Title: One for the Alien
Author: Lux
Email: vivien_rosebud@hotmail.com
Rating: R
Summary: When the one alien you're after is the only thing that can protect you…
Author's Notes:
This fanfic is a ~ Alternate Universe Book Swap: Based strongly on the work of Janet Evanovich and her characters Stephanie Plum and Joseph Morelli who have such a strong life of their own.PART ONE
There are some guys who enter a woman's life and screw it up. Michael Guerin did this to me – periodically to begin with then continuously.
Michael and I were both born and raised in a chunk of New Mexico called Roswell. Roswell is a pretty straightforward town, crime, shops, families, and of course aliens. It's actually the alien population that put the small town on the map. Because even though the aliens have arrived in different parts of the world now there was a time when they were only landing in Roswell. It began in 1947 and they just haven't stopped. The strange thing is that when they come they can't go back and they don't remember why they came in the first place. This causes friction because there are many suspicious people who don't believe the aliens have memory loss and are just waiting on the sidelines, in the wings of society and more importantly Roswell to create a full out war. Other then that though it's an okay place to raise a family.
As a kid I didn't play with Michael Guerin. "Stay away from those alien boys," my mother had warned me. "They're wild. I hear stories about the things they do to girls when they get them alone."
"What kind of things?" I'd eagerly asked.
"You don't want to know," my mother had answered.
From that point on, I viewed Michael Guerin with a combination of fear and discreet curiosity that bordered on awe. Two weeks later after my mothers warning, at the age of six, with quaking knees and a squishy stomach, I followed Michael into his father's garage on the promise of learning a new game.
Never destined to house UFO's, the garage served other purposes. Henry Guerin used the garage to take his belt to his son and his son - Michael Guerin took me, Maria DeLuca, to the garage to play train.
"What's the name of this game?" I'd asked Michael Guerin.
"Choo-choo," he'd replied, down on his hands and knees, crawling between my legs, his head trapped under my short yellow skirt.
"You're the tunnel and I'm the train."
This tells you something about my personality – I'm not especially good at taking advice and I was born with an overload of curiosity. Or maybe it was about rebellion and boredom in Roswell or maybe even fate. At any rate, it was a one-shot deal and pretty darn disappointing at that, since I'd only gotten to be the tunnel and I had really wanted to be the train.
Ten years later, Michael Guerin was still living two blocks over. He'd grown up big and bad, with eyes like black fire one minute and melt-in-your-mouth chocolate the next. He had an alien symbol tattooed on his chest, a tight-arsed, narrow-hipped swagger, and a reputation for having fast hands and clever fingers.
My best friend, Liz Parker, said she heard Michael had a tongue like a lizard.
"Holy cow," I'd answered, "what's that supposed to mean?"
"Just don't let him get you alone or you'll find out. Once he gets you alone...that's it. You're done for."
I hadn't seen much of Michael since the train episode. I supposed he'd enlarged his repertoire of sexual exploitations.
I had opened my eyes wide and leaned closer to Liz, hoping for the worst. "You aren't talking about rape, are you?"
"I'm talking about lust! If he wants you, you're doomed. The guy is irresistible."
Aside from being fingered at the age of six by you-know-who, I was untouched. I was saving myself for marriage, or till at least after high school. "I'm a human," I said, as if this was news. "I'm sure he doesn't mess with humans."
"He specializes in humans! The brush of his fingertips turns humans into slobbering mush."
Two weeks later, Michael Guerin came into the diner where I worked every day after school called The Crashdown. He bought a chocolate cake, told me he'd joined the navy, then proceeded to charm the pants off of me after closing, on the floor, behind the counter of The Crashdown.
The next time I saw him, I was 18. I was on my way to the mall, driving my mother's Jetta when I spotted Michael standing in front of a just arrived UFO. I gunned the engine, jumped the curb and clipped Michael from behind, bouncing him off the front right fender. I stopped the car and got out to assess the damage. "Anything broken?"
He was sprawled on the pavement, looking up my skirt. "My leg."
"Good," I said. Then I turned on my heel, got into the Jetta, and drove to the mall.
I attribute the incident to temporary insanity, and in my own defense, I'd like to say I haven't run over anyone since.
It has now been 7 years since the Jetta confrontation and I'm 25 years old and on my way to my mothers for dinner, on a Saturday, needless to say the Jetta incident has been one of the few highlights in my miserable life.
I love my mother but I was dreading this visit… "I heard you lost your job!" My mother announced as I got out of my car, the reason why I was dreading this visit crystallized when I heard her tone. "And you're behind on your car payments, plus Mrs Parker said she saw you pawning furniture!"
