Beware the Eyes of Mars (sample)

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291 pages

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Prologue

Dateline: T minus 125 days

Clarinda’s head bobbed in mid-sentence, and she blinked hard to stay awake. In retrospect, she probably shouldn’t have had that last drink, but the guy who had offered to buy it for her was darned good looking.

She strained to remember his name as the room blurred. Turning her head, she saw him across the room—a room that wasn’t familiar—mixing more drinks. Another drink was not what she needed.

Pushing against the plush sofa, she tried to stand, but the cushion pulled back at her, holding her in its sumptuous warmth, making an inaudible argument for staying.

A woman’s voice sounded behind her. “Why did you get the black woman? I told you to get the other one. The redhead.”

The dark-haired man, whose name she couldn’t remember, turned and lifted a glass toward his lips. “I liked this one better.”

“Well, I’m not staying.”

Clarinda thought she was hearing an Hispanic accent, but the sound was warbling so much in her ears, she couldn’t be sure.

The guy walked toward her as she heard what could be a patio door opening. “Suit yourself,” he yelled, his voice becoming so abhorrent as to make her weep.

Tired of straining to get up, she gave in, sinking back into the sofa’s depths. She felt herself being sucked inside it and through the floor, through the dome, and right into the red soil of Mars. She tried to scream, but no sound would come out of her lips.

Then as suddenly as she had slid into the abyss, she was being pulled out and picked up. There were monstrous arms around her, carrying her into an adjoining room. She turned her head to look at the man, but his face had changed. Though smiling down at her, it was the smile of a devil, the corners of his mouth reaching to his ears with teeth resembling a jumble of pebbles.

The lighting dimmed, and he tossed her in the air. The feeling of free falling stole her breath before she hit another soft surface, and then he was on top of her, his lips pressed to hers, his hands roaming underneath her silky top. His cold hands on her bare skin burned her flesh like a brand. She wanted to push him off, but her arms wouldn’t respond, feeling like lead weights against the bed.

She heard a distant buzz, and the man stopped pawing at her for a few seconds, then continued, working her shirt up and off of her body.

The buzz sounded again, and the man yelled in that voice that made her want to die, the words completely incomprehensible to her, and she wondered if he was speaking a different language. His mouth returned to hers, but only a few moments later, he seemed to be lifted off of her as loud protests bellowed her direction.

She squinted at the sight of a tall, broad black man handcuffing the devil-faced man and shoving him into a chair in the corner. There was something comforting about him, and she fought once again for a name she should know.

He gently worked her shirt back onto her and whispered in a surprisingly clear, deep voice next to her ear, “Everything is all right now, Clarinda. I’ll take you home.”

It wasn’t until the next morning that she emerged from the drug-induced fog and remembered the name she’d been searching for.

Vincent.

Chapter 1

Dateline: T minus 82 days

“He’s there again, isn’t he?” Clarinda sipped her hot chocolate in the cozy lodge at the base of one of the small slopes in the Scorpio Ski Dome.

Katrina nodded. “Yep. You’re definitely his project.”

Clarinda set her cup down with too much force as she blew out a breath in frustration. “I make one stupid mistake over a month ago, and he seems to think I need a security detail.”

Katrina nibbled a scone. “Do you really think it started _after_ that? Vincent must have been watching you _that_ night to know where that rat had taken you and to suspect you were in need of help.”

“Maybe it’s because of the trouble on the transport with Frankie.”

“He doesn’t follow me or Frankie or Doug,” Katrina insisted. Lifting her latte, she set her elbows on the table and smirked. “Just you.”

Clarinda leaned forward, narrowing her eyes at her redheaded friend. “Just what are you insinuating? He’s a robot, for Pete’s sake!”

Katrina shrugged. “From what I understand, the new Vincent 4.0 is practically human. The AI is top notch. He learns. He grows. He matures.” She set her cup down, that ridiculous smug expression on her face. “And he appreciates beauty.”

