Guarding Grayson (6 page)

She looked at him expectantly.

Gray shook his head. He opened his mouth and closed it again. He looked at his coffee cup and wondered if someone had laced it with peyote too.

“Did you just say … in the future?” he asked, squinting at her.

“Yes. I am from your future.”

One detail spring from the mind-boggling morass of intel she’d just spouted. “You’re telling me someone from the future, from another planet, cares that I paint portraits of celebrity criminals?” Yup, definitely peyote in the food and drink.

It was her turn to stare at him. “No, Gray-son. Not at all. Although the paintings you speak of earn you enough credit to procure a comfortable lifestyle here, they are important only in your time. The paintings that brought me here are like this one.”

She waved her hand, and Gray started violently, coffee sloshing over his hand. He sucked in a breath and set his cup hastily on the counter. In the kitchen doorway floated the half-finished painting of his futuristic dream.

“It is a very good likeness of him,” she said.

“Of … whom?” Gray managed around the lump in his throat. “You know this guy?” And he
was
real? Or would be?

“His name is Logan Stark,” she said. “Unfortunately born in poverty, as his father is little more than a sperm donor, and his mother longs for her absent husband instead of making a good home for her son. But eventually, Logan Stark rises to become one of the wealthiest men in the galaxy, and creates a fine life for himself, his two younger brothers and the thousands he employs.'

'That is … if the Taurian-hired assassin does not succeed in preventing you from procreating. In that case, the Stark family will die with you, and instead of Frontiera being peacefully explored and settled by the Alliance, it will remain a haven for space pirates and eventually become another war base for the Taurians.”

She fixed a stern look on Gray. “Which will be a tragedy for millions upon millions of beings.”

Gray drank coffee and absorbed all she’d said. So, he had to stay alive to found a veritable dynasty of Starks? That was pretty hard to believe.

He had good parents, great parents, but seemed as if they should’ve had more kids, provided a little broader base for procreation, if the fate of the galaxy rested on the Stark line.

“I have cousins,” he pointed out. “My mom’s side. They live somewhere in Canada—Saskatchewan, I think. Can’t they take care of this? Pretty sure at least two of them have kids by now.”

“No, Gray-son. Logan Stark, if he is to exist, will be your descendant.”

“That means …” He looked at her, slim, lovely and focused on him, just the way Brynne always had, but with a difference. Now, the melting brown eyes meeting his gaze were friendly but dispassionate, in the way of a paid advisor, not a clinging girlfriend. “Uh—that means I get married.” Something he had no intention of doing. He wasn’t against the institution, it simply held no appeal for him.

“Not necessarily,” Brynne-E’ea pointed out. “Many humans procreate without an official bonding ceremony.”

Gray winced. When she put it like that, it sounded like his kid would be merely the unintended result of a casual hookup—likely a broken condom, because he
always
suited up. His mind flashed over some of the women he’d enjoyed sex with, and then tried to imagine any of them with a baby—his baby in their arms.

The picture didn’t come … although he did find himself wondering what Brynne would look like, round with pregnancy. Well, she’d
look
beautiful. But that didn’t mean she’d be a good mother. And he was sure he’d be a lousy father. Unless he made some changes in his life … which he didn’t want to.

“Well, let’s say you’re right—and it sounds pretty far-fetched to me—I have no plans to procreate,” he said. “I like my life just the way it is.”

He stopped short, suddenly aware of exactly how stupid that sounded, when he was hiding out from faceless criminals, and his dead girlfriend and/or an alien composed of light was here with plans to guard him from a supposed ‘inter-galactic’ assassin.

“Okay, I liked my life the way it
was
—before all this happened.”

Brynne-E’ea cocked her head, her brown eyes searching. “Even with Brynne gone?”

Gray winced. He opened his mouth, then closed it, not sure how to put into words the mix of grief, guilt, anger and remorse he’d lived with since Brynne died.

Grief at her death, guilt that the last words she heard from him were ugly, anger at her for not listening to him, and remorse that he hadn’t tried harder to show her she didn’t need to twist herself into knots to try and please him … and then another layer of guilt that he just wasn’t sure it was in him to make that extra effort. He was a selfish bastard who lived the way he lived, and other people could take him the way he was, or move on.

