Friday, June 11, 2010
Excerpt #2: Alien Deceptions by Regina Paul...
Angel glanced over the top of her sunglasses. There was that
man again. She spotted him twice since she entered the market.
It appeared he was following her. Is he my contact? She shivered.
If so, she didn't intend to go anywhere with him except to
someplace very public. She'd rather take the risk of being
overheard than be alone with such a man. He was too big for her
tastes. He could almost pass for one of her mother's people,
almost except there was something else there, some other
heritage she could only just barely discern but had no way to
explain. He had dark skin, and dark hair like her mother's
people, but he looked too exotic to be American Indian; he
looked more foreign somehow.
Angel looked back at the glass bowl she held. It reminded her
of the carnival glass from the twenties, blue with rainbow colors
that shot through it when held up to the light. She grimaced as
she realized she could buy it if she wanted to, but with her luck
the visitors would take a liking to it and help themselves. The
thought reminded her of why she came here. Someone had
called her and set up this appointment, a man who claimed to be
an abductee. On the phone he said his name was Tom, but
refused to tell her his surname. He claimed he might have
another piece of the puzzle she had been trying to put together
with her research.
Eyes bored into her back. She felt them burning twin holes
there; it didn't take a rocket scientist to know the man still stood
behind her. Is he Tom, or is he one of the numerous government types
with their trendy, yet nondescript clothes who follow me no matter how
hard I try to conceal my identity? She found them worse than the
visitors and just as tenacious.
Ever since her parents had been abducted and not returned,
the government had taken a keen interest in her life. She did her
research under an alias, but she felt fairly certain the government
types had discovered that long ago. Still as long as they didn't
interfere, she'd let bygones be bygones.
Putting the bowl down Angel stole another look and saw the
man had left. That could only mean one thing, he wasn't her
contact, but one of the government's many peons. Damn! She
didn't need this right now while she tried to do research. Where
the hell is Tom?
I have to get out of here! The market might be public, but I don't
want to put my contact under the gun either. She turned and
promptly ran into the man observing her.
"Excuse me." She mumbled, trying to get around him. God
"Are you Angel Whitedove?"
Now she knew how human women must have felt when the
fallen angels appearing as beings of light attempted to lure them
into their beds. The man's voice combined velvet and gravel,
and he hadn't used her alias. Damn! Definitely a government type.
"Nope, sorry afraid you've got the wrong woman." Angel
tried to move around the man again, but then he clamped his
hand hard around her arm.
"You are Angel Whitedove," he said as a statement this time,
not a question.
Now she grew mad. "Listen, buster, unless you want to be
facing a lawsuit for assault, I suggest you let go of me right
now!" Angel whispered furiously. She didn't want to draw
attention to herself, but if she could use the crowd to her
advantage she would. He had exactly five seconds to let go of
her arm, before she started screaming bloody murder.
"You are Angel Whitedove."
What the hell is the matter with this guy? He kept repeating her
name as though it were a crime or something.
She looked up over the top of her shades and something
about his eyes stopped her from screaming. His eyes were the
same color as hers.
"Who are you?" She whispered.
"You are Angel Whitedove."
If he said that one more time, eyes or no eyes she'd scream. "Yes,
but who are you?"
Is that name supposed to mean something to me? His voice
should be declared illegal. It did funny things to her insides;
made them turn inside out or something. "And I suppose that's
supposed to mean something to me?" Sarcasm would get her
somewhere she hoped.
"No, we've never met, but we have a common connection. I
know of your father."
Great, just great. He's one of dad's crazy science fiction fans.
"Look, I don't write like my father did, and I have no
intention of ever becoming a writer. There's enough science
fiction on the market as it is. It's positively glutted, so if you
think to talk me into writing a book about my experiences,
fiction or otherwise, forget it," she told him flatly.
"That isn't why I have come to you, Angel Whitedove. I want
to help you find your parents."
Got to admit that's a new angle. She had to give the guy credit;
none of the other weirdoes ever tried this one before. She came
up with something to get rid of her "fan" really quick.
"My parents are dead." As far as she was concerned the
discussion ended there.
His grip on her arm tightened as though he felt frustrated
with her answers. Frightened that he'd do something even
worse, Angel immediately went almost boneless. She could still
stand, but she loosened her muscles enough to give the weirdo
reason to think she might stay and continue the conversation.
"You're hurting me." She told him quietly. Seconds later his
grip lessened, but he still hadn't said anything yet. Angel began
to look around her to see if anyone close by could help. This one
is definitely ready for the men in the little white coats. She knew just what he
needed, a nice padded cell with heavy-duty restraints
and three squares a day. Oh, and drugs, lots of drugs. She knew
just the place, and if at all possible, she'd do everything she
could to put him there really soon. Somebody has been reading a
little too much science fiction and it certainly isn't me.
Suddenly he completely released her arm. "I'm sorry. I didn't
mean to cause you pain."
Now why does he have to go and turn into a gentleman? Just when
I was getting some really good ideas about how I can help him into the
Angel began to rub her arm absently and backed up a couple
of steps. Got to put some distance between myself and the big guy.
"That's all right," she told him finally, "but really, I don't
think you understand. My parents are dead, and I have no
intention of writing about what happened to us. If you're a
publisher or a reporter, or something like that, I'm really not
"I am neither a publisher nor a reporter, and I think you are
doing the right thing by not talking to such people. They only
seek to magnify your pain."
"Not to mention the fact I've already experienced stardom,
and believe me, tabloid stardom isn't for the weak hearted. I
have no intention of ever going through that again." Angel told
him, smiling wryly. "So, if you're not a publisher and you're not
a reporter and I assume since you haven't flashed your
government ID at me yet, that you're not a fed, who are you
Darek? What do you do?" We need to get to the point so I can get
away and call Tom. Thank God he gave me a phone number to reach
him in case of an emergency; too bad he didn't give me his description.
"I am a Commander."
Well hell, that doesn't tell me a damn thing, except he's a fed. Fuck!
"So, you're a fed. Well thanks for letting me know that ahead
of time. Mind if I see your ID?"
"I do not have it with me at this time. Is there somewhere we
can talk in private?" Angel watched as Darek looked around as
if searching for somewhere to go.
He doesn't have any ID? No way am I going anywhere with this
guy. Why the hell didn't someone tell me the men in black changed
their favorite color to blue? Angel whirled quickly and took off at a
dead run, never stopping to look behind her until she reached
her car in one of the underground parking lots Portland was
famous for. Only then did she slow down. She had to know if he
was still there, better to know where he was than to have him
following her. Reaching behind her she pulled her shoulder
length hair from its severe twist and reached into her bag for
make-up. I have to do this quickly or else he might have time to follow me.
Hell, he could be following me right now. She glanced in her rearview window to
The sunglasses flew the way of the clip which formerly
pulled back her hair, then light foundation and makeup brushed
onto her face. Reaching deeper into the backseat she found a
purple sweater and pulled it over her head. Angel had learned
long ago how to disguise herself and fool a tail. She pulled out of
the parking garage and onto the street where Skidmore Fountain
was. As she drove past, she saw Darek standing in the same
place she had left him. Good! That means he won't be following me.
A small smile lifted her lips that rarely had a reason to smile
anymore. Darek, whoever he was, wouldn't be bothering her
again anytime soon. Angel wasn't sure she believed his story
about being a fed. Most likely he was just another one of her
Dad's science fiction fans playing out a fantasy about saving the
famous author by helping the daughter. Too bad really, she
found the man quite stunning, but she'd made it a policy to
never get involved with the feds.
(c) 2010 by Regina Paul. All Rights Reserved.
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