Clarinda straightened and flipped her burgundy tipped black braids over her shoulder. “That doesn’t mean he… feels… has emotions.”

Katrina’s brows did a slow climb. “Where have you been the last several years? Minnie has nearly driven us crazy with the new feelings that Frankie somehow programmed into her.”

Clarinda raised a pointed finger. “That’s the operative word: ‘programmed.’ It’s not really real. She’s just running a program.”

“Some would argue that our DNA, together with our formative years, is nothing more than a ‘program’ that we spend the rest of our lives ‘running.’ ” She took another bite of scone.

Clarinda sipped her cocoa, feeling Vincent’s eyes on her without looking. There was no doubt he was good-looking; he was designed that way. _Every_ Vincent was designed that way—tall, dark, and sexy, with that serious detective look. He probably had several thousand twins, although he was the only one on Mars at the moment. He was the trial for the new Vincents. The first of his kind.

The Vincent 3.0s had worn dark gray suit jackets and slacks with black ties; the 4.0s were assigned brown slacks and ties with tan blazers. Rarified Robotics® was extremely particular about its robots’ uniforms. They weren’t allowed to deviate from them one iota. At least not out in public.

Draining the last of her beverage, she made a decision. It was time to thank him once again for rescuing her from the scumbag who had drugged her and beg off from his constant surveillance.

Grabbing her purse off the back of the chair, she informed Katrina of her intentions. “I’m going to have a talk with him.”

Katrina set her cup down, shaking her head. “It’s too late. He left a minute ago.”

Clarinda twisted in her chair. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I didn’t think you’d care.”

“I don’t care.” She brought her gaze back to Katrina. “I just wanted to reassure him that I don’t need watching.”

Katrina shrugged. “Maybe he caught your vibe. You’ve been as tense as a lion ready to spring since he walked in.”

“I could use a massage.” She rubbed the back of her neck while simultaneously looking at her wrist vidcom. “But I need to run. I have an appointment.”

“An appointment?”

Clarinda rose, pulled her parka from the back of her chair, and folded it over her arm. “Yeah, I’m… getting my nails done.”

“Didn’t you do that just a few days ago?”

She popped both sets of fingers out straight and fixed on her bronze hands sporting lavender nails. “Oh, that’s right.” She forced a laugh as she tucked them into her palms. “This Vincent thing has me all shook up. I’m going shopping.”

She hurried toward the exit while Katrina yelled after her, “Since when do you need an appointment to shop?”

The door slid open. “The Equinox Fox has an exclusive showing of new fashions,” she called back before stepping through to the shopping dome Montoya had dubbed the Reticulum Retail Center. Reticulum was Latin for “net.” Her credit card balance attested to how apt the name really was.

Centaurus, with a diameter of 1.5 kilometers, had been the first dome, with subsequent domes—all with constellation names and all equal in size—added around it like petals. There was even a long winding stem that led to the landing field with administrative “leaves” shooting off along the way. It was an amazing sight to behold when coming in for a landing.

The first dome had to be a bit of everything until other domes could be built, and it still housed hotels, rental apartments, restaurants and casinos. Soon the casinos would be moved out to their own dome—The Cassiopeia—which was still under construction

She avoided the crowded moving sidewalks, even though she’d have to walk pretty fast to make it to her appointment with the realtor on time. The Comet, a subway that ran around the perimeter, was of no use to her today; her objective was more toward the center.

She felt a pinch of guilt for her little fib to Katrina. She wasn’t really lying, though. The Equinox Fox® was having an exclusive showing. She just wasn’t going to it. She didn’t want to reveal her plans until she knew if it were a real possibility or not.

And staying on Mars was a big decision.