“Brynne’s a beautiful woman,” he said. “But she needs to learn to put herself first, and not try so hard to please m—I mean, whatever man she ends up with.” Which wasn’t gonna be him.

So he’d been lonely after she was gone, and maybe started to turn to her and share a private joke or comment at times, and maybe reached for her in the night. Didn’t mean he wanted to put up with her brand of crazy.

Enough of this. He drained his coffee and set his cup in the sink. “Let’s find you something to wear, and we’ll go get groceries.” He had a pair of Lycra running shorts that might stay on her.

“It won’t be necessary for you to procure clothing for me. Your neighbor, Topper, left a bag of female clothing and sundries on the back step. I will utilize them.”

Great. His neighbor couldn’t call the sheriff for him, but she could make up a care package for his visitor.

This town was so weird.

CHAPTER SEVEN

Gray leaned his forearms on the grocery cart and sighed again—he seemed to be doing a lot of that today—and the day was only half over.

It had been a long morning on the road to and around the famed town of Roswell. Had Gray thought ahead, he would’ve realized his passenger was going to react to the local obsession with aliens. Hell, they drove into town on the ‘Extraterrestrial Highway’, also known as State Route 375.

The first thing they saw as they hit the city limits was a huge, lime-green statue of an alien with a big head and slanted eyes. Brynne-E’ea nearly fell out of the car window, levitating off her seat to view it.

He'd grabbed her by the waistband of her shorts and hauled her back in, reminding her other humans could see her.

She merely started in with her weird snorting laugh. Which he had to admit, made him chuckle every time he thought of it. Hard not to, when a gorgeous blonde was making noises like a horse in the throes of hilarity.

“This is what you humans believe other races look like?” she asked him. “Nowhere in our galaxy have I ever seen a being who resembled that statue.”

“No surprise there,” Gray said. Then he couldn’t resist pointing to three silvery aliens painted on a large billboard with their flying saucer. “How about those fellas? Seen them anywhere out there?”

That set her off again, and they were both grinning as they pulled into the parking lot of ‘Jerry’s Arterama’.

“Okay, you can come in with me,” Gray told her as he stopped the car. “But no more levitating, got it? And no weird remarks about human habits—in this town, someone’s liable to decide you’re—well, exactly what you are, and follow us back to Magic, or something.”

“This would not be good,” she agreed. “I will behave entirely human.”

Gray nodded, and motioned her to enter the store before him. He headed for the oil painting section, and was pleased to see they carried a good selection of paints and supplies. Not his usual brand of oils, but he’d make do until he could order a new supply for his studio in Coeur d’Alene. Remembering the ruined supplies just pissed him off, so he took a breath and focused. He did need some canvases now, and some more turpentine and linseed. And these brushes were decent.

His companion did behave like a human, as promised.

Unfortunately, the other humans in the store at the moment were two teenage girls, giggling over a book on drawing nudes. When Gray looked around, Brynne-E’ea stood a few feet away from him, mimicking their hunched shoulders, head tossing and breathless giggles. Her eyes were glowing a little with what looked like glee.

Gray rolled his eyes and grabbed her elbow, herding her toward the checkout stand in the front of the store. “Not those humans,” he said under his breath. “Adult humans.”

“But do you not find the habits of nubile young females fascinating?” she asked.

“When I was that age, yeah,” he said dryly. “Now I mostly find them annoying.”

She nodded wisely. “Ah, I see. You prefer mature women.”

“Just hush,” he muttered, as they neared the waiting checkout clerk. “We’ll discuss later.”

Now, they were grocery shopping, which meant he was there on a mission to procure some fresh fruits and veggies, lunch stuff from the deli, chips and more beer. But at the moment, he was seriously considering making a run for the nearest liquor store for something stronger.

His houseguest, looking like so much eye-candy in a pair of turquoise short shorts, a matching bra and a thin, turquoise-and-cream top that hung off her slender shoulders and fluttered around her hips, with little strappy canvas flats on her feet, stood before the display of salad dressings and mayo—she really seemed to have a thing for mayo—her gaze rapt on a jar of a major brand.

