Season of Strangers by Kat Martin Page B

handle the vehicle on the route through Laurel Canyon. Later he had cruised Mulholland Drive.
    All along the way, a fierce blue sky curved above him, brightened by clouds so white and incredibly lovely it made him feel funny inside. At the top of the hill he’d parked the car for a while and simply stared out over the landscape. Wildflowers in vivid purple and saffron gold, poppies in scorching red-orange. A large brown bird, a goshawk, his memory recalled, spiraled down off the mountain, coasting on the currents of the wind.
    Afterward, he jotted down the experience in the journal he was keeping, filling the pages with words written in Patrick’s bold hand. It was the only way he could think of to capture the unfamiliar feelings, the subtle nuances of his thoughts. He had been making reports to his superiors, of course, communicating with the Ansor team through normal space channels.
    But there was just no Torillian way to describe what was actually going on.
    The journal would have to do that. When he returned to the ship, the pages could be scanned, translated by computer into words and images far more detailed than his logical, straightforward mind could manage.
    Val tipped the valet for the second time that day, vowing to start parking the car himself in the office parking lot, then slid into the deep red leather seat of the softly purring sports car. He stepped on the gas, relaxed his mind, and let Patrick’s well-honed driving skills take over. He knew the way to Julie’s house and the fastest way to get there. Avoiding as much of the traffic as he could, he pulled onto Pacific Coast Highway and roared along the beach to Julie’s batten-board, ranch-style beach house.
    He spotted it clinging to the side of a cliff, a two-car garage on the bottom, forming a two-story structure, the walls of the house draped with shocking-pink azaleas. If he hadn’t been so worried, he might have smiled.
    Instead he parked the car in the driveway, knocked on the door, and a few minutes later, Julie Ferris let him in.
    â€œThis is silly, Patrick. You shouldn’t have come.”
    But she looked so pale he was glad he had. He felt responsible for what was happening to her. Was responsible. There was just no way around it. Still, science was all-important. The Ansor’s mission was all-important.
    And yet when he looked at Julie, he wished there could have been some other way.
    â€œWhy don’t you lie down on the couch?” he said gently. “I give a great massage. Why don’t we see if it will help?”
    â€œI don’t know, Patrick….”
    â€œCome on, Julie, please. Do it for me?”
    A hint of uncertainty appeared in her face. She had always been wary of Patrick and yet they were friends of a sort. “All right. What have I got to lose?”
    A few minutes later, she was lying on her stomach on the sofa, her pale blue terry-cloth robe covering her primly from neck to ankle. Val knelt beside her, began to massage her shoulders.
    â€œI must be crazy,” she mumbled when his hands moved a little bit lower, kneading the muscles across her back. “If you try anything, Patrick, I swear I’ll never forgive you.”
    He flushed a little at that. Partly because he had begun to like the feel of her small woman’s body beneath his hands and partly because the heavy male part of his anatomy was coming to life again.
    Val swore something Patrick would have said. “I promise my intentions are completely aboveboard.”
    â€œThey’d better be.”
    He continued his deep massage, working upward again, toward the muscles in her neck, reaching the area at the base of her skull that had been his objective from the start. His fingers sifted through her hair. He couldn’t believe how soft and silky it felt, while at the same time it was bouncy and vibrant, shimmering with life and substance.
    Her skin was soft and smooth to the touch. When he had seen her