Ultimate Passage: New Beginnings: Box Set ( Books 1-4) (3 page)

He slipped into his pod and strapped himself in. One of twenty, all of them lined up, ten on each side of the cabin. All converted to human males, and all soldiers. That gave Finn pause, but he didn’t dwell on it for long.

He ran his hand over his human chest under the T-shirt. The sensation was oddly pleasing.

“Prepare to hibernate.” The pilot’s voice came through Finn’s headset, warning him that sedative gases would be released in the individual capsules of those being transported for insertion. “You’ll be unconscious until we’re ready to insert you into the Earth population.”

Finn wanted to ask if he could put himself back in his native body for the trip because of the energy it took to remain human. He knew better than to ask. He’d already been advised not to by Kal.

And he knew Kal was sitting next to the copilot. Kal was going with them. He would hear Finn’s request, and Finn would hear about it later. And not in a good way.

M
arissa pushed
her chair further away from the damned bank officer’s desk, and hoped her heel scuffed the dark mahogany wood. She hoped it would leave a mark, but she didn’t want to look. It so didn’t matter right now, not after what he’d just told her. She fought to control her anger, but fury won out. “What do you mean, do I have someone to cosign? I’ve been in business for nine years. Why should I need a cosigner? My father had this restaurant for thirty years before he died—”

“Ms. Sanchez, times have changed. Have you looked at the numbers in the last few years?”

What she wanted to say was,
Why don’t you fuck off?
But since he had no qualms about interrupting her, what she interrupted him to say was, “When two of the largest companies in the area relocate to different states, sales go down.”

This was her fifth unproductive visit to the bank. Her fifth visit to this cold, impersonal, sterile environment. Why had she ever used to think that it was welcoming here? Things had changed. Funny how when you needed your bank, they crapped on you, but when they wanted your business, they were sugary-sweet.

“Do you have family who can cosign?” The bank’s loan officer was back on that.

“No.” Not really, anyway.

“Then—”

“Look, they’re taking away a big part of my restaurant. Crooked developers.” Yeah, she was pissed. All kinds of pissed. They were threatening her livelihood, the only thing she had left of her father’s dream. No, dammit, she wasn’t going to make it easy for them.

“This is progress, Ms. Sanchez. It’s all in the name of progress.”

“I can’t afford progress.”

“Surely you could get a job as a restaurant manager for one of the chains? One of the local restaurants that aren’t floundering?”

He didn’t get it. At all. This restaurant. Her dad. She fought tears of anger and helplessness. She wasn’t going to give him the satisfaction of seeing her cry. Times like this, she wished she was the irrational, violent type. She’d love to pitch some Molotov cocktails into the developers’ homes... but she didn’t even know who those faceless rich bastards were.

”Never mind.”

She catapulted out of the chair. She had a restaurant to run and food to prep. And options to come up with.

M
arissa diced the onions
, telling herself that the tears that flowed were the result of the pungent smell while the knife she was wielding tapped out a machine-gun-rapid tempo on the cutting board. She had to figure something out. Damned developers.

Talk about a rock and a hard place. She wiped tears onto her sleeve, barely pausing with the chopping, as if she was taking her anger out on the onion.
Take that, county officials.
She stabbed the cutting board.
Take that, developers. Take that, stupid bank officer.
The onion was liquefying under the pressure of her knife.

A bell chime signaled that someone had come in the front door. A quick glance at the clock showed that it was way too early for business. Well, maybe not way early, but at least fifteen minutes before they were due to open. Earlier than she wanted to open, what with this grumpy mood of hers.

In the dining room, Belle’s tinkling giggle was answered with a deep timbre. Male. And judging from Belle’s giggle, Marissa would guess attractive. Great. Just great.

Belle loved an opportunity to flirt. Not that Marissa blamed her. Sure, it’d be nice to have someone, but Marissa’s luck with men wasn’t all that great.

She should go check on the customer, whoever it was.
It’s your restaurant, girl—every customer, every time.
Her dad’s motto ran through her mind. That meant personalized service. She wondered if he’d still feel that way if he were here and faced losing the restaurant. All she wanted to do was sink into a hole, or crawl under a rock, anything as long as she could hide from the world and the failure she’d become.

Man up, Marissa. Put your big-girl pants on and get out there.

She put the knife down and rinsed her cheeks with a splash of cold water, then blotted with a paper towel. Marissa tried to plaster a smile on her lips, but her face hurt with the effort. Or maybe that was her heart.