"I am puzzled," she told him. "The video for this product promises a happier home with smiling children and a content husband and wife, just for using this. But as I peruse the ingredients, I see it is nearly identical to the brand in your refrigerator."

Gray snorted. "Yeah, that's because the video was an advertisement, not the truth. They're just trying to sell you a product."

E'ea frowned. "How sad. Brynne believes these advertisements, Gray-son. She has convinced herself that proper usage of the correct products will result in happiness for herself and for those around her."

Damn. Out of the mouths of aliens.

"Well, now she has a second chance to out-grow that crap," he muttered. "Come on, let's go."

On the way back to Magic, Gray drove glancing back and forth between the road—luckily laid out in long, straight shots through the open valley—Brynne’s long bare legs beside him in the rental car, and the occasional look at the passing landscape.

The scenery was beautiful in the way of high desert, with brush and trees along the riverbanks, grasses and cactus up the flanks of the hills, and the columns of red rock rising up out of the rubble of wind and rain erosion.

Above them the sky was pale, burnished blue, but dark to the south-west, where a thunderstorm was building, clouds massing, their tops towering white, the undersides gray with moisture.

Brynne, or rather E’ea, was thumbing through the car’s user manual at an amazing rate of speed, her eyes flicking back and forth from page to page.

“Why’re you reading that?” he asked. “Since you apparently don’t need vehicles to travel. And by the way—how did you get Brynne all this way from north Idaho to the border of Mexico? You told me how you woke her up, but not how you traveled.”

She looked at him. “We accessed one of your aircraft. The same one that brought you here, in fact.”

He gave her a look askance. “The FBI gave you a ride, just like that.”

She blinked, and then smiled, revealing Brynne’s pearly white teeth, and the little creases that formed at the corners of her full lips when she smiled. “Hmm. Those agents of your Federal Bureau of Investigation were being … assisted … by colleagues of mine, who are now gone, on to other missions.”

Gray shook his head. “I knew there was something freaky about their eyes. They were sparkly, or something.”

She merely hummed again. “As for why I am uploading the information in this manual, I am always fascinated by the primitive transportation methods of other planets. We traveled a long distance just to attain tools for your artwork, and yet we do so in a vehicle that can attain only speeds of one hundred and twenty of your miles per hour. I find that strange.”

“Normal speed for humans. Cars are cheaper than aircraft.”

“I am also intrigued,” she went on in the same cheerily informational tone, “by the way you continually examine Brynne’s lower extremities. And yet I understand this is quite normal for the virile male of your species.”

Gray’s cheeks heated, but he gave Brynne’s legs another pointed look. “Yeah, it’s normal, when a pretty woman is dressed like you are. Half the guys in the supermarket were looking at you—her instead of the produce.”

She said nothing, and he glanced over to find her studying him with interest.

“What?”

She blinked. “I believe ‘nothing’ is the correct response here.”

“Right.” She was learning a little too fast.

They reached Magic without incident, other than a fool in a scarlet Porsche who passed them on a rise and nearly took out a minivan coming the other way. As they neared the café, Gray’s stomach reminded him it was lunchtime. He had a trunk loaded with groceries, but he wasn’t in the mood to cook. And the cold foods were in a cooler he’d bought his first shopping trip in Roswell, so they’d keep.

He pulled in to the last parking spot on the street in front of the Magic café. “We’ll stop for a burger here.”

His passenger perked up. “Cheese-burgerzz?”

Gray grinned. “Yeah. Cheese-burgers.”

The café was nearly full, with many interested gazes moving their way. The redheaded waitress pouted when she saw Brynne with Gray. Gray nodded at the sheriff, a tall broad man with the watchful gaze of a lawman, and received a nod in return.

As they neared a table for four with only a couple seated there, the woman gave them a friendly smile. “Hi, you must be Gray and Brynne. I’m Lacey, and this is my husband, Frost.”

When Gray merely nodded, the pretty brunette laughed. “Oh, sorry, I do that all the time—forget to tell folks how I know them. My aunt Topper is your next-door neighbor.”

“Right,” Gray said. “Nice to meet you.”

“Nice to meet you,” Brynne echoed. She stared at the tall man with short, dark blond hair and icy blue eyes. “You are—" she began.