This was all true of course, there's nothing like the Roswell grapevine to remind you of your life's misfortunes, you know, just encase you forget how crappy your life had become.
After dinner the lecture, which was full of annoying job suggestions, ended and I sat down on the living room couch and moped as mum made coffee in the kitchen. Scanning the pages of the Roswell Herald I searched the paper for jobs to further mellow in my miserable state.
An article caught my eye instantly – '$10 000 for willing bounty hunter' it read. The article was large and it went on to say that due to the seriousness of the crime the state of New Mexico was going to give 10% of the $100 000 bond to whom ever can bring back the felon, alive or dead. My head was spinning at the possible sum… the money would save my furniture and set me up with the next six months rent.
The article went on to say that the expert bounty hunter Jim Valenti had been taken out of the hunt due to surgery so that the alien fugitive… Alien? What was I mad? My fantasy $10 000 crash landed. Me a bounty Hunter, finding an alien… I mean come on, what was I thinking?
Curiosity and temptation was too much though, I had to read further, because a was still harboring an element of hope. It wouldn't hurt if I went down to the Bond Agent… would it? I mean $10 000 could I really give up before I even knew the facts?
Aliens weren't that scary… I mean for God sake Maria one took your virginity! I take that back, aliens are scary and very dangerous…
Waking up to no food and remembering the furniture I once had made me reconsider this bounty hunter gig. I had taken the paper home with me and I scanned it again as I ate some air. The article said that willing candidates should go to 'Valenti Bonds' to receive the information on the felon and to ask to speak to the manager Kyle Valenti. Hmmmm, I thought, son of Jim Valenti?
I had a quick shower so my water bill would be easier to ignore this week and got my car keys to head to the address in the paper. However when I got to the car park I realized something startling. Those worm car payment people had repossessed my car in the night. Damn, damn and triple damn, life was shit! And what's worse was I was going to have to borrow my mother's car… the Jetta. Which at the moment was more trouble than anything else, I had a love/hate relationship with that car.
Arriving at the Valenti Bonds Building I immediately realised that Kyle was indeed the son of Jim, I also realised that Kyle didn't really think to highly of his dad and that he was a good man even though he had no respect for his family. When I showed him the paper and said I was interested in the case Kyle rocked back on his heels and studied me. "You done any bounty hunting work before?"
"No." I couldn't lie very well and I knew in the pit of my stomach this guy liked honestly better than any other character trait. However I did suspect that he admired my green eyes, blonde hair and chest as well.
"You can have it." He said as he looked through his desk for the appropriate file. Something in his voice made me distrust his willingness to give me the case, like maybe he didn't want this alien to be found.
Handing me the file he smiled and I began to regret my earlier thought on his character and the place of honesty in his trait hierarchy. "This space-guy has been charged with murder. We'll go through the file later though, my dickhead dad and I gathered the info after he posted bail and added various bits when he skipped." I had been right about this guy not liking his dad much though… "However what it doesn't say in the file, that my father decided not to include is the job of the charged guy. He helps distressed people and aliens with their problems, sort of like a social worker. If some people are having trouble with some aliens he sorts it out and if aliens are having trouble with some people he deals with it. Very law abiding, I sort of peace-maker." God this guy didn't sound like a 'murderer' to me, and if Kyle hadn't kept looking at my chest I would say he was in love with the felon. "My dear old dad also didn't put in a character statement so I'll give you a quick rundown on his political views, I didn't know him personally, but he was big on this alien-human suspicious thing. He like the other spacies deny to have any knowledge of why he's here but when asked what he thinks the reason is he said maybe 'political refugee' or something."
"So um, who am I looking for?" I asked Kyle.
Kyle handed me the file. "Michael Guerin."
My heart flipped in my chest as my fingers flipped open Michael's file and studied the photos that were among various newspaper articles and white written sheets. There was a mug shot from the arrest and a candid picture of him in a brown leather jacket and jeans.
He hadn't changed much. A little leaner, perhaps. More bone definition in the face. Still freaking outstanding in the good looks department and from the candid picture I could tell he still had the best arse in New Mexico.
Michael had taken advantage of my naiveté not once, but twice. After the scene on the crashdown floor, he'd never called, never sent a postcard, never even said goodbye. And the worst part of it all was that I'd wanted him to call. Liz had been right about Michael Guerin. He'd been irresistible.
Michael was a part of my childhood and my childish feelings for him had no place in the present. I had a job to do. Plain and simple. I wasn't out to avenge old injuries. Finding Michael had to do with the rent money. Yeah right. That's why I suddenly had this knot in my stomach.
