gone. I turned the deadbolt, but I didn’t engage the alarm. Not yet.
First I was going to find out exactly what Grayson was up to in the garage.
Lance
He 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 hodgepodge, 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 early ’60s 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, except 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
I waited until I was sure Lance had backed the van out of the driveway and headed out toward the highway. Then I turned the knob and went into the garage.
It was stiflingly hot, even with the two fans I 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 my 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 me but didn’t get up.
“What are you doing, Grayson?” I asked. I wouldn’t let myself 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. I took a step backward despite myself, then shook my 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 I 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, I couldn’t really argue with that, had felt guilty about letting the bike go for so long. Not that I could have ridden it even if it was up and running. But I knew that Grandpa, wherever he was, would be glad the Indian had finally been brought back to life. He’d loved the damn thing, had 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, I couldn’t begin to guess. Maybe he was some kind of mechanical savant. That didn’t seem any more implausible than any other explanation I could cook up.
“Well, maybe you can try a test drive tomorrow when it gets light,” I said, my tone deliberately casual. I 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?”
Grayson 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 me 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. I began to offer to help but realized I didn’t even know which bits went in which cubbyholes — most of that stuff had been untouched since my 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 my appearance more closely in the brighter light of the kitchen. “What happened? Are you all right?”
For the first time, I looked down at myself, saw the smudges of dirt on the knees of my jeans and up one side of the tank top I wore. My elbows smarted, and I realized I must have skinned them when I 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. I gave a shrug that I 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 I wasn’t telling him the whole truth but couldn’t figure out how to challenge me on the subject. “But it went well?”
“The tour group definitely got an eyeful.” That wasn’t even a lie, but I still couldn’t quite meet his gaze. To cover up my discomfort, I went to the cupboard and pulled out a couple of glasses. “Water?”
“Sure.”
I busied myself 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 me without comment, but those green eyes were too speculative. He obviously could see that something was wrong. I had no idea what to tell him, and he seemed reluctant to ask too many questions. Just as well; I had no idea what I would even say.
After an uncomfortable silence that lasted about ten seconds too long, I 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, I 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, I’d have to do something about the Grayson situation, but after all, he’d only been here two days. I 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 I was exhausted and wrung-out and more stressed than I wanted to admit was definitely not a good idea. I didn’t know if the world would look all that much better when I woke up the next morning, but at least I’d be a bit more rested.
So I allowed myself to utter the only words I trusted myself to say.
“Good night, Grayson.”