Alien Romance: Alien Heart (Scifi Paranormal Alien Abduction Invasion Cyborg Romance) (New Adult Mystery Adventure Shifter Warrior Short Stories) (54 page)

“You look a little pissed, Mrs. Talon,” he said. She half snarled and held up her hand with her forefinger and thumb a centimeter apart.

“Want to go for some ice cream?” he asked out of nowhere. She stopped facing his truck as he stopped. She put her hands on her hips looking at him in his truck.

“Are you kidding?” she asked startled. Her anger had slowed with this new strangeness.

“Ice cream. It makes everybody feel better. Didn’t you know?” he asked with a devastatingly charming smile.

“Good idea Mrs. Talon. You should go for ice cream,” said a woman’s voice behind them. Blossom turned. A black-haired lady was standing there.

“Huh?” said Blossom.

“Really, you need to calm down and ice cream will work. I have a car that will follow you and your neighbor. I also like your other idea,” she said.

“Which one?” Blossom asked. Lisa was just looking back and forth between them in confusion.

“I am Detective Granger,” said the black-haired woman. “I have been assigned to your case. If everything I hear is right, then you putting yourself out there as bait is bound to work. I was right behind you both when you left the other house. I heard your whole plan. I tried to get your attention but you were busy arguing.” 

Now Lisa and Blossom looked at each other, then back at the detective. Blossom could see the badge on her belt.

“You think my idea is good?” she asked, surprised.

“Yep. While you are at the ice cream place I would like to go through your house and get acquainted with the exits and layout. That sort of thing. Do you mind?” Blossom shook her head and tuned back to Bret.

“I guess we are going for ice cream, Mr. Nichols. See you in a little bit Lisa. Hang tight, I will be back.”

Lisa grumbled as Blossom got in Bret’s truck. As they pulled out she heard Lisa.

“Get me a shake!” she shouted. That was the final straw and Blossom began laughing, then Bret did. Right after he leaned over and kissed her. She leaned back and sighed. Life was weird, she thought.

***

Blossom Strikes

Everything was set as the sun went down. Detective Granger had come up with a great plan. At least Blossom thought so. Well, Blossom, Bret and Mack did. Granger’s bosses were not wild about it and neither were the other MPs, but since no one had been able to catch Markus, it was allowed to proceed. Lisa had been particularly upset about it until she got to play a part. Then she was all in. So Blossom was waiting in her own house with Detective Granger drinking coffee.

“I have to say you are a brave woman Mrs. Talon,” the detective told her.

“No not really. I am just too angry to care anymore,” said Blossom.

Granger smiled. “Same thing,” she said. “So your neighbor, Bret, is it? He seems fond of you.”

Blossom was startled. Then again they could be waiting all night and they had to find something to talk about.

“Maybe,” was her reply.

“And you, are you fond of him?” she asked.

“Maybe,” Blossom smiled.

“I thought so. I am pretty good at reading people. He is a good-looking guy. He has an exemplary record. Something of a war hero. He could be a good catch,” she said. Blossom started laughing. After a second so did Granger.

“Sorry, this one-on-one thing is not my field of expertise. I am better with bad guys,” she admitted.

“Ok then, what do you think about this Markus punk?” Blossom asked her.

“My personal opinion is that he is what you have been told except something worse,” she said simply.

“Meaning?”

Meaning that yes he is probably a sociopath, but he has gone down a dark road for his age. Did you hear about his school incidents?” Blossom shook her head.

“Only that there were some. I think the officer was trying to spare me,” she told her.

“Okay. I think you are tough enough to know, and you deserve to know. Dead animals turned up in places he liked to frequent. Class gerbils. Neighbors cats and other assorted pets. None of it could be laid directly on him, it seems likely that those dead animals were dead because of him. He likes to kill, Blossom. He fits the profile, and I fear he is on the edge of becoming a serial killer.

“It is rare to catch them this young. It is the only reason I would put you in danger. This is not some angry kid out for revenge. This kid needs to be stopped now because if he is not, years down the road, he could start killing people and like now, he won’t stop.”

Blossom stared at Granger, thinking about what she had said.

