Galaxy Girls

Chapter Nine (part 1)

Chapter Nine

Hawk waited until the sun rose before sending Nelson to Tea & Comfort to observe the exotic golden girls. Though Nelson went eagerly, it felt as if he were sending a baby rabbit into the fox's lair.

Assured that Nelson would call him if any of the women left, Hawk hopped into his rental. Ten minutes later, he turned off theKentuckyhighway and drove down the blacktopped driveway of an old farmhouse. Someone had painted the exterior turquoise and the front doors and shutters cherry red. It made him think of a picture book house, colored by a three-year old. A house where happy people lived.

Except that wouldn't be a picture book. That would be a fairy tale.

Clamping down on his thoughts, Hawk parked the rental car at the end of the driveway, near the back of the house. Trees lined the sides of the property that he knew from Nelson's research was a good acre, the green yard sloping down to the Ohio River.

Almost complete privacy. It was unlikely anyone would see him steal into the home.

The back door was locked, but it was so simple a toddler could open it. He frowned as he entered the kitchen. What the hell were they thinking? Small townAmericawas crawling with junkies, rapists and murderers, just like the big cities. If the Galaxy women didn't want to protect themselves, that was their choice and their right. But they should make damn sure the child was safe.

The child who might be his daughter.

A hiss distracted him. He instinctively reached for his gun, and his hand slid down his jeans. No gun. It was in his room at the inn inside his locked suitcase. He was alien hunting, not following smugglers or mob guys.

Another hiss brought his gaze downward, and he stared into the yellow-green eyes of a black cat giving him "the look." Like a lion's, warning him, Do anything stupid and I'll eat you.

Except this cat didn't weigh more than five pounds. Hawk crouched and held out his hand. The cat came to him, sniffed and arced its triangle head toward him, its mouth open, teeth ready to sink into the nearest finger.

Hawk jerked back his hand and stood. Like mistress like cat.

Feeling the cat's glare on his nape, Hawk appraised the kitchen, getting an impression of warmth and comfort. Wooden cabinets, the same mellow oak as the floor, lined two walls. The table was a darker brown wood, the countertops a dusty blue concrete.

Either the ladies or a previous owner had opened up the walls to let the kitchen flow into the living room. Standing in front of the back door, he could see the coral-colored suede fabric on the two couches and an easy chair. A vase held purple wildflowers that he'd noticed growing alongside the highway road. Two books were facedown, open, on a coffee table painted the same dusty blue as the kitchen counters.

The ladies embraced color. He didn't know what the hell that meant, but these were rooms for laughter and dancing and talk, not a place to plunk down on a recliner and stare at a TV while scarfing down a package of potato chips.

This was a place for playing, too. He saw dog and cat puppets, blocks, a stick pony, a drawing easel in one corner and a dollhouse in the corner that looked like a castle.

His throat restricted-though he didn't know why-and he turned to the cupboards. It took five minutes to go through them. He learned someone liked peanut butter and strawberry preserves. They also ate fruit, vegetables, tea and chocolate. There were two bottles of Lambrusco in the fridge. No red meat or pork in the freezer, just chicken and fish.

He strode through the living room next, dismissing the two tables with unlocked drawers. The ladies wouldn't put anything important where the kid could find it and smear peanut butter over it. They wouldn't underestimate a child.

Too bad for Phyrne Galaxy that six years ago she underestimated the man she'd literally and then figuratively fucked.

He wasn't a revengeful man. But he needed answers. He needed to know. Why had she enthralled him? Ravaged him?

The cat followed him into the south wing that he guessed had been added on during the last twenty years, big enough for a full-sized bathroom and two bedrooms. Looking at the two bedrooms, he knew they weren't Phyrne's. They didn't look like her. They didn't smell like her. They didn't feel like her.

He shut down those thoughts. He'd only had one short time with her when they were insane with lust. They'd fucked, not even trying to keep their hands off each other, ripping off each other's clothes. All he knew about her was that she had made him want her as he'd never before or since wanted a woman.

Since that day, his sexual encounters had felt as if he were making love in black and white instead of color. Every day he awoke with a hard-on and she was his first thought. Every night he dreamed about her.

Every goddamn night.

A woman he didn't know squat about.

He stepped into the first bedroom, the walls and ceiling the palest peach, the bedspread a darker peach and canopied. Lush. Two four-foot-tall wooden candleholders stood in the corner. Photos of the family perched on a chest of drawers, one of them the child in a tree, the silver frame announcing "Grandma's Angel."

He forced his gaze away and walked out of the room without searching anything. The next room was painted in shades of purple that unsettled him. A leafy green plant with red-veined leaves nearly reached the ceiling.

Once more he turned away. The only room that concerned him was Phyrne's. And the girl's. If the purple bedroom had an alien hiding in the closet, right now he wouldn't give a damn.

Upstairs, there were two bedrooms above the main house and one above the garage. The minute he stepped into the above-the-garage bedroom, he knew. This was Phyrne's.

It didn't have a particular smell, but the blue-green covers, the color of water, and the lacy cream-colored curtains captured her essence. What he believed was her essence. He fought an urge to stick his nose into the pillow. Instead he turned to the chest of drawers.

Perched on top, a picture of Phyrne and Birdie faced him, smiling at him with their eyes and their mouths, bright and happy. He picked it up and concentrated on the girl. She was a five-year-old version of her mother, her hair a shade darker and her skin a shade lighter, but still gilded with gold. Gold gilded her honey brown eyes, too.

He had brown eyes. Mud brown.

His fingers clutched, and he forced himself to set down the picture. Forced himself to let go and step back. Forced himself to search the room and even the adjoining bathroom. Forced himself to check out the tampon box, because what better hiding place could there be?

Finding nothing in the box but tampons, he zipped through the last two rooms, the smallest one pink and lime green colored, with a twin bed, stuffed bunny rabbits and a small trampoline. The slightly bigger one was cool and pretty in celery green. A crooked stack of books towered on the nightstand. Romances. He whipped through the room in thirty seconds.

Nothing.

He went downstairs again, knowing this excursion was more than nothing.

It might be...everything.

Less than thirty minutes since he walked into the place, he walked out of it, locking the door behind him, carrying a bag with one thing he'd taken from the house. He'd picked it up from the kitchen sink-a plastic cup with cartoon bunnies, a bit of milk still in the bottom, obviously belonging to the child.

As he drove past the house, he saw the cat sitting in the kitchen window, its green eyes staring at him, watching to see what he was going to do.

He looked ahead, his jaw clenched. He'd do what was needed-send the cup to the Foundation's lab to be tested for DNA. And he'd send another DNA sample with it.

His