My reaction to the case wasn't lost on Kyle. "From the look on your face, I'd say you know him."
I nodded, "I sold him a cake when I was in High School."
"Honey, half the females in New Mexico have sold him their cake." Kyle replied.
Kyle and I then went through the file, outlining the crime. He then suggested where I should begin first – 'his house' he had said, 'that's where hunters usually start looking. And you never know you might just get lucky.'
According to the information on the bond contract Michael lived in an apartment about 4 miles away. I drove over and waited in the car park across from Michael's alleged home. The apartment block was more ritzy then most but I could tell it was more a middle class block then a high flyer one.
On the address form it had the apartment listed as 1b, and seeing as though there were three floors and judging by the mailbox only two apartments on each floor I assumed the apartment on the first floor on the right was Michael's.
While debating my next move Michael's cousin – Anthony Guerin rolled up in a huge powder blue Buick. I new it was Anthony because he liked me for 2 weeks in second grade before Michael told him not too. Anthony had also been in my science class, make that, all my classes for my entire school career. I only got rid of him after high school, but I fancy that was because he never went to college.
Anthony got out of the car and entered the right apartment. After about 2 minutes he left the building with a back bag. Getting into his car Anthony didn't see me as I kept a car length behind him as he drove away.
Anthony drove to an apartment block about half a mile away, he entered this one and left all within 5 minutes of arriving, however I did notice he didn't have the bag with him as he left.
Could Michael be in there? After Anthony was well out of site I went over to this new apartment block myself. There was only one letterbox without a surname, I gathered my stomach that had fallen out of my butt as I had walked over to the building and decided to go with the mystery door.
Adrenaline tripped into my bloodstream as I turned to the stairs. By the time I had reached the second-floor my heart was pounding. Stage fright, I told myself. Perfectly normal. I took a few deep breaths and without benefit of brainpower managed to motor myself to the appropriate door. A hand was knocking on the door. Holy cow, it was my hand.
I sensed movement behind the door. Air stuck in my lungs and my pulse throbbed painfully in my throat. Why was I doing this? What did I know about catching murderers? Don't think of him as a murderer. I reasoned. Think of him as a macho jerk!
The bolt slid back and the door was yanked open and I suddenly found myself face to face with Michael Guerin. His stance was passive-aggressive. "What?" he said his voice laced with impatience.
He was more solid than I'd remembered. More angry. His eyes were more remote, the line in his mouth more cynical.
I took a moment to steady my voice, to formulate the lie. "I'm looking for Joe Morelli…"
"You got the wrong apartment. There's no Morelli here."
I feigned confusion. Forced a tight smile. "Sorry…" I took a step backwards and was about to bolt down the stairs when recognition hit Michael.
"Jesus Christ!" he said. "Maria DeLuca?"
I was familiar with that sort of tone and the sentiment behind it. Fine by me, I told myself. Get it straight from the beginning there was no love lost between us. That made my job easier. "Michael Guerin." I said. "What a surprise."
His expression narrowed. "Yeah. Almost as surprising as when you nailed me with your car."
In the interest of avoiding confrontation, I felt compelled to explain. I didn't feel obliged to do it convincingly. "It was an accident. My foot slipped."
"That was no accident. You jumped the goddamn curb and followed me down the sidewalk!" He leaned beyond the doorframe and looked the length of the hallway. "So what are you really doing here? My life wasn't fucked up enough for you?"
"I couldn't careless about your fucked-up life," I snapped. "You're in violation of your bond agreement." Good going, Maria. Wonderful display of control.
He grinned. "You're going to bring me in?"
"You think that's funny?"
"Yeah, I do. And I have to tell you, I really enjoy a good joke these days, because I haven't had much to laugh about lately." The contours of his face suddenly hardened. "I have no intention of going back into custody. Do you know what happens to aliens in prisons? It's not nice. And if you what to know the ugly truth, you'd be the last person I'd let collect the bounty money. You're a lunatic. You ran me over with a goddamn Jetta."
I'd been telling myself I didn't give a hoot about Michael and his opinion of me, but in all honesty, his animosity hurt. Deep down inside, I'd wanted him to hold a tender feeling for me. I wanted to ask him why he'd never called after he'd seduced me in the Crashdown. Instead I yelled at him.
"You deserved to get run over! And besides, I barely tapped you. The only reason you broke your leg was because you panicked and tripped over your own feet."
"You're lucky I didn't sue you."
"You're lucky I didn't put it into reverse."