“You don’t seem very scared,” said Granger.

Blossom shrugged.

“Not much scares me anymore. I mean I am not stupid. I know how dangerous Markus could be and I guess there is some fear, I just don’t let it rule me.”

They sat in silence for a while. Sipping coffee and listening to the jazz music Blossom had on low.

“So, are you sure the others are safe?” she asked the detective. That was one fear she did have. Fear for others.

“Yes of course. All of the possible targets, except you, are by now in another state. I don’t care how good he is, he cannot find them in less than a week. Nope, you are the dangling bait. By now he knows you are here and that Lisa is there. Like I said, you are the primary. You were the only one who has stopped him and you did it twice. Once on the playground and once at Kelly and her daughter’s house. You are what needs to go. In his twisted mind, once you are gone he can get the others. Why wouldn’t he think that way? The authorities have had no luck his whole life. Only you have stopped him.

“That is why the press release said it is believed that he is dead or lost in the woods somewhere. We want him to think the hunt is going on out by Canyon Road. Actually one
is
going on out there right now, for appearances. He got away though. Between tonight or tomorrow he will show, I am sure of it.”

Just then, Granger’s radio beeped. That meant Markus had been seen nearby. Blossom and Detective Granger looked at each other. They braced themselves and went to their positions.

Blossom went out into her back yard. It was hot in the house. As she stepped out she heard a voice.

“You are a dumb bitch, you know that right?” said the fifteen-year-old voice of Markus.

“Markus McCoy,” she said to the thin youth. She reached over and turned on the patio light. His shadowy figure was now definable. Tall for his age, a hard uncaring face, and torn clothes. He had a bruise over one eye; an injury from the car crash most likely. But other than that he looked ready for action. Blossom had hoped he would be tired, not ready for their plan. Instead he looked eager and vicious. She sighed. She knew how much danger she was in, but had reached a point of sadness. Yes this kid was a nut job, but he was only fifteen. His chance of a decent life was gone for good. It had been for years and nobody had noticed.

“So what will killing me prove Markus? Nothing to anyone but yourself.” Blossom had said exactly what Detective Granger had scripted. Get it out in the open, get him talking about what they were all sure he wanted to do.

“I don’t have to prove anything to anyone. Proving stuff is a waste of energy. I do what I want and give people what they deserve. This is a messed-up world, I am merely playing my part. It is fun,” he said with a child-like manner. Like another child might talk about the park, saying “it’s fun.” Blossom moved over to the right and he shifted positions to match. Markus was in the wrong position.

“What is fun about killing, kid?” she asked. She moved a little further to the side; so did he.

“It is the greatest mystery, death. I am fifteen years old and I have figured that out,” he scoffed.

“You’re wrong, boy. I know a little something about death. I have seen and felt my share. It is not a mystery. You are here and then you are gone. There is a hole that is left where you used to be. Even you will leave a hole when you die. Not for many, but I am sure there are a few who might miss you. That is death. It is not a mystery,” Blossom actually meant what she said. Markus just snorted in obvious disbelief.

“Why are you coming after me Markus? There are plenty of other targets,” she said. Changing the subject. Keep him off balance if you can, Granger had told her. She shifted further to her right, along the bushes that lined that side of her patio. She had to get into position for when he got tired of talking.

“They aren’t around. Probably in protective custody, hah! Everyone is so scared of a kid they moved my targets out of state. I may get your friend Lisa too. Just for laughs. You stayed though and so I get to kill you first, then the others, one by one,” he said softly. He had tensed as he spoke and suddenly more lights flooded the backyard. Detective Granger was standing about fifteen feet behind the boy and Mack was about ten feet to her right. Both had weapons out and pointing at Markus.

“Give it up Markus. You are completely surrounded,” Granger told him. He turned his head to look over his shoulder and laughed. It was a high pitched laugh, as though he was genuinely amused.