She swung the stainless steel double doors open and stepped into the cool, inviting darkness of Two West Two’s dining room. A man was leaning against the door, setting his backpack on a booth seat, talking to Belle.

Wait, did she say
man
? No, this was a hunk. All muscle, white tee that showed off strong pecs, dark hair, just long enough to run her fingers through, and a full set of lips with a ready smile.

Except that when he raised his eyes from Belle’s enraptured countenance, gazing right into Marissa’s eyes, Marissa would have sworn she saw recognition there. Not a glimmer of recognition; no, more like the kind of recognition a hunter gets in his eyes when he recognizes prey.

Surely she was mistaken. She had to be. Who would come in here seeking her out? Really, what man like that would be in here looking for her? She fought to keep a poker face, to keep from showing her confusion.

She didn’t care for the way his glance made her feel. No, she didn’t care for it one bit. Or did she? She rocked on the balls of her feet to keep from squirming under the intensity of his gaze.

The stranger took a step in her direction. Marissa stilled. Now what? What did he want? He wasn’t dressed like a salesman, so probably not a restaurant supplier. He seemed more like—god, he looked more like the kind of man who would pose on the covers of romance novels.

The image of a bodice-ripper romance came to mind. No, not that kind. Marissa fought back a laugh, because he’d think her crazy for laughing out loud. The kind that he brought to mind was the sexy vampire stories, the ones with those beautiful men on them who’d make a woman wish she could meet a vampire. Yeah, that’s what he looked like.

And good-looking men were bad news. Bad, bad news. They attracted women. Lots of women. Women who had no qualms about sleeping with a man who was taken. Yeah, well, what about the men who did that? Way worse, Marissa agreed with herself. Not only did good-looking men do that, they also made women do stupid things. Yeah, no good-looking men for her. Give her an ugly dude any day.

He kept walking closer. Close enough for her to see the stubble on his chin and the deep, dark blue of his eyes.

“Marissa Sanchez?”

Marissa fought to keep defensiveness out of her voice. “Who wants to know?” And she lost. Defensiveness and outright hostility she couldn’t control had come out.

Her vehemence clearly stunned him. He paused, then said, “I’m Finn.”

“And that should mean something to me?” Oh god, why was she in such bitch-mode? Why? It could be because she was losing her restaurant. Her history. Her dad’s dream. It was bad enough she’d lost Dad. “What can I do for you?” She made an attempt to soften her tone.

The man, Finn, turned back to Belle, probably wishing he could still be talking to her. Belle stared at him and defined the whole
batting eyelashes
phrase for Marissa.

And for some reason, for some damned reason that Marissa didn’t want to put her finger on, it pissed her off that he was wishing he could be talking to Belle instead. It made her wonder why she couldn’t get past the feeling that he was looking for her, even though he wasn’t exactly acting like it anymore.

F
inn took
a look back at the nice one. Belle was her name, a plump one with pleasing curves and curly red hair, blue eyes. Of Irish descent, probably, if he’d studied his Earth history well enough. She stood near the entrance, holding a dark wood wall for support, as if she was going to swoon, giving him a look that said she would follow him anywhere, but preferably to a bed.

The lighting was dim, the décor simple, sconces casting the dark tabletops in a pale glow. Windows every few feet were half-shaded, keeping the heat and sunlight out.

He almost wished she were the one he was assigned to get close to. To bring back. Then he looked back at the girl referred to as Marissa in the paperwork. Marissa Sanchez. Target 41.

No, he’d keep this one, number 41, this Marissa. She wouldn’t be easy to win over, that was clear, but there was something about her that appealed to him. Something fierce and passionate that made a reaction churn in his body, especially in the regions he’d been cautioned against using with humans.

He was confused. These strong sensations. This attraction... he hadn’t felt that before.

She was a spirited little thing. She had a fire in those eyes, eyes the color of the lakes at home, not the ones on Earth—her eyes were green, almost iridescent—and she was dark-skinned, curvy.
Curses
. He fought the urge to focus on her body. Being human wasn’t easy. He felt a stirring and worked his mind to rid his body of its impulses.

Were things more difficult for him because he was part human? Was that what made these things happen to his body? Or did all of the ones who were put on Earth go through this when they assumed human form? He’d have to remember to ask the others when they got back to the ship. Or should he? He’d probably sound stupid if he admitted to feeling things they didn’t.

He kept his face stoic, something he’d practiced for years which shouldn’t be hard to do, even in a human body, then looked into the little firebrand’s eyes.

