She smiled faintly at the woman. "Nice to meet you, Anna. Patrick, I've got to run."

"I'll see you back at the office," he said. Julie waved and hurried off toward the posh, high-walled interior of her favorite lunching spot.

Sometimes she imagined he watched her, though why he would when he was with a woman as beautiful as the blonde she couldn't guess. Sometimes she pretended he was different, that he was more like his father, more like the man twenty-year-old Julie Ferris had once believed he was.

He wasn't. He never would be and both of them knew it. As always the thought made her sad.

Laura lay awake in the guest room of her sister's Malibu beach house. The antique iron bed had been painted a dull brick red and an old-fashioned quilt served as a spread. Throw rugs covered the hardwood floors, and a wall of windows led out to a deck overlooking the sea. Before tonight, Laura had envied her sister this house on the beach, envied the privacy afforded by the hundreds of acres of the exclusive Mallory estate next door.

Now she leaned back against her pillow, thinking tonight she wished the house was sitting on a lot in the center of the city. That it was surrounded by dozens of people, that it was the middle of the day instead of so late in the evening.

A series of waves, loud as gunshots, crashed against the sh.o.r.e outside the window, but they couldn't quite block the dense dull hum Laura could barely hear above the roar of the ocean, a noise that had settled like a weight around the two-story batten-board structure. She tried to tell herself it was only her imagination, tried to concentrate on the pounding of the surf and the old Kirk Douglas movie on the television screen, though the volume was turned so low she couldn't really hear it.

It was three o'clock in the morning, dark outside, a cloudy night with no moon. She had always liked staying in Julie's guest room, but tonight the ceiling seemed lower than it usually did, the walls a little closer, the sound of the waves more irritating than soothing. Her palms were sweating, her pulse beating faster than it should have.

"Julie's right next door," she told herself, speaking the words aloud. "All you have to do is call out and she'll come running." Perhaps her sister would come even without the call. If anything was wrong, Julie seemed to sense it. Her sister had a way of doing that. Julie would protect her. Just like she always did.

Then the television set went off and the night light on the wall near the bathroom dimmed and finally sputtered out. Laura swallowed against the fear that was building in her chest.

A whispering noise sifted down from somewhere above her. She tried to cry out, but the sound lodged tight in her throat. She tried to get up, tried to swing her legs to the side of the bed, but her body was rigid, completely unwilling to move.

It was dark in the room, but now the darkness lifted and a blinding light filled the bedroom. Laura's eyes slammed closed against the stab of brightness shooting into her skull. Her muscles strained to move so hard she quivered all over and arched up off the bed.

Help me! Julie, help me! But the words remained locked in her throat and the silent scream never emerged. Then the light began to fade. She heard a noise on the stairs leading up to the deck. Small, scampering footfalls that paused outside the door.

A strangling sensation engulfed her, a terror so great it throbbed through her body in great tormenting waves. She tried to move, but only her eyes responded, rolling in their sockets, darting wildly around the room, then fixing on the door. They were coming for her. She could feel it in every nerve ending, every fiber and cell in her body. They would take her as they had done before, strip her naked, use their cold metal projectiles to invade her body. Until now she hadn't remembered.

Help me! she silently screamed, thrashing like an animal caught in a trap, yet her body never moved on the bed. Julie, where are you? But maybe her sister was also ensnared, caught as readily as she. Fresh terror speared through her. She remembered the pain of before, the humiliation she had felt, and prayed it wouldn't happen again. Prayed that if it did, she would be able to endure it.

The shuffling continued outside. They were coming, just as she had feared. When the door slowly opened and she saw them, her mouth formed a stark O of terror and the bile rose in her throat.

Seconds pa.s.sed. She blinked and they appeared all around her, lining the sides of the bed. Her terror inched deeper, long thin tentacles reaching down into her belly. Circles of blackness whirled, clouding the edges of her mind, carrying her toward the safety of unconsciousness. Finally the darkness overtook her, freeing her from the fear, sealing her mind from what was to come. Laura welcomed the descent into oblivion.

A deep blue glow resonated up from the floor of the examining room, lighting the rounded girders along the curving walls behind his back. A bank of diodes, dials and gauges spread across the console down at one end, and air hissed through vents in a pulsing rhythm that matched the bleeps of the heart being monitored on the glowing blue screen.

Val Zarkazian stared down at the subjects lying on the table. Their scanty night clothes had been removed, and the younger woman had already been examined.

It was the second woman, the one with the dark red hair, who had brought him out from behind the monitors of his research laboratory down the hall.

He surveyed the nude figure tossing restlessly on the stark blue surface of the table, her small hands clenched so tightly the muscles in her forearms quivered. A tongue block had been inserted, but not before she had bitten into her bottom lip, leaving a slight trace of blood.

He studied her with the same objectivity he had used on a dozen subjects before, noting the woman was smaller than average but well-developed, and in healthy physical condition. She was a normal female, except that she was far more resistant to any sort of mental intrusion than most of the larger male specimens who had been brought in for study.

The woman shifted restlessly on the table, fighting the tests with the same fierce determination she had shown on her visit several weeks ago.