From a bench among nearby exotic plants, Vincent watched Clarinda Hawkins walk speedily into the retail dome alone. He needed to be more careful in his surveillance. It was obvious from the way Katrina McKenna kept glancing his way, that he’d been spotted in the ski lounge. Not that he’d been really trying to hide, but he didn’t want them suspicious of him either. And seeing him in their vicinity too often was bound to raise suspicions.

He rose from his camouflaged location and followed, keeping a fair distance from the African American woman wearing an ivory sweater over tight blue ski pants covered in snowflakes. His superior eyesight kept her in his sights when others wouldn’t have been able to see her at all. He had to admit his assignment to watch her was no great hardship. He liked looking at Clarinda Hawkins.

His programming included an understanding of the Greeks’ golden mean and what humans considered beautiful. And Clarinda Hawkins certainly fit the bill with a perfectly proportioned, light brown face framed by burgundy tipped braids. Her full lips seemed to be what humans desired for kissing, even though he questioned the value of the color she added. Seemed unnecessary to add anything at all, and it distracted from her dark eyes.

Her face wasn’t the only thing that could inspire art, but Vincent’s thoughts on her shapely snowflaked backside were suddenly scattered as she turned a corner and disappeared. He picked up his pace, weaving through the crowds of people carrying shopping bags, and side-stepping the occasional street musician.

The reason for the surveillance was disconcerting, but the man who had drugged Clarinda and nearly had his way with her—who was the suspected head of an illegal drugs and sex trafficking ring—had insinuated that she was his business partner. The fact that he passed his lie detector test probably only meant that he was very good at lying. He seemed the type. Hensley had still ordered that Hawkins be watched.

Vincent would have recommended that the surveillance cease several weeks ago if she weren’t constantly going on these solo excursions, sometimes meeting people in empty retail space and having long conversations. Most checked out as business owners, but many crime syndicates had legitimate businesses as cover for their illegal operations. He’d been hesitant to question them in case he was wrong about Ms. Hawkins’ innocence. He didn’t want to send any rats into hiding.

After turning the corner himself, he scanned the throng coming and going but couldn’t get a lock with his visual recognition processing. She’d disappeared. This particular avenue featured a small square with benches and a fountain. Moving to the side of the square, he sat to watch and wait. While he did, he also scanned the crowd for another missing woman. Ariel Anderson had somehow escaped jail six weeks ago and hadn’t been seen since.

Surveillance showed her in her cell after being escorted from the exercise room by Quinn 9, one of the thirty Mars Security droids with a decidedly Irish persona, when all the cameras blinked out. When they came back up, she was gone, although the Quinn insisted he had locked her in.

After a complete diagnostic, Rarified Robotics issued a report that said his story was verified by his memory cache, but that, of course, couldn’t be possible. She was not in her cell. Short-handed as they were, Hensley had hated to do it, but he retired Quinn 9 until he got better answers.

Vincent began his methodical scan of the area once again, hoping to find some answers concerning Ms. Hawkins’ clandestine behavior as well.

***

Clarinda thanked the realtor for showing her the available space, even as she inwardly balked at the rental price. Retail space was not cheap on Mars.

Stepping out onto the tiled walkway, she paused a moment and pursed her lips, wondering if starting a business on Mars was at all feasible, when she caught sight of a dark-haired man leaning against a nearby larger-than-life statue of Ricardo Montoya holding a rusty planet Mars in his hands. The broad man in a leather jacket had intense blue eyes that were staring at her over a slightly crooked nose. Quickly averting her gaze, she put her feet in motion, directing them away from his casual pose that somehow seemed anything but casual.

Despite her speed, he was at her side in just a few moments, his hands still in his jacket pockets. “Hey, sweetheart, where you heading in such a hurry?”

Clarinda didn’t look at him. “None of your business.”

He continued to walk beside her, and Clarinda could sense his amusement. “All right, fair enough. But here’s something that is my business. A friend of mine is being held by Security without bail.” He paused as their feet beat out four steps on the pavement. “Because of you.”

