Once Upon a Starman Read online

  She couldn’t let it go like that.

  Pushing off the wall, she took a careful step, skidded on a patch of ice and decided it wasn’t worth a broken leg. Get home in one piece, hit the net and buy Oliver something big, bright and shiny to distract him. Kids were mercenary little devils. Thor and friends versus an old fashioned soldier doll from the 1950s? No contest.

  She groaned. Who was she kidding? It meant so much to him. Oliver would be devastated.

  Pulling out her car keys, Andra peered cautiously around the wall at the end of the alley scoping out the road lined with closed up banks and deserted glass-fronted office blocks. A bearded vagrant dozed in a doorway and a couple strolled arm in arm, turning the corner before she had the chance to ask if they saw a tall man running with a parcel in his fist.

  A shortcut to the car park through the gap in the buildings opposite and she’d be safely in her car and on the way home. The elation of actually touching the coveted toy had drained away, leaving a feeling of hollow failure. Good thing she visited Oliver this morning. She’d never have been able to face him after this.

  Laughter and music thumped from the market square behind her, but here it was quiet and lonely. No gaudy Christmas lights overhead or store fronts boasting extravagant displays. She crossed the road, remembering the neat spatter of red spots in the snow beside the thief’s footprints. It looked like blood.

  Shivering at the thought, she glanced at her jeans. She grazed her knees, but not enough for blood to seep through. The man dropped to one knee, in a controlled movement, not a fall, to grab the parcel.

  If it was his blood, he’d come at her already injured and still managed to get clean away.

  What would she do if she caught up with him? Heap on the guilt and tell him it was a present for a child languishing injured in a hospital bed while her best friend, his mother, lay in a coma?

  Would he even care that General Jo was all the kid had left of a dead-beat father who moved abroad to start a new life with his pregnant secretary? When he left, two years back, she held her best friend’s hand. Cried with her. Consoled little Oliver and helped them put their life back together.

  And then three weeks ago a car wreck put Emma in a coma and little Oliver in a hospital bed and the original General Jo went up in smoke with the car.

  The tattered old action man was everything to him. With his mummy asleep, it was like a lifeline and his letter to Santa would have melted the hardest of hearts.

  Andra clutched the car keys in her fist, wishing she’d parked in a more conspicuous place. The city was heaving with revellers at the Christmas markets and she’d been lucky to get this space in the basement level of a small back-street car park.

  In the doorway, the vagrant stirred, rolling out from under his cardboard box to reach for his collection cup. Andra ducked out of sight, catching a glimpse of her stricken face in a smoked glass window, and broke into a run, uncaring of the slippery slabs beneath her feet. The thief might easily have taken her bag, along with money and credit cards, but he’d only been interested in the toy. So he did stalk her to the collection point as she’d suspected.

  A couple more steps and she’d be in the car park. Was there an attendant at the gate? She couldn’t remember. Her heart was dancing the tango when she finally spotted her car on the basement level, the lime-streaked concrete lit by dim orange light. Home and then wine and a hot bath to ease the...

  The thought hung unfinished in her head as a cold prickle raced over her skin.

  Glancing furtively around, she saw a dark figure flit along the wall. And then he was behind her, a hand clamped over her mouth. The other twisting the car key from her grasp.

  “Which is your vehicle?”

  She gave a token struggle. Nothing doing. Andra raised a shaking hand in the direction of her Focus.

  “NB11 SRK?” The thief read her number plate. How did he do that from this distance? Slowly she nodded, already resigned to losing her trusty Ford Focus as well as the toy.

  Just when you thought life couldn’t get any shittier.

  “I have no wish to harm you or scare you. You must believe this. I want only to talk with you.”

  The man’s breath warmed her cheek, the hotly spoken words low and urgent. He asked if she was hurt when they collided in the alley. Said it like a man who meant it. She remembered the odd flash of recognition in his eyes when he handed her the fallen parcel. Confusion or because he remembered her from the store?

