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  Sniffing, she picked up the receiver. "Hello," she said quietly.

  "Mrs. Ross?" a strange voice inquired. There was something oddly frightening about the soft question.

  She could put the phone down without answering, but then she shrugged. It could be one of Chris’s officers calling to offer some form of condolence. "Yes, that’s me."

  "So sorry to hear about your husband." His voice held no hint of sorrow. In fact Melanie swore there was a touch of merriment in the sadist’s tone. Definitely not a superior of Chris’s.

  "Who is this? Do I know you?" She began to tremble again, but this time with a fear she couldn't explain.

  The man on the other end of the line laughed and her blood ran cold at the sound. "No, but you will, my pet, you will," he insisted.

  "Who is this?" She strove to keep the fear from her voice. The innocuous statement was filled with menace.

  "Let’s just say I’m one of the many enemies your dear departed made. He had too much inquisitiveness for his own good, you know. See what happens when someone gets too nosy?" He chuckled again; a terrible sound.

  "You killed him, didn’t you?" Melanie cried, feeling violently sick. Dear God, what sort of sadist was this? "I’ll see you put inside for the rest of your life, you bastard. Don’t think you can get away with this. Don’t worry, Chris knew who you were." Too late she bit her tongue. Pressing her fingers to her forehead, she groaned soundlessly.

  There was a short silence on the other end of the line. "So, your dear husband told you my name did he?" her tormentor asked icily. "That was the silliest thing he ever did. And let me tell you he did some foolish things, my dear. Trying to expose me was one of the craziest." He let out a string of vile obscenities. "So now you’ll have to go too. Have you told anyone of your suspicions yet?" His voice held sinister softness.

  Melanie swallowed a sob. How stupid could she be? "No!" she bit out in a tormented whisper.

  The line went dead.

  She cursed as she almost threw the phone away from her and onto its cradle. What an absolute fool she was? Chris would never have left her so wide open to these killers by telling her what he was doing. Oh, she had known he worked undercover. He’d had to give her an explanation of his casual clothes that sometimes bordered on scruffy, but he’d always tried to make her believe there was little risk involved. Chris had tried to protect her, tried to convince her he was involved in unmasking petty criminals. But she knew differently. This world was not the pretty place Chris had tried to convince her it was. Now she had her own proof of that.

  Rising unsteadily, Melanie went to the cupboard at the bottom of the dresser, and bent to open it. She stared at the shoebox Chris had put there only last week with an admonishment she never touch it, except in an emergency. Pulling it out she returned to the sofa and placed the box on her knee.

  Well if this wasn’t an emergency, she didn’t know what was. Perhaps Chris had been trying to warn her something really bad was coming up. Had he known his life was in danger? Possibly.

  Now that she had time to think about it, there had been a kind of desperation in his lovemaking last night. Could he have sensed it might be the last time they were together? At the time she’d thought it a little strange; Chris had never been over-emotional, had never been quite as wild and unrestrained in his loving. She had been baffled by his almost savage avowals of love. Never had he been so lavish with his affections. In fact he’d often left her feeling frustrated by his lack of emotion. Would the new heights attained have gone on? Now she would never know.

  Sometimes she had suspected there was something wrong with her. Had wondered if she was perhaps frigid, for she’d always felt something was missing in their lives and had always suspected Chris was holding back.

  Until last night.

  Breaking down on another sob, Melanie pressed her face into her palms and wept as she repeated his name over and over. After a while she sniffed as the tears subsided, leaving her drained. Brushing at her wet eyes with a knuckle and then blowing her nose, she lifted the lid off the box. Chris hadn’t needed to put things in a locked box for he’d known he had only to tell her to leave it be and she would. She’d always obeyed him to the letter--even down to wearing only the clothes he chose for her.

  When they’d first met, a year ago, she’d been dressed in the plainest clothes she could find, convinced it was her fault she’d drawn the attention of the man who was supposed to be her guardian at the time. Chris had taken her shopping, chosen her clothes, selected her make-up, and even decided she should wear her blonde hair in a short bob framing the face she saw as nothing out of the ordinary.

  Melanie sniffed again as she turned her attention to the contents of the box. The first thing she picked up was his passport. Unable to stem more tears, she pressed his photo to her breast as she cried. How he’d hated this blessed picture of himself. "Reminds me of an undertaker," he’d said of the stiff-jawed and solemn man who stared back at her.

  "Oh Chris, I miss you already," she moaned, gazing around at the walls and shivering, although it wasn’t the least bit cold.

  Beneath the passport she found a few documents. One was a copy of his will. She knew he’d made it just a few months back. Another sign she should have taken notice of. Unable to bear looking at it she put it to one side and pulled out a long buff envelope. Melanie turned it over in her fingers.

  On its front were the words: To be opened by my superior officer in the event of my untimely death. Chris had signed it in his almost indecipherable scrawl. A teardrop fell onto the signature, smudging it.

  "You fool," she mumbled as she sat staring at it for ages, not sure what to do. Then, not quite knowing why, Melanie went to the drawer and took out a knife. Pausing briefly she ran the knife along the envelope, opening it.

  Chris was gone and her duty was to follow his orders, but she’d be damned if she wouldn’t see who had betrayed him. Surely proof of his murderers would be in here.

  The letter contained, as she expected, the names of many suspects. The chief of operations was well known in Sydney society, so well known Melanie gasped at the knowledge. Surely Chris had told someone of his suspicions. Perhaps Pete knew everything. But why hadn’t Chris taken this information to his boss? It was a mystery.

  Pete had told her earlier he thought the guy they call the Baron must have found out they were closing in on his operation.

  Justin Pederman!

  His name jumped out at her from the paper. She gasped. He’d been at her and Chris's wedding. A fellow cop Melanie hated on sight. For some reason he made her flesh crawl and she hadn’t been able to explain why. His eyes were horrible. They were what had alerted her first to him. Those eyes, like a snake’s, had followed her every movement, and when Chris introduced her to him, Justin had clung to her hand much too long and stood far too close for good manners.

  The phone rang and she jumped again as it jangled, her nerves at breaking point.

  She lifted the receiver. The same voice spoke before she had a chance to open her mouth. "A little bird tells me you have proof of my identity, as well as a few of my associates. Sorry, but that clinches it; you’re a gonna, slut!"

  Melanie drew a breath to respond, but the line went dead. Dear God! How had he known about the list of names? What could she do now? Sobbing on a gasp of fear and dread she put the box aside and got up to pace the floor.

  Pete. Yes, he’d help her. Chris and he had been partners. Pete would help her. He would tell her what to do.

  The line was busy when she dialed his number. Frantically she chewed on her lip, waited a while and then dialed again.

  "Hello."

  Melanie sighed her relief. "Pete? It’s Melanie. Sorry to trouble you."

  "No trouble hon. What can I do for you?" His voice sounded so ordinary she fought the tears again.

  "I’ve had a couple of calls from the man who killed Chris. He’s threatened me." Her voice wobbled. "I found a letter too, Pete. It incriminates peop
le. One of them is in the force."

  Pete swore and then apologized profusely. "Sit tight! I’ll organize a watch on your place. You’ll be safe there. Don’t move until I contact you in the morning. OK? As long as you stay put no harm can come to you. Now, get some sleep if you can. I know it’s a big ask, but try. In the morning we’ll get it all sorted out. Don’t worry about the names. I know all of them."

  "Oh Pete, are you sure I shouldn’t tell the police I have this letter and have the name of Chris’s killer?" Desperately she clutched at the receiver.

  "No. Whatever you do, keep quiet. If they barge in now the whole thing will blow sky high and then we’ll miss out on some of them. D’you hear me, Mel?" His voice had an edge that confused her.

  But Chris had trusted him explicitly so now she had to. "All right, if you say so. But I feel so scared. Are you sure they’ll be able to watch over me?"

  "Quite certain." He paused, and she felt as if he was going to add something about the list. But then he said, "Go get some shuteye, if you can. Leave it to me."

  "If you’re sure, Pete." She ran her hand uncertainly through her hair.

  "I’m positive. Please don’t show the letter to a soul, Melanie. Otherwise Chris would have died in vain. Now be a good girl and go to bed. Goodnight, see you in the morning."

  Melanie stared down at the phone clutched in her hand. A strange feeling trembled through her. Why had Pete been so insistent she not show the letter to anyone? If Chris had adamantly instructed she take it to his superior, why had Pete gone against those wishes? Could Pete be a traitor?

  Pacing backwards and forwards on the carpet, she twisted her hands together. Terror, like nothing she’d experienced before, ate at her, making her shake all over until she felt as if she might faint with it.

  Should she follow Pete’s orders and keep quiet or should she go to their chief officer? Indecision worried at her. If Pete was telling the truth, and she would throw a spanner in the works by producing names at this stage, how would she forgive herself if he was to meet the same fate as Chris? Pete had a young family and a likable wife.

  Exhaustion caught up with her. Stripping off her pantyhose, she tossed them to a chair, then went through to the bedroom and stretched out on the bed she had shared with Chris. For a while, wondering what life held for her, she stared up at the ceiling. Her eyes closed as she turned her face into the pillow--hot tears wetting the soft cotton.

  Three

  Irena gazed about her at the strange furnishings, in particular the peculiar seating arrangements. The rooms seemed to be cluttered and oppressive. These Earth people had the most interesting habits and homes. If only she had the time to spend here to discover more of their ways and behavioral patterns. The squadron had managed to collate many facts, but so many details remained a mystery.

  The woman she had chosen was asleep--her face twisted as if in agony. Irena knew of her inner turmoil and terror, had watched and listened long enough to be assured she had picked the correct candidate for her plan.

  "Melanie Ross." She called the name in her mind, not aloud. The woman would hear.

  "Yes?" The word trembled on the pale lips.

  "I know of your troubles, and your grief. I am sorry for all you have suffered at the hands of these vicious people who have destroyed your mate along with your peace of mind," Irena said.

  "How do you know these things? Who are you?" Agitation clear in her whole manner even though her eyes remained shut, the woman shifted on the bed.

  "I am called Irena. I come from the distant world of Amaryllis. My home is on the far side of your universe, a planet so far undetected by your scientists." It would never be detected either, so long as the shields were in place. These primitives would not discover such distant planets for hundreds of megnums at the pace they moved. "I have contacted the dreaded virus you call influenza and I am dying."

  "Don’t be silly. Few people die of the flu. You need some antibiotics and it will go away in a few days," Melanie Ross assured her with a lift of her light brows.

  "Unfortunately it is not so simple." If only it was, and the antibiotics she referred to could cure her. "I am not immune to Earth’s diseases. I have little time left. I know you are alone in the world and I ask a favor of you."

  "Me? Why would you want a favor of me? I don’t even know you." Her full-lipped mouth twisted in a small grimace.

  "You could learn to know me. Perhaps as well as you know yourself, Melanie Ross," Irena insisted.

  "I don’t understand. This is some sort of trick. Who are you, and why are you here?" The fair brows puckered as she tossed in her sleep. Irena was fully aware of her bewilderment. These people had such a strange habit of resting in their garments. It must surely be uncomfortable.

  She sat on the side of the bed. Every muscle in her body felt as if it would collapse at any moment. Every sinew was pulled so tight they were ready to snap. The pain in her head had grown steadily worse until she thought she would die before she had time to complete this mission.

  "I have limited time, Melanie Ross." No more than minutes in Earth time. "I need your help. I know you have problems. I know your partner has been killed and your own life has been threatened. I can help you if you would be willing to help me."

  "Help you? Don’t be ridiculous. How can I possibly help you?" The frown on her pale forehead deepened.

  "I need someone to return my craft to my home. Shan will warn my people that if they overstay their time on this planet they will succumb to Earth’s viruses and diseases, but if you go, my ship and all its data will be saved from destruction." It was a lie, but if the Earth woman realized she was simply sending her back as a specimen for study she would surely refuse without question.

  "Shan?"

  "He is the leader of the squadron I came here with." Irena swayed. Time was running out. "We must hurry. Please make your decision."

  "Why can’t you communicate with them? Give them a call. If you’re advanced enough to travel such a distance, why can’t you contact them, and they can pick up your ship?" She sounded querulous.

  Despite her sickness, Irena laughed weakly. "You have no idea of what you speak. My home planet is not within calling distance. It is many moons traveling time away from here. No, my ship must go back. I have chosen you to go with it."

  "Go to hell! Send your ship back on its own, if you’re so smart," she said defiantly.

  "You wish to stay and be at the mercy of the man who wants you dead?" Irena winced as she stared down on the woman. "I think you have no idea the danger you face. Are you not aware you are going to die if you remain here?"

  Her hands clenching to grip the sheet beneath her, the woman also flinched as if struck. In her throat, she made a sound of protest like a groan of misery. "You have no idea what you’re talking about." Her pallid features creased with intense emotion as she fidgeted as if in agony.

  "Mark my words well, Earth woman. You will be dead within two of your moons if you stay here. I have powers beyond anything you can imagine. I have been tracking you and know everything about your problem. Your partner could not stand against his enemies. How do you hope to do so when he failed?"

  The fair head tossed restlessly on the pillow. "No," she moaned repeatedly in denial.

  Irena had reached the end of her bargaining time. "I will make a pact with you," she said, pressing a hand to her temple where the pain throbbed, the almost unbearable ache making her falter momentarily. Time was almost up. She had to move fast. Convince this woman to go along with her wishes. "If you refuse me I must know soon. I need time to find another candidate." That was another lie, for she had no time.

  "What’s your bargain?" the woman asked hesitatingly, as if her curiosity was too hard to repress.

  "If you return to my home, deliver my craft safely, I guarantee Reve will return to this planet with you to take revenge on your partner’s killers. At least he can help you expose the traitors so they can receive their punishment. You must let me kn
ow your answer. Now."

  ~ * ~

  Melanie grimaced at the bitter taste in her mouth as she forced her eyes open. What a strange dream. Had it been a dream? It seemed so real. Although unable to recall what the woman named Irena looked like, she could remember her voice plainly, could remember her offer. She hadn’t had such vivid dreams since she’d moved in with Chris.

  Chris!

  Remembrance came back in force and she let out a long groan of sadness and misery. How was she ever going to manage without him?

  A noise made her jump with fear, and she turned startled eyes towards the direction it had come from. Someone was trying to open the balcony windows in the living room. Putting a fist over her mouth to suppress a scream, Melanie eased from the bed and made