“You are good, detective. I did not expect this. Then again that is the fun part!” he said and leaped at Blossom as a knife fell out of his sleeve into his hand. She cried out and stepped back. At the same time out, from out of nearby bushes, a towering man stepped out in front of her. He caught the boy’s wrist that had the knife before it could strike Blossom. He gave a quick jerk and Markus dropped the knife with a short cry and then Bret lifted him up with one arm and slammed him down on the patio table. He gripped his throat and bent over him. Everyone shouted for him to stop, but he stayed bent over the kid. Blossom could see Markus’s eyes. He was amused. Not an ounce of fear. She shuddered and she thought she saw Bret shudder too as he stood up and gestured for the Detective to take the Markus away.

He backed up to stood next to Blossom. Everything worked and they were still alive!

Two weeks later everything was back to normal. Almost, Blossom amended in her thoughts. She was now officially dating Bret, and everyone knew, so they did not have to hide it like they thought they might. They still liked going over the fence in the middle of the night for fun though.

One night, she was relaxing naked in his arms, looking up at the stars.

“You rock my world Bret, you know that?” she said.

“Yep, you rock mine too, so I guess we are even then,” he replied. Blossom snuggled closer. He had saved her life so she was not sure they were even. She had no intention of arguing it though. She was far too happy.

THE END

Bonus Story 15 of 20

It’s too early for this. That’s all I can think as I stand at the tiny window of the mobile breakfast taco truck where I’ve worked for the past two years.

It’s not a bad job, really. My boss, Gabe, is really flexible when it comes to my hours. With a full schedule at college, that’s important.

And to tell the truth, I like cooking breakfast tacos. Always have. Ever since I was a little girl peeking over my mom’s kitchen counter in San Antonio, Texas, I’ve been fascinated by the foods she made.

When I close my eyes, the scent of freshly cooked chorizo and eggs fills my nostrils and reminds me of home. When we’re busy, the sounds of people laughing, talking, and ordering all at once reminds me of home too.

I grew up with three brothers and numerous cousins. Our house was always filled to the brim. Especially on Saturday mornings.

That’s what’s different about working the truck. Early Saturday morning is our slowest time.

It's seven thirty in the morning. I’ve made the chorizo, the eggs, and the beans for tacos. The tortillas are packed and ready to be heated. But there’s not a soul in sight.

When I peer out the window of our truck and look around, I see nothing but other food trucks dark and boarded up. None of the other trucks in the center open half as early as we do on Saturdays. Not even the ones that serve breakfast food.

Everyone knows that normal people go out on Friday nights. Therefore, it follows, that normal people would stay in bed on Saturday morning. No one’s going to be out looking for breakfast tacos at seven thirty.

I’ve tried to tell Gabe that. I don’t know how many times I’ve suggested opening just a couple hours later on Saturdays. The way the other food trucks do.

“We’ve got to stay consistent, Gloria,” he always tells me. “It’s what our customers like about us.”

It’s easy for him to say, I think bitterly. He doesn’t have to get up at six in the morning.

Gabe comes to work at nine am on Saturdays. Even though he doesn’t want to change our hours, he realizes that Saturdays are too slow for two people to open.

So, that leaves me here all on my own.

I stand for a few more minutes carrying the hope that someone, anyone, might pass by and have a desperate urge to indulge in a breakfast taco.

When that hope proves to be futile, I grab the chair next to the grill, pull it up and sit down. If I’m going to be bored to tears, I may as well be comfortable.

As the sun rises over the trees to the east, several food truck owners arrive to begin preparing their stations.

Some give me cheery waves as they pass. I return some friendly calls of ‘good morning’ and smile at the sympathetic grimaces thrown my way.

Most of them have been around long enough to know how Gabe works. And I know all of them think he’s as crazy as I do for opening up before nine am.

By eight o’clock, a few voices have thankfully begun to fill the air. Chefs have started barking instructions to their staff members. Sous chefs have started moving product into trucks to prep for the morning.

It’s better than silence. But, still, not quite as nice as a busy morning when there are shouts and orders, and I’m moving so fast that I don’t have time to think.

I chance one more hopeful glance towards the east end of the little side park. I suddenly see a figure began to walk towards the food truck space from the park entrance.

It’s not a truck owner or chef. All of us use the west entrance. It’s easier to get in and out of. Only a customer would come from the east.

Setting the chair aside, I stand up at my station probably more excited than I should be. I can’t help it. We never have customers this early. Not on Saturdays anyway.