Michael rolled his eyes and threw his hands into the air. "I gotta go. I'd love to stand around and try to understand DeLuca logic…"
"DeLuca logic? Excuse me?" Michael turned from the door and shrugged into a coat, grabbing a black nylon duffel bag from the floor he nudged me aside, locking his door behind him. He was ignoring me! I followed him down the stairs. "Listen, I may be new at this apprehension stuff, but I'm not stupid or a quitter. You can run if you want, but I'll keep tracking you down." What a load of bull! I couldn't believe I was saying it. I'd been lucky to find him this time.
He left through a back entrance and headed for an old car, which was parked close to the building. "Don't bother tracing the plate," he said. "I'll have a different car soon. And, don't waste your energy following me. I'll lose you. I guarantee it."
He dumped the duffel bag onto the front seat, started to get into the car, and stopped. He turned and straightened, hooked an elbow over the doorframe and for the first time since I'd popped up on his doorstep he took a few moments to actually look at me.
The first rush of angry emotion was gone, and in its place was quiet assessment. This was the grown-up Michael, the Michael I didn't know, if such an animal existed. Or maybe it was just the old Michael, looking for a new angle. "I like the way you've let your hair go curly," he finally said. "Suit's your personality. Lot's of energy, not much control, sexy as hell."
"You know nothing about my personality."
"I know about the sexy as hell part."
I felt my face burn. "Tactless of you to remind me."
Michael grinned. "You're right. And you could be right about the Jetta business, too. I probably deserved to get run over."
"Was that an apology?"
"No. But you can hold the flashlight next time we play train."
When I returned to Kyle's office I slouched by his desk, tipping my head back to get maximum benefit from the air-conditioning.
"You been jogging?" Kyle smiled when he entered the office from the street.
"My car doesn't have air."
"Bummer. How's it going with Guerin? Got any leads?"
"That's why I'm here Kyle. This capturing stuff isn't as easy as it sounds. I really need help."
"I know just the guy to help you. Cagier. His full name is Maxwell Evans. Second generation alien, like Guerin. He makes apprehensions other bounty hunters only dream about. He gets a little creative sometimes, but hey, that's the way of Mr. Genius."
"Creative?"
"Doesn't always play by the rules…"
An hour later, I sat across from Evans in a downtown café. His straight black hair was slicked back. He was around 5'10" with a muscular neck and a don't-mess-with-me body. I placed him in his late twenties and had to check for drool when I looked at his biceps. He was a God in my eyes.
He leaned back and grinned. "Sooooo, Kyle says I'm supposed to make you into a badarse bounty hunter, says you want a crash course. What's the rush?"
"Personal reasons."
"This is a dangerous profession, those personal reasons better be pretty fucking good."
"What are your reasons?"
He did a palms up gesture. "It's what I do best."
Good answer, I thought. More eloquent then mine. "Maybe someday I'll be good. Right now my motive is steady employment."
Sighing Evans asked, "Well, who are you hunting?"
"Michael Guerin."
He tipped his head back and laughed. "Oh, man! Are you kidding me? You aren't gonna get that guy. This isn't some street punk you're going after. This guys smart and he's good–"
"Kyle says you're good."
"There's me, then there's you, and you aren't ever gonna be as good as me, Sweet Thing."
At the best of times my patience was lacking, and this wasn't nearly the best of times. "Let me make my position clear to you," I said leaning forward. "I'm out of work, had my car repossessed, my refrigerator is empty, I'm going to get kicked out of my apartment and my feet don't fit in these shoes. I haven't got a lot of energy to waste socializing… so are you going to help me or not?"
Max grinned. "This is going to be fun. It'll be like Professor Higgins and Eliza Doolittle Does Roswell."
"What do I call you? Cagier?"
"That's my street name… I'd prefer Professor Evans." He grinned. I folded my arms. "Max will be fine." He added tipping back on his chair and crossing his arms. "You do anything on Guerin yet?"
I mentally choked but realised that was not what he was asking. "Went to his apartment, he wasn't there, but I got lucky, found him in another apartment, by following his cousin."
"And?"
"I got there as he was leaving."
"And?"
"He left."
I could see Max trying to suppress a smile. "I don't suppose you've got a gun?"
"You think I should get one?"
"Might be a good idea." He answered this time unable to conceal the smile. "You know any background on this case?" he asked.
"According to newspaper articles the Valenti's clipped to the bond agreement, the murder took place at night a little over a month ago in an apartment building. Michael had gone to visit Isabel Harding. Michael claimed Isabel had called him concerning a work matter and that when he got to Isabel's apartment, Kathleen Topolsky answered the door and drew on him. Michael claimed he blasted Topolsky in self-defense.
