Black and Blue

So was her home. There were four bedrooms and an office. She preferred bold colors, antique furniture, and modern finishes. She had hung pictures of her father, her sister, Claire, and her adopted sister, Eden, all over the walls. Blue had always considered Eden one of the most gorgeous women in the world, but just then he would have said Evie was the sexier of the two. By far. Something about the fragility of her bone structure, the humor lighting those mysterious, dark eyes. The mischievous curve of her smile.

A mischievous curve never more apparent than in the photos of Evie and Claire. . . . The girl died three years ago, yes? Yeah, he thought. Three years. Shortly after, Evie left the agency to work at the hospital.

He’d always wondered why.

Michael kept details about Claire’s death hush-hush, so Blue had no idea what had happened. And he didn’t like that he didn’t know, he realized.

Frowning, he turned away from the pictures and entered the game room. There was a pool table and a poker table, a dock for a large-screen television, and a huge sectional couch. The smoked-glass door in back led to a massive greenhouse.

Lucky girl.

From what Blue understood, the earth was nearly destroyed during the human-alien war. Plant life was compromised, animals were almost wiped out, and huge bodies of water either dried up or turned to sludge. Now all three were expensive commodities.

Had Michael paid for the greenhouse, spoiling his precious princess just a little more, or had Evie? As one of the most skilled surgeons in New Chicago, she had to make bank. Not that he’d kept track of her career or anything. He’d just saved a few articles. In case Michael wanted to read them. No big deal.

“Agent Dallas Gutierrez requesting an interview,” a computerized voice said over an in-house intercom system.

Blue exited the game room and headed toward the bedroom. Evie, in the process of anchoring the length of her gorgeous hair in a high ponytail, met him in the hallway. She’d pulled on a long-sleeved tee and a pair of figure-hugging jeans.

Hello, erection.

He looked down at the Python. Keep it up, I dare you, and I’ll hack you off. I won’t even hold a funeral. Because no one would . . . come.

One day, I’ve got to mature. “What’s going on?”

“The agent is at the door,” Evie said, pink color flooding her cheeks.

Had she checked out his package? Wished for a special delivery?

Idiot.

“Any idea who he is or what he wants?” she asked.

Was her tone breathless? “Who he is? Yes. What he wants? No.”

“Come on, then.” She led him back to the game room and flipped on the TV. “Record and reveal from the living room cameras.”

“What—”

“Not you,” she muttered, as if he were a few brain cells short.

No. Her tone was not breathless.

A large holoscreen appeared above the dock, the air crystallizing to reveal a picture of the living room he’d just searched. “By the way, I’m ready to give my report,” he said. “Cool.”

She rolled her eyes. “One word to describe my home’s utter magnificence? You’re usually more eloquent. But I shouldn’t be surprised, I suppose. Sentences hard for caveman,” she said, banging her chest like a gorilla. “Just . . . stay here. Watch and listen. And who knows? Maybe you’ll learn something.”

The little witch always had to have the last word, didn’t she. Well, not this time. “You might want to take a breather before you face the agent, Miss Black. The more time you spend with me, the harder your nipples get. I’m beginning to think you don’t hate me as much as you’ve always claimed.”

Five

TRYING NOT TO TREMBLE—STUPID nipples, and stupid Blue for noticing!—Evie opened the front door, revealing a tall, handsome man with dark hair, dark skin, and freaky eyes so pale they were almost devoid of color.

He wasn’t Arcadian, but he crackled with a muted version of Blue’s power.

“Miss Black?” the agent said.

She nodded. “The one and only.”

The corners of his mouth quirked up the slightest bit. “I’m Agent Dallas Gutierrez, and I’m with AIR.”

Alien Investigation and Removal. “Interesting, but irrelevant. I’m human and therefore not under your jurisdiction.”

“Well, that depends on certain circumstances, doesn’t it?”

She peered at him steadily, refusing to back down. “Do tell.”

Far from intimidated, he said, “I’m here to ask you a few questions.”

“About?”

“Your father.”

Heart suddenly racing, she moved back, allowing the agent inside. “Next time, don’t bury the lead.” After she’d shut and locked the door, she showed him to the living room. And it was weird, knowing Blue was upstairs, watching her every move, listening to her every word. Weird and exciting. Almost . . . arousing.

Stupid hormones. Now that they’d woken up, they were determined to gain her attention.

Let us have Blue, just once, they shouted, and we’ll go away again. Promise.

Liars!

I would rather give myself to an Agamen. The males had poisonous horns and barbs at the ends of their penises. She’d heard tales of human women dying within seconds of orgasm.

“I’d offer you a beverage, but I don’t want you staying any longer than necessary, so let’s get to it, shall we?”

“Let’s,” Dallas said as he settled on the couch.

“You mentioned my father.”

“I did. It’s funny, but as wealthy and successful as he is, not a lot is known about him.”

Okay, not a great start. Where was he going with this? The world knew Michael as an arms dealer trying to go legit.

She eased into the chair across from him. “He’s a businessman who owns half of New Chicago, as well as a few other states.” The typical spoiled-girl response. “Who cares about anything else?”

No quirking of his lips this time, just a cold, hard stare eerily similar to the one she’d received from Blue only a few minutes ago. She wasn’t sure what it meant. Well, she had some idea—nothing good.

“When did you last speak to him?” Dallas asked.

“The day before his house went boom, boom. Why?”

Tone just as cold as his stare, he said, “How about I ask the questions, all right?”

How about . . . not.

“Have you ever met Gregory Star?”

She thought for a moment, recalling Blue’s first night here, when he’d mentioned a bomb and a star. Could he have been referring to a person? “Yeah,” she said. “I’ve met him. Several times.” Then, just to be contrary, she added, “Why?”

He ignored her question. Of course. “Where did you meet him?”

“Social events. I don’t remember when or where. Our conversations were limited to the usual hello, how are you, how have you been. Oh, except for the time I told him to brush his teeth, because he had coffee breath.