The figure makes his way closer and, when I see his features, my breath catches in my chest. It's not...it can’t be….

I blink twice to be sure of what I’m seeing. I want to know it’s not some kind of illusion or mirage. His continued saunter towards my truck proves without a doubt that this is real.

David Gutierrez is going to order tacos from me.

David Gutierrez is the newest player for the Baseball team, The Texas Rangers. Now, I’m not usually into baseball. It moves too slow for me and I’ve always been one for fast-moving action. That’s why basketball and soccer are my preferred sports.

But, I have to admit, when David Gutierrez was drafted to play for the Rangers, I began to take an interest. And it wasn’t just because he was young and good looking.

Well, maybe it was at first. That tan skin combined with dark, longish hair that falls into his bright green eyes does still make me swoon. But, what really caught my interest was his first interview.

I was visiting my parents in San Antonio. Dad was watching sports center and there he was. He seemed awkward in front of the camera. Soft-spoken, almost shy. He was so far removed from most sports stars who were all bravado and confidence, that I couldn’t help but be fascinated.

Since then, I'd decided to follow the Texas Rangers. I know they have their first game of the season this evening. I also know that there’s a huge amount of pressure being placed on David Gutierrez. They’re calling him the golden boy. Saying he’s going to revitalize the team.

That’s the other reason I’m surprised to see him here. I would expect him to be practicing or working out. He should at least be somewhere closer to the stadium in Arlington.

But, instead, he’s here. At a park in the middle of Dallas walking up to my take out window.

“Hi,” he says when he reaches me. He flashes me a bright, white smile that makes me clear my throat.

“Hi,” I return. “How can I help you?”

“I wanted to order two dozen chorizo tacos to go,” he says. My eyes widen unintentionally. Two dozen! That’s one of the biggest orders we’ve had at one time.

“Is that a problem?” he asks. His smile has disappeared to be replaced by a worried frown. It’s only then that I realize I’ve taken much too long to answer.

“No...no problem at all,” I answer. “It’ll just take a few minutes. Do you mind waiting?”

“Not at all,” he answers. The smile has returned and a relieved feeling settles into the pit of my stomach. At least I was able to save myself.

I turn and begin heating the tortillas while gathering together the chorizo sausage that’s been warming on the stove. I usually talk while I do this and it feels weird not to.

With Gabe not in the truck yet, the only option for conversation is the sports star currently outside my truck. And, to be fair, I am a bit curious to know what David Gutierrez, who is tall and fairly slender, plans to do with twenty-four tacos.

So, I decide to ask him.

“Did the team decide on Chorizo tacos for breakfast this morning?” I ask trying to keep my voice light.

“Not exactly,” he says. “In fact, they’re all for me.”

Leaving my third tortilla on the comal, I turn to look at him.

“Are you sure?” I ask.

“Pretty sure,” he answers with a chuckle. Apparently my curiosity amuses him.

“You must be bigger on the inside,” I say without thinking. Then immediately wince in regret. That was one of the worst things I could possibly have said.

Luckily, he chuckles again.

“You’d be surprised how much I can eat,” he tells me. “But, I don’t plan on eating all of these.”

“Then what do you plan on doing with them?” I ask turning back to the tortillas.

“Well,” he tells me. “I’ll eat six then give the others away.”

“To who?” I ask.

“Anyone who wants them,” he says. “Usually, the event staff take a few. The manager gives a couple to his kids.”

“So, they’re not all for you,” I say slowly trying to follow his logic.

“Well, they’re not for me to eat,” he says. “But, it’s a ritual. I’ve got to get exactly two dozen chorizo tacos before every big game.”

“What happens if you don’t?” I ask curiously.

“We lose,” he answers.

“Well, I wouldn’t want that,” I say. Despite my better judgment, I throw a slightly flirty smile when I turn to him over my shoulder. He smiles back at me and I feel several butterflies take flight inside my stomach.

I wrap the first dozen tacos in foil and begin to bag them.

“Is there a specific way they need to be wrapped?” I ask. “I wouldn’t want the Ranger to lose their first game just because I used paper instead of plastic.”