He glanced down at a short thin figure in dark blue protective covering, one of the lab technicians, who stood beside the table studying the subject with puzzlement and concern. Behind him, just outside the door, several soldiers milled about, members of the team who had brought the women aboard.

They were troubled by her reaction and rightly so. The first time the study had been done, she had resisted so strongly they thought they were going to lose her.

This time they had done only cursory testing, nothing intrusive into the body, and only the mental scanning that could be done without a probe. He looked at the monitor at the end of the table. The subject, a healthy female in her twenty-eighth year, had suffered normal childhood diseases-what was known here as measles, mumps and chicken pox; a broken wrist at the age of eight; minor scars and healed abrasions.

Her vital signs were strong, but just as before, they had begun to shut down the moment they started their a.s.sessment of the brain.

A row of symbols came across the glowing blue screen. Is it happening again? The message came from the viewing area where senior officers and staff watched the proceedings.

He confirmed it was so and watched the corresponding symbols pop up on the screen. The last similar case had occurred six months ago, an artist taken from the hills outside Santa Fe. Over the years, there had been quite a number, from a variety of different backgrounds. Neither race nor gender seemed to be a factor in the degree of resistance, which could result in the subject's mental incapacitation or death.

More questions appeared on the screen, one in regard to the proceedings.

Yes, he replied, the tests have been stopped. We don't want to lose another subject.

He turned to the short lab technician and ordered him to finalize the tests on the younger sibling, to complete the external examination of the older, and return them both to the point of origin.

The screen on the console began to flash another communication, countering his orders. You must proceed, Commander. We must discover the cause of the older sibling's reaction. We cannot afford to let her go.

He had known his superiors would want to continue, no matter how dangerous it was. Probing the outer boundaries of scientific knowledge was the first directive of their mission, one of the reasons others had come here before. It was an accepted fact that furthering that knowledge inevitably demanded a percentage of casualties.

But Val wasn't prepared to lose the woman, or any more subjects in the future.

He turned back to the screen. There is another, better way. We have the technology. Why should we not proceed?

The symbols flashed in rapid succession. Such an undertaking would be dangerous. Who would take the risk?

He logged in the reply he had thought long and hard about. I have been working on this project for years. I am the logical choice.

The Ansor cannot afford to lose its most valuable research officer.

All men are expendable in the name of science. It was a basic tenet of their work.

The screen went blank. He waited with less patience than he usually displayed and even a hint of anxiety.

The recommendation will be made to the council at our next session.

Relief filtered through him. He didn't want to see the woman die, and ever since his arrival three years ago, he had hoped for a chance like this. I am grateful for your a.s.sistance.

A long line of symbols appeared. I hope you will still be grateful once you are confined in such an uncivilized environment.

Four.

Pain. Excruciating pain. Julie felt the throbbing, pulsing ache well up from the deepest part of her brain.

The slatted wooden blinds over the bedroom windows were closed, yet tiny cracks of light seeped in, stabbing like white hot rays behind her eyes. The hot, damp skin across her forehead felt stretched and swollen as if it might burst. Her lips were dry. She moistened them with her tongue. Nausea threatened, a reaction to the incredible pain in her head.

Julie rolled to her side, her small hands fisting the pillow, her teeth biting into her lower lip. It wouldn't last much longer. It never did. No more than a couple of hours. The brief duration made them bearable, and the fact she had never had them until these past few weeks.

Perhaps it was some sort of virus, an illness that was fleeting. She could stand the pain, if only she knew the cause.

Knew for certain the headaches wouldn't get worse.

A second hour pa.s.sed. Her body lay on the sheet bathed in perspiration, but the pain had begun to recede. She felt limp and drained. It was nine o'clock in the morning. She was late for work, had already missed the weekly office meeting. She wished she could just stay in bed, but headache or no, she had to go in. There was too much to do, too many clients who depended on her.

Another fifteen minutes and the last of the vicious migraine-the worst she'd suffered so far-had ebbed away. Julie gripped the pine headboard, used it as a lever to swing her legs to the floor and ease herself up off the bed. As she pa.s.sed the mirror over her dresser, she paused, took in the dishevelment of her hair, and the pallor of her face that made the freckles stand out across the bridge of her nose. She headed into the bathroom, turned on the shower and stepped in before the water got good and hot.

Perhaps the test Dr. Marsh was giving her this afternoon would provide the answer. A dozen horrible scenarios flashed through her mind, everything from cancer to the brain tumor the doctor had mentioned.

She had to find out. Then again, maybe she didn't want to know.

Julie washed her hair, grateful for the soothing feel of the water running over her scalp. She shaved her legs, lathered her b.r.e.a.s.t.s and belly, then moved lower. She felt a twinge as her hand brushed sensitive flesh. It had been so long. Three years since she had been with a man.

Not like Laura. Laura had to have a man, needed one like people need to breathe. And her sleek model's figure and glorious long blond hair made attracting them easy. But Julie wanted more from a relationship than just a s.e.xual fling, and if she couldn't have it she was happy to do without.

She stepped out of the shower and reached for a towel. Her head still throbbed and her hands were a bit unsteady, but her strength had begun to return. Maybe the headaches would disappear as quickly as they had started. She hoped so. With her worry for Laura, the problems she was facing at work, and her burgeoning expenses, she had enough problems already.

She sighed as she walked to the closet and slid open the mirrored doors. Her beige suit would do. She wasn't in the mood for anything but plain-and-simple. She took her time dressing. Her muscles ached and she still felt a little bit shaky. As soon as she stepped into her matching leather pumps, she made her way to the guest room in search of Laura, but her sister wasn't there.

The guest room looked a shambles. The bed was unmade, the sheets thrashed off haphazardly, the bright-colored quilt shoved carelessly onto the floor. Julie crossed to the closed bathroom door.

"Laura, are you in there? Are you all right?"

"I-I'm fine," she answered through the door. "I'll be out in just a minute."

When Laura finally appeared, Julie was stunned at the sight of her sister's pale, haggard face, at the faint purple smudges beneath her brown eyes and the sunken hollows in her cheeks. "My G.o.d, are you sick? You should have said something." She set her palm on Laura's forehead, checking for any sign of temperature, but the skin felt cold and slightly damp instead of warm, as she had expected. "Get back in bed. I'll go down and get you something to eat."

"I-I'm all right, Julie. I'm just a little tired is all."

"You look like you're a lot more than tired. Maybe you've got the flu or something."

"Maybe. That's kind of the way it feels." A hint of embarra.s.sed color rose into her ashen cheeks. "I-I was bleeding this morning...from inside. It wasn't much, just a trace or two. You don't think it's anything serious, do you?"

"I-I don't know. Has it happened before?"

"Only once. The morning after we suntanned in the cove on the beach."

"I think we'd better have Dr. Marsh take a look at you. I have to go in for a few more tests this afternoon. You can come with me."

"You're still having those headaches?"

"Bad one last night. I finally took some sleeping pills and eventually fell asleep. I must have slept pretty hard once I did."

Laura frowned. "I had a terrible dream last night. I can't remember it now, but I remember at the time it was really scary."

"It probably is the flu. You'd better stay here through the weekend, at least until-"

"No! I-I don't want to stay here. As a matter of fact, I'm going home this afternoon. I'll feel better sleeping in my own bed. That's probably all that's wrong with me. Too much dampness in the air."

"I don't know, Laura. Dr. Heraldson thought staying here was a good idea. And now that you're sick-"

"I'm going home, Julie. I promise I won't call the police or do anything crazy, okay?"

Julie looked at her hard. "Are you sure about this?"

"I'm sure."

"And you'll go with me to the doctor's this afternoon?"

"I said I would, didn't I?"

Julie sighed. "I don't mean to be pushy. I'm just worried about you is all."

"I know that." Laura walked over and hugged her. "Thanks for caring so much. You've always been there for me, ever since Dad took off. Mom wasn't much of a mother, but you were always there. I appreciate it. I don't know what I'd do without you." She smiled. "But I promise I'll be okay, so you don't have to worry."

Julie fidgeted, smoothed the skirt of her tailored suit. "I guess neither one of us got a good night's sleep last night."

Laura just shrugged, but she looked uncomfortable with the subject. For some strange reason, Julie was uncomfortable with it, too.

"I'll be back to pick you up around noon. In the meantime, why don't you go back to bed for a while? You'll be all right until I get here, won't you?"

"Sure," Laura said lightly, "I'll be fine." But as soon as her sister left, she got up and bolted the doors. She checked and locked all the windows in her bedroom, then locked the ones in the rest of the house. She didn't open them, not even when the sun came out and the day turned warm. Not even when the temperature began to climb into the nineties and she began to perspire in the closed-up, airless bedroom.

"I'm worried about her, Babs." Julie shifted restlessly in the black leather chair behind her desk. "I can't figure out what's wrong with her."

Seated on the opposite side, Barbara Danvers made a rude sound in her throat. "You're always worried about your sister and there's always something wrong with her. Until she takes control of her life, there always will be." Black-haired and dark-eyed, Babs had just turned thirty. She'd been married three times, to a banker, an actor and a successful television producer. She was divorced again, worked too hard but didn't really have to, not after the settlement she'd received from Archibald Danvers two years ago.

"You're too tough on her, Babs." Julie sat forward in her chair, propping her elbows on the desk. They were working in her office, going over the Richards file, an estate in Palos Verdes that Babs had listed and Julie had sold. "You know the kind of life Laura's had. A father who was gone by the time she was five years old, a mother who was never home. No supervision, no direction, never enough money to make ends meet. It's a wonder she hasn't had more problems than she has."

"I hate to remind you, but Laura had the same childhood you had and look at the difference in the way the two of you turned out. You put yourself through college. You're a successful real estate agent with a lovely home on Malibu Beach. Laura's a twenty-first-century hippie."

"Hardly that."

A sleek black brow arched up. "No?"

"Just because she's had a number of different jobs-"

"She hasn't worked more than three months in a row since I've known her. How much did you spend on Laura's medical bills last year?"

"That isn't fair."

"I'll tell you what isn't fair. Having to work the kind of hours you do to support your sister's hypochondria."

Julie glanced away. "This is different."