"Isabel's neighbors told a different story though. Several of them rushed into the hall at the sound of the blast and none of them could remember seeing a gun in Topolsky's hand, and the police found no evidence of Topolsky being armed.
"Michael had placed a guy in Isabel's apartment at the time of the shooting and three of the tenants remembered seeing an unfamiliar face."
"What about Isabel?" Max asked.
"No one could remember seeing Isabel and no ones been able to locate her since."
"Topolsky worked for a guy called Daniel Pierce. That name mean anything to you?"
My shocked stare was answer enough to his question. Pierce was an army hero and a retired sports star. I didn't know much about the army hero part, only that he took on some really bad aliens back in '95 and was still being praised for it. I wasn't even sure if it was true, seemed like the whole thing had been blown out of proportion when people starting calling him 'The Champ' – of course this did nothing for alien/human relations. He was also the fastest guy in the baseball league up until his retirement a year ago, he was know for being able to get a home run on a tiny hit. Now he just does promotions for sports gear and security systems, add to all that the fact that Pierce is considered good looking, and we're talking about a very popular dude.
"What else should I know?"
Max sat forward and his coffee eyes bore into mine. "If you want your money, you better find Guerin fast. Rumour has it that the judicial system is the least of his problems."
"There any rumour why Michael killed Topolsky?"
Max gave me a slow stare. "None. But he must have had a good reason."
"So what are you telling me?"
"I'm telling you to be careful."
"Do you think I can do it?"
"No."
If he was trying to discourage me that was the wrong answer. "Will you help me anyway?"
I slow grin molded his lips. "First we need to get you outfitted. And while we're collecting your hardware I'm going to tell you about the art of hunting…"
I dropped my new black leather shoulder bag onto my apartment floor and sighed. Was I nuts? I had just bought weapons I didn't even want to touch, let alone use them on Michael! The stun gun however had possibilities where he was concerned though… That is if I ever find him again.
Intuition and desperation told me I would, so I did what any girl would do… call one of her best friends. Alex Whitman. Alex was a Roswell cop and had been one of my very best friends since the day I was born. Liz, Alex and I were inseparable, I was the hyper kid, Liz was the sensible kid and Alex was the nerd kid. We formed a perfect unit and were still just as close. Being such good friends I didn't bother with small-talk and went full pelt into my entire story. Starting from dinner at my mothers right through to the pepper spray I had just bought which I was afraid to have in my apartment incase it leaked and a died… well, the woman at the shop said it was the really heavy duty one, and…
Alex had his voice low because he said he was still at the station but I knew his volume had more to do with concern. "When an alien gets charged with murder it's serious shit. Everybody gets touchy. This sort of case fuels the gap of alien Vs human and raises old suspicious, of why they came… It's the Achilles heal of the state of New Mexico and a black eye lurking around the world. You mention Guerin in the halls here and everybody suddenly remembers they've got something to do. You go after Guerin and you're gonna be swinging on a broken branch, high off the ground and all alone."
"If I bring him in, I get $10 000."
"Buy lottery tickets. Your chances will be better."
"It's my understanding that Michael went to see Isabel Harding, but that Isabel wasn't there when he arrived."
"Not only wasn't she on the scene, but she's disappeared off the face of the earth. People are even suspicious of the fact that she might of went 'home'."
"Isabel's an alien?"
"You didn't know?"
"No."
"That guy Guerin says was in the apartment with Topolsky has vanished as well, that is if he ever existed."
"If Isabel could go 'home' why doesn't Michael? That rumor–"
"Is probably untrue, but it can't be ruled out as a possibility."
"Don't you think this is all really odd Alex?"
"I think it's odder than odd." I could feel Alex shrug over the phone line. "All I know is my cop intuition tells me something doesn't add up."
"Come on Alex, I need help…"
Alex sighed and I think I could hear him belt the phone into his head. "Maria, he's not going to be hiding out with a relative or friend. He's smarter than that. The only thing I can think of is to look for Isabel and the mystery man Guerin said was in the apartment with Topolsky. If I were Guerin, I'd want to get those two missing people. Either to prove my innocence or to make sure they couldn't prove my guilt."
I thanked Alex and hung up. Looking for the witnesses sounded like a good place to re-start. I might even be following the same route as Michael and hopefully our paths would cross again. So what name did I have other then the vanished or dead ones that tied in perhaps with the case? Pierce. He was my only option, my only lead. Damn. I should have taken that job at the button factory!
Tbc…