He gives me a quiet chuckle.

“Anyway is fine,” he answers. I wrap the first dozen in our usual brown paper bag and hand them to him. He looks into my eyes and smiles.

I feel heat rush to my face when I see those bright green eyes staring at me, and I’m immediately aware that my dull brown gaze can’t be nearly as appealing. Just like my frizzy black hair pulled into a ponytail above my head is nowhere near as nice as his smooth dark locks.

“Next dozen’ll be up in about five minutes,” I tell him quickly looking away.

I barely see him nod out of the corner of my eye before turning back to the comal. I know he must think I’m a complete spaz first staring at him and then turning away like that.

And the silence certainly isn’t helping. It never does. See, I’m the opposite of most people. I need noise and chatter to think. Maybe it comes from having a big family. Maybe it’s just me. Either way, when there’s no noise. I create it.

“So, tell me,” I say to David, making sure to keep my eyes on the tortillas. “How did this ritual get started? Sounds like you’ve been doing it for a while.”

“It’s been about ten years, I guess,” David tells me. “It started when I was in high school in Eagle Pass down by the border. Do you know where that is?”

“I grew up in San Antonio,” I answer. “I’ve been to Eagle Pass more than once.”

“Then you know there are lots of breakfast taco places there,” he says. “And the day of a championship game, when a college scout was going to be there, I went with my mom to this taqueria. And, I guess I thought I was hungrier than I was because I ordered two dozen tacos.”

“And I’m guessing you were only able to eat five?” I ask remembering what he told me about his current ritual.

“Yep,” he says. “The others went to my younger brothers. But, we won that game. And, since then, every time I’ve gone to a taco shop and ordered two dozen breakfast tacos, we’ve won.”

“So, all this time, you’ve been winning because of tacos?” I ask skeptically.

“Maybe not,” he answers. “But, I’m not taking any chances.”

I can’t help but chuckle a little. I’d heard about some sports players and their superstitions. Especially baseball players. But, this had to be one of the strangest I’d ever heard.

I quickly put together his second dozen and wrapped them in the brown paper bag. He took them gratefully and paid in cash.

“Did you need anything else?” I ask just before he turns away.

“Actually, yes,” he says. “What’s your name?”

“Gloria,” I answer my heart thudding in my chest. “Gloria Sanchez.”

“Gloria Sanchez,” he repeats with a smile. Somehow my name, the one I’ve heard all my life, sounds very different in his mouth. It sounds nicer.

“I’m David Gutierrez,” he says. “And, I’ve got a feeling you’re going to become part of my ritual.”

“I hope so,” I answer with a smile.

He says goodbye and I watch him leave very aware that I’m still beaming. Tacos or not, I hope he comes back. Seeing that smile early in the morning would make my Saturdays so much more bearable.

*****

Two months have passed and, I have to admit, David Gutierrez has made good on his promise. He’s come to the taco truck faithfully before each and every game that the Rangers have played.

He orders two dozen chorizo tacos to go. Also, as he promised, I’ve become part of his ritual. Even when he’s playing a game on Friday or Sunday and Gabe is working the front, David asks for me to take his order.

“I can’t mess with any part of the ritual,” he tells me. “Not when it’s working.”

And, even I have to admit, it has worked. At least here.

The Rangers have the best home record in the MLB. In fact, since David started pitching for the team, they’ve never lost a home game.

But, for some reason, it’s different on the road. They’ve won a few away from their stadium in Arlington, Texas. But, not many. Some people are calling it the road curse.

Only David, Gabe and I suspect the truth. It’s because David has to go without our tacos on the road.

I suspect that’s why he’s here at the truck today. It’s not a game day but, they do have a road game two days from now. Maybe he’s decided to take our tacos on the plane with him.

“What’s the special occasion?” I ask as he walks up to the truck. It’s a Sunday afternoon. Our second slowest time. So, once again, I’m manning the truck on my own.

“I need a special occasion to visit my good luck charm?” he asks giving me a charming smile. I try to keep the blush out of my cheeks as I smile back.

“Should I bring a chorizo taco out so you can visit with it?” I ask teasingly.