Clarinda felt her jaw go tight, but she kept walking. “If you are referring to the lowlife who goes by Artero Martinelli, I will not be held responsible for his bad behavior.”

“Nevertheless, when it comes time for you to testify,” —he dared to rest a hand on her back— “it would be best if you didn’t recognize him.”

Clarinda stopped and turned to face him, and his hand fell back to his side. She refused to be cowed by a thug. “Are you threatening me?” If he continued in this vein, he’d find out just how much time she had spent in self-defense classes.

His other hand appeared, and he spread them both wide. “No, no, I’m just looking out for your welfare.” He winked. “And that pretty face.” He tapped his wristcom. “Romeo Roman. That’s me. Send me a message later, and I’ll show you how much I appreciate a pretty face.” His gaze raked over her, his appreciation for the rest of her obvious, yet wisely unspoken.

Clarinda was about to let loose on this bozo who thought he could threaten her one minute and come on to her the next, when her eye caught on the tall figure of Vincent in the crowd of shoppers heading her way. If he knew this man was bothering her, she’d never rid herself of the robot’s protective eye. A tiny voice in the back of her head wondered if she might need his protection, but she shook it off. This guy was just trying to look tough and sound suave. She didn’t really believe he was either one. And she’d handled pretenders before. Her ex-boyfriend Rob had been a pretender of the worst sort.

Trying to bring a look of calm to her face for the sake of her security shadow, she forced a smile as she brought her gaze back to the man’s smug expression. “Walk with me… did you say Roman?”

His blue eyes lit up with surprise. “Yeah.”

She turned and resumed her trek through the dome, making sure to keep with the crowds. “Walk with me, Roman. We have a few things to discuss.”

***

Vincent began to grind his teeth the minute Clarinda Hawkins smiled at Roman Ricci, a known petty thief that Mars Security suspected of having ties to what seemed to be the beginning of a Mob on the red planet. They were hoping to deport his sorry hide with the next transports to Earth, but in the meantime, jail space was limited, and they had no hard evidence of those ties.

Yet.

Teeth grinding wasn’t a known android trait, and with the strength of the hydraulics in his jaw, it was a pretty bad idea, but it was something he’d seen Chief of Security Hensley do on many an occasion, and he must have picked up the mannerism. And anyway, he reasoned, seeing Clarinda smiling at someone like Ricci would have likely started the habit right then and there.

He was following them at a safe distance, when Ricci stopped abruptly, spun, and headed back the way they’d come. Vincent moved behind a Big Dipper Ice Cream® stand as the man hurried past with a sour expression. Hensley would have said that he looked like he could spit nails.

Moving past the confection kiosk, he didn’t need to search for Clarinda as she seemed to be heading straight for him. Her expression wasn’t much more pleasant than Ricci’s had been.

“Why are you following me?” she spouted as she drew close, her parka folded over her arms. “I appreciate the fact that you saved me from Martinelli, but that was more than a month ago. You don’t need to protect me.”

Vincent decided that protection was a more acceptable reason than suspicion, even if she didn’t seem to want protection. “Don’t I? That was Roman Ricci you were walking with. A thief and suspected mobster.” He tried for a smile. “You need to pick better company, Ms. Hawkins, unless you’d like a repeat of—”

“I didn’t pick him for company. He followed me, and I sent him packing. I can take care of myself.”

Vincent hitched a brow of skepticism. Someone like Roman could throw her small frame over his shoulder with ease, slap a tranq star on her and take her to a secluded location so fast, she wouldn’t even know what hit her.

“You spend an awful lot of time wandering these domes alone, Ms. Hawkins, and unfortunately Mr. Montoya is in denial about the rise of the criminal element on Mars. He’s not hiring enough security and–”

She took a step closer. “Exactly. You are needed in a much bigger way here than just following me around.”