  For a split second he’d looked utterly bereft.

  A beat of hope bloomed in her chest. Did he want to negotiate? Sell the toy back to her for a bit of easy cash? She’d do it. Pay anything to see Oliver’s face on Christmas morning when General Jo came home to him.

  “I can’t breathe,” she ground out against his palm. “You’re hurting me.”

  It was the soldier’s blood in the alley. The scent clung to him, sharp and metallic. His thick jacket rasped against her cheek. Melting snow crystals seeped into his hair tangling across her face.

  Time stood still as she hung, helpless in his grasp, her eyes darting about the shadowed basement. No other shoppers collecting their car. No one to call the police to come and save her.

  The man’s hand slackened enough for her to breathe. He held her too tightly to draw air to scream. Talk to him. Build a rapport. Isn’t that what they did in movies?

  “My name’s Andra.” She felt him stiffen, as if concentrating on her words. “If you want to sell the toy back to me, I’ll meet you somewhere and negotiate.”

  “I wish only to ask you questions. You will answer.” He spun her around so suddenly, she almost toppled over. He caught her arm, holding her in place. Backing her towards the car.

  “There are cameras,” she said, raising her eyes to the CCTV camera hanging from the ceiling. “They’ll already have you on film.”

  The man glanced up and behind him. “The primitive recording device? Do you think I have not already seen to that? It was easy enough to obscure the lens.”

  Okay, so no help coming from there.

  When he turned back to her, she saw the bulge of what could only be General Jo under the military style jacket. He’d lost a silver button and torn a shoulder epaulette. The stripes said officer, the row of coloured bars on his breast pocket said hero.

  Tread carefully. He was strong and quick, and now she had a good look at his face, she saw the haunted silver-grey eyes, the chiselled cheeks and the grim set of his mouth. The scattered stubble on his chin. A fresh graze oozed blood at his temple. Had he been fighting? Bashing his head against brick walls?

  A chill wind whipped a gust of snow into the car park entrance, ruffling the man’s black hair. Too long for a military buzz, it curled into his collar like a cut growing out.

  “Look, why don’t you just leave now? I promise I won’t call the police.”

  “Not before we talk.” He reached around her to open the passenger door. Folded her inside with a hand on her head like a policeman arresting a suspect. Then he held out a hand, tilting his chin at her shoulder bag.

  “You have a communication device in there?”

  “I left my phone at home.”

  “Show me.” He moved to take her bag.

  She pulled away, tucking it under her arm. “Okay, take my phone. But it’s old and you’ll get nothing for it.”

  “I wish only to disable it while we talk. Give it to me.”

  “There.” She shoved the phone at him. It felt like handing over her life. The man turned it over in his hand then deftly slipped off the back cover. His eyes flicked from the sim card to the battery.

  “This is the power source?”

  “Yes, that’s the battery.” How could he not know that?

  To her surprise, he flicked the battery free and handed back the phone. She took it off him, relieved and surprisingly a little stung by the gesture. Too old to interest a thief. How sad was that?

  He had to walk around the car to get into t
he driver’s seat. The moment the door closed, Andra jabbed at the starter, hoping he was near enough with the key to send the code. The engine spluttered to life.

  Get into the driver’s seat and just drive. Exit ticket prepaid, so the barrier would read her number plate and lift automatically. He was fast, but not faster than a speeding car.

  He was already opening the driver’s door, inserting his big body into the seat. Pulling her fingers from the steering wheel.

  “Do not run from me. I wish only to gather information. Then I will release you unharmed.”

  Was that a threat? A promise? She couldn’t tell.

  The hint of anger in his voice made her shrink back. Okay, play nice. They were in a built up area, giving her plenty of opportunity to attract attention. She’d jump from the moving car before letting him take her to a quiet spot where no one would hear her screams.

  If there was an attendant, they should have spotted the CCTV camera was out of action. If they came to check, she’d call out. She looked in vain. No one came.