Why did she hate him already? Why such animosity toward someone she’d never met before? He took a guess. “Bad day? It’s still early. I hope it hasn’t been a bad day.”

She fisted her hands, then unfisted them and put them behind her back. “No, just busy.” She’d softened her tone, as if she’d realized how she sounded.

“Not a problem. I can come back later.” He turned around and made for the door, wondering if she was going to call him back, or if she’d let him walk out. Surely she was curious. He didn’t take long strides, hoping she’d relent, ask him what he wanted, why he was asking for her, that she would do something to stop him from going. He wanted to know more about this angry woman. She brought a whole rainbow of emotions to the forefront. He almost wanted to feign tripping and getting hurt to give himself an excuse to stay, but then he cursed himself. Impetuous emotions. He could always come back. She owned this establishment; it wasn’t as if she was going anywhere.

As he passed her, Belle gave him a wink. He’d come back, alright. Under the guise of visiting Belle. She’d make things easier. He shot her a look and was rewarded with a blush that crept from her ample bosom to her cheeks. “I’ll be back later for dessert.”

Marissa. He’d come back for her.
It’s business
, he told himself.
Strictly business. Sure
, the other side of him scoffed.
Sure it is.

It has nothing to do with those eyes, that hair, that face, that body, that intensity, that anger, that passion. Nothing at all.

F
inn left the cool
, dark, air-conditioned dining room of Two West Two and entered the already sweltering heat of Houston in July. Now what was up with that woman? Why the hostility? He couldn’t fail this mission, his cousin, his people. Cursed humans. He wouldn’t allow himself to fail something as simple as appropriating a human. He, who had been trained in Elite Measures, in the most difficult of military missions, would fail because of one ornery, pissed-off woman. He loved that term. Pissed off. His people needed a term as good as that one. How well that word fit sometimes.

The electronic cell phone Kal had provided him with chimed an alarm. Time to eat a meal.
Curses
. Double, no triple curses. Damn his idiocy. He’d been so caught up with the women...
Don’t lie to yourself. You were caught up with that woman.
Truth be told, he’d been so caught up with Marissa he’d forgotten to pick up the backpack containing his food. It was still in her restaurant.

He didn’t want to go back. Not now. Not like this. Did he? No. No way. But he had to eat. He had to sustain his body with food. Asazi food; Kal’s words resonated in his mind.
Curses
.

But Finn was quarter-human. Surely he could survive on human food. Of course he could. His grandmother had made many meals for him. Countless meals, and nothing had happened. Why would this be any different?

Surely he would be all right. Yes, certainly he would.

The electronic cell phone dinged a signal that he had a communication waiting for him. His brother and the engineers had managed to secure a website that couldn’t be found or traced to allow all of the Asazi on Earth to communicate with the ship that was harbored in North America, not too far from where they’d inserted Finn. Finn smiled; it was easy to say
not too far
when a vehicle traveled at the speed the Asazi ship did.

He had an email. Brief, and without a message that could compromise the mission.

Finn,

Tracking shows you are in place. All good? Need anything?

Kal

Damnation. Could Kal possibly know that he didn’t have his food with him? Should he tell the truth? Confess? Would they send him more food? Or would they yank him from the assignment and label him incompetent?

For a moment he felt completely incompetent, then he shook it off. No, there was no way he would confess to this. In fact, he would deny it, if it ever came up.

Finn hit
Reply
and tapped a message in response.

All fine.

He didn’t bother signing it, or addressing it to his cousin for that matter.

Okay, he wasn’t fine, but he wasn’t about to tell Kal about this spitfire, this woman, this Marissa. And he would never tell Kal about the food. Ever. No, there was no way he would let anyone know.

He used his electronic smart phone to find the phone number for the restaurant she owned, wondering why it was called Two West Two. He needed to get on her good side. How could he ever get her to the ship if he didn’t? He had six days to get all the women to the ship before they departed for home. Six days. Four women. No, three women and this spitfire. He hoped the other women would be easier to manage.

The image of her face came to mind. The set of her jaw. The hard determination in her eyes.

Six days.

He pressed the
Call
button next to the restaurant’s phone number on the telephone’s screen.

As it started to ring he realized he didn’t have a plan.
Curses!
No plan, no thought of what to say. Should he mention the backpack? It would provide a good reason to return immediately. But was that what he really wanted? The damned thing stopped ringing. Someone had answered the phone.

Damn his impetuous nature. Damn his human blood.