Lacey’s eyes widened, and she waved a hand. Brynne-E’ea’s mouth closed abruptly. She looked startled. Gray studied the normal-looking Lacey, wondering if he and Brynne should stay. Was the brunette hosting an alien flash-light too?

“Won’t you join us?” Lacey asked, her friendly smile back. “Looks like the last empty table just disappeared.”

An older waitress appeared as soon as they sat. She plunked glasses of ice water before them and set a hand on her hip expectantly.

“What’ll it be, folks? Frost and Lacey here have already ordered.”

“Cheese-burgerzz,” Brynne-E’ea said. “With fried potato morsels. And shaken ice cream, large size.”

“Oh, you mean a milk-shake, hon?” the waitress said, looking completely unsurprised by E’ea’s strange speech. “Chocolate or vanilla?”

“Chock-oh-laht.” Brynne’s brown eyes widened with avarice. A hint of gold gleamed under her lashes, and Gray nudged her under the table with his leg.

She blinked, and the gold disappeared. Across the table, Lacey looked like she was trying not to laugh, while her tall husband merely continued to watch Brynne and Gray as is assessing potential threats. Dude must be ex-military, maybe even spec ops. Gray had an uncle who watched everyone that way, even into his eighties.

“I’ll have a cheeseburger, salad and an iced tea,” Gray said.

“Got it. I’ll put a rush on this, so it’ll be up with the others.”

The waitress hustled away, leaving the four of them.

“So you’re an artist, Grayson,” Lacey said, her eyes twinkling. “’bout all I could ever do was paint-by-number, so I admire people with talent like yours. Do you paint scenery or animals? I have the cutest painting of my Golden Retriever, done by one of our animal shelter volunteers.”

Gray managed not to curl his lip—barely. “No, I paint people.” Including those weren’t alive yet, apparently.

“Oh, I see.” Lacey’s smile widened. “People are pretty fascinating. Maybe you could do a portrait of my husband for me.” She gave her tall, expressionless husband a melting look.

The man shook his head at her, his mouth finally curving up in a smile. “I do not believe Grayson Stark is interested in painting anyone here in Magic,” he told her, in a deep, cool voice. “None of us are famous on Earth for criminal tendencies.”

Lacey giggled. “I know. I’m sorry, Gray, I was just teasing you. I know your work. You are amazingly talented, although I do find your subject matter a teensy bit depressing. I wouldn’t want a drug lord like that Fenretti scowling at me from my living room wall.”

“That is because you are not a billionaire socialite who wishes to impress all her equally jaded friends,” Frost said, his gaze meeting Gray’s. “Or the buyer for a modern art museum. These are Mr. Stark’s customers.”

Gray gave him back an equally cool look. “Good enough description. Although I did sell one portrait to the subject—a hedge fund manager who bilked millions from his clients, but skated on a legal technicality.”

All because the slime ball had better lawyers than the government of the state where he’d operated. He didn’t give a hoot that Gray had portrayed him for what he was—a conscienceless sociopath. Rumor had it the portrait hung in one of his many homes, right where he could show it off to guests.

“One could say you do a kind of public service,” Lacey said. “Portraying criminals for who they are instead of the glamorous façade they like to project. But any time you decide to paint a pretty animal, let me know.”

Gray grinned at her. “You’ll be first on my list. So you work at the animal shelter?”

“Yes, I don’t suppose you need a dog or a cat? My golden just had puppies, and we're looking for good homes.”

“Sorry, no. Had a dog growing up, and intend to have another one of these days. Just not to that place in my life yet.”

“That’s so sad,” she said, her gaze going sympathetic. “Animals make our lives so much richer.” She twinkled at Brynne. “How about you, Brynne? D’you like animals?”

Gray winced, wondering what E’ea would come up with.

“I find animals fascinating,” she said. “I particularly enjoy the antics of the young. I would very much like to encounter a polar bear.”

Frost frowned. “I don’t recommend it. They are quite ferocious.”

E’ea nodded. “Ah, I see. Then I will refrain.”

“Not too many of those in the southwest anyway,” Gray told her. “A-and here comes our lunch.”

“Saved by cheeseburgers,” Lacey murmured. When Gray looked at her suspiciously, she gave him a subtle wink. Well, she was Topper’s niece, so who knew?