Vincent looked into those brown eyes looking up at him. There was something different about this woman. Something that drew him like no other human. Something that made him want to protect her as if he had been programmed to do so. But he knew that wasn’t the case. He hadn’t even laid eyes on her until the Mars transport and their investigation into Reese Kennedy and the search for Francesca McKenna.

He realized she was waiting for an answer. “What did Ricci say to you?” Vincent suspected a connection between Ricci and Martinelli. It was probably no coincidence that Roman Ricci had wanted to talk to her.

She pulled an arm out from under her coat and flung her braids over her shoulder. “He was just… trying to hit on me, that’s all. I told him to get lost.”

She was lying.

He gave her a small smile. “Are you certain he wasn’t trying to sway your testimony concerning Martinelli?”

Clarinda blinked, her gaze slipping from his, and he knew he’d hit the mark.

“You are a key witness in an upcoming trial, Ms. Hawkins. I plan to follow you and make sure you are safe until Martinelli is sentenced with jail time.”

She swallowed, then nodded, and Vincent only felt a tiny bit of remorse for not telling her the whole truth. He looked up the street. “Do you have more shopping to do, or shall I follow you back to your hotel?”

She hugged her coat against her. “No, I’m… finished.” Her sheepish expression turned defiant. “And no, you can’t follow me.”

Vincent glowered. “I thought I was clear. You—”

“I’m tired of being followed.” She tilted her head. “If you’re coming along, you’re walking beside me.”

Vincent fell into step with her as they headed back toward the Main Dome, not really understanding the sense of satisfaction he was feeling or why the prompt to take her hand kept popping to the top of his directives.

He’d studied the human male response to women so as to better understand their motivations that sometimes led to crime or domestic violence. Human relationships were often not rational, and for the last two years, Vincent had been able to admire Ms. Hawkins without letting his emotions run away with him.

That all seemed to change forty-five days ago when he’d found Martinelli taking advantage of her in his bedroom after slipping a pill into her drink. It had been all he could do to not break the man in half, and he hadn’t been completely rational about the woman ever since.

“So, how ’bout them Yankees?” Clarinda’s non sequitur brought him out of his thoughts.

“ ‘Them Yankees’? Are you referring to the nineteenth century use of the word for American New Englanders or the baseball team from New York that got its start in the early twentieth century and continued into the twenty-second until all baseball fell out of favor with the advent of rocket ball in 2175?”

Clarinda laughed, and the sound made his feet warm. “I suppose it probably refers to the ball team, although it’s just a cliché people throw out when there’s a lull in the conversation.”

Vincent nodded. “Ah, yes. People tend to feel self-conscious with silence.” He smiled. “Surprisingly, I have learned that silence can sometimes bring more out of people than interrogation.”

She looked to him with a knitted brow. “Were you trying to interrogate me?”

“No!” Vincent hastily reassured. “I was just lost in my own thoughts during what you called a ‘lull.’ ” He probably shouldn’t tell her just what those thoughts were.

“Oh.”

Was there a hint of surprise in her voice?

Well, here’s another cliché: ‘A penny for your thoughts.’ ”

This was one that Vincent had heard before, although he didn’t find a penny to be much of an incentive to reveal to this woman that he’d been thinking about her. He hadn’t been switched on yesterday. “I’m afraid your offer is too low, Ms. Hawkins, but I’ll endeavor to be a better conversationalist.”

She laughed again, and the warmth Vincent felt spread clear to his knees. He suddenly wanted her laugh to be a part of his everyday existence, and the thought of it not being there was almost too much to bear. Afraid of another lull, he pressed on. “What would you like to talk about? Most of my job is confidential, I’m afraid. Why don’t you tell me about yours?”

She smiled and began, telling him all about the ins and outs of being a professional organizer, and Vincent stored every word, every inflection, every twinkle that came to her eyes, knowing he’d replay it later and enjoy it again as if it were a symphony.

Autographed paperback

291 pages

17.00 (shipping included)

OR Buy it on Amazon

in paperback or digital