  “I do not wish to hurt you,” the soldier said, a hint of irritation in his voice. “Do I need to repeat that further? I only want to talk.”

  “About what?”

  The man was staring at the dashboard, scanning the instrument panel, two hands clasping the wheel.

  “How does this vehicle operate?”

  “You can’t drive?”

  “Drive?” He closed his eyes, like a man listening to an inner voice. “You mean pilot? I hold an officer class 3 pilot licence. No need for alarm.”

  “But can you drive?” she said, wincing at the sound of crunching gears.

  “You will tell me now.” It was an order, not a request.

  “Okay, okay. The left hand pedal is the clutch. Put your foot down to release it when you move the gear lever.”

  “Like this?” He executed a flawless gear change. Typical male.

  “Yes. Steer with the wheel. Middle pedal is the brake, the right hand pedal is the accelerator.” She almost laughed. He expected to learn to drive with a two minute impromptu lesson?

  “No need for further explanation. I have it.”

  The car lurched from the parking space, inching forward as he worked out the gears, the knobs and dials. Within moments he was driving up the ramp like a pro.

  Andra clicked on her seat belt, indicated him to do the same and turned her face to the side window. Could he hear her heart thumping out her panic? She breathed carefully, putting on a brave face. She’d noticed his right hand. The smallest finger and the next were fused together. Old scars and fresh blood on his face. The hint of a limp, though he’d disguised that well.

  He’d seen active service and it had taken a toll.

  “So, what did you want to talk about?” The barrier lifted. No one heard her prayers for a saviour.

  “The soldier effigy. You call them action figures. Who is it? What is it? I need to know.”

  Did he really not know what he’d taken from her? Andra stole a glance at his face. Jaw set, no sign of a smirk or subterfuge. On the outside, anyway.

  “Just an old doll I found in a junk store.” A thought struck her. “You recognised it. Maybe you had one as a child and forgot about it?”

  “It’s a key.” He yelled the words at her, pausing at the car park entrance to survey the road. “And I need to know what it unlocks. Which side of the thoroughfare does your race navigate?”

  “You mean which side of the road do we drive on?” Damn, she could have jumped out while he was preoccupied. They were moving again, turning into the left hand lane, thank goodness.

  “I’ve worked it out.” The man pulled into the traffic flow, his eyes flicking to the instrument panel and back to the road. He found the wipers, clicking through the speed cycles until the windscreen cleared of snow. “The doll figure is a key. I need to unlock a memory and you will help me.”

  “I can take you to the nearest hospital.” Stay calm. “You need a doctor.”

  “I’ve no time for a tech medic. And no desire to intimidate you further. Where can we go to talk?” He cast her a glance. No, she thought. That look was a plea. A lost soul begging for understanding.

  “It will have to be somewhere public. If you really don’t mean me harm, I’m willing to talk.”

  “Not here in this metropolis. And not where you will be recognised.” He swung the car around the corner with only the faint crunch of gears. Why pretend to be a novice driver when he was obviously a pro?

  Andra clasped her hands together to stop them shaking. “There’s a tea shop, in a village I know. Take the next right and follow the signs for Little Barrow.”

  “Your name is Andra?”

  “It’s short for Andromeda.” She waited for the incredulous look. He only nodded as if it meant nothing unusual. Keep him talking. “So what’s your name?”

  “My given designation?” He was flicking his gaze between her and the road, squinting in the dimming light. If she could lose him in the village, she’d walk home to her cottage on the moors, kitten heels and all.

  And notify the police.

  “You would pronounce it Santar.”

  “You’re kidding?” She kept her face carefully neutral. Was this seasonally ironic name a part of his game? A subtle dig at her own outlandish name?

  “I rarely jest.”

  No, I guess you don’t. Andra’s fingers strayed to the seat belt clip, resting lightly. First red traffic light she was out of here. General Jo or not.

  Chapter 3

  She’s brave, this female. Though terrified of him, she’s not yet resorted to hysteria and his pounding head is glad of that.

  Santar curses his inept attempts to put her at ease. Each assurance makes her tense and eye him warily. She’s in no danger from him. All he wants is answers.

  He awoke to darkness and then pink fingers of light streaking the sky and the orange ball of Planet Earth’s sun rising to herald a new day. Now that day is spinning away, the cloak of night falling once more. The vehicle light sensors illuminate the lamps to light their way as he follows a stream of traffic along the clogged road lined with brightly lit edifices decorated for this festive season.

  A simple vehicle with few controls, the road signs easy to translate. When he deviates, the female Andromeda points meekly and puts him right. He sees her hand stray to the restraint connector, no doubt preparing for a quick exit should he slow.

  He moves too quickly to let her go so easily.

  She shrinks away from him feigning an outer calm. He’s given up assuring her safety. Let his actions show his intent.

  “Andra, tell me left or right.” He squints through the whirling wall of white at the junction of thoroughfares ahead. Traction poor, the steering soggy, he feels the vehicle slide and compensates with a swift pull on the wheel.

  “Okay, Santar, turn left.”

  Andra flicks him another assessing glance. She used his name deliberately, as he did hers. Is she too, trained in communication and espionage skills? He thinks about The Grand Order of Centrum Command. His defection will have brought great shame to his elite unit. They will not let that insult rest.

  Andra gives him no sense of an elite agent or bounty hunter hot on his trail. He allows himself to relax and feeds the vehicle into the thinning line of traffic, pressing hard on the foot pedal that makes the car move.

  “Slow down.” Andra shrieks out a warning. Takes a panicked breath and points at the road. “Black ice,” she says. “Can’t you feel the wheels skidding?”

  “I will not lose control. What’s our ETA?”

  She frowns. ETA? “About an hour.”

  An hour? Twenty-four hours in a day cycle of this planet’s sun. Three hundred and sixty-four of these days in a solar year. Another piece of information he’s forgotten he knew.

  “You will continue to guide me and warn me as we approach our destination.”

  Andra straightens her spine and he senses her rallying. “Just for the
record, Santar, is this a kidnapping? A theft? Or are you taking me to the North Pole to meet your family of elves? What’s going on here?”

  North Pole. A place of significance at this winter festival of Christmas. He should know why.

  “I will explain my behaviour at our destination. And I prefer you speak only to give me instructions regarding the route. I need to concentrate on these unfamiliar controls.”

  She nods, obviously baffled by his behaviour, the way he speaks. He looks like her race. Could easily pass as a human male on this world. The humanoid shell exists on countless planets, but it’s about more than outward appearance. As a man trained in espionage, he knows that blending is all about the small things, the subtle gestures that give a being away.

  And right now he’s doing a poor job of it.

  They drive in silence and then Andra reaches out to the dials in the centre of the front panel. He jerks and grabs the back of her hand. She raises her other hand in a universal gesture of peace.

  “I’m just putting on the radio. You can’t object to a little music.”

  He loosens his grip and pushes away her hand, scenting a subtle perfume clinging to her wrist.

  “Tell me what to do.” She may know how to stop the vehicle, or be calling for help. He’ll let her go, but not before they talk.

  “Press the dial there.” Andra huffs. “Did you think I was reaching for an ejector button or something?”

  “This vehicle has such a feature?”

  “Yes,” she says and leans back into the seat, her eyebrows raised. “And rocket power and a voice operated replicator that serves three course meals.”

  “You’re mocking me.” Her tone cuts him strangely. Lost and alone, he’s sorely in need of a little kindness. He grips the wheel so tightly his knuckles turn white. Such a thought has never crossed his mind. What need has an elite soldier for kindness?

  “And you’re kidnapping me, if you hadn’t noticed. That’s not my idea of a hot date.” She’s gathering her wits, tense and alert. He doesn’t want to chase her, to hold her by force and attract the attention of the law enforcement agencies.

  “Promise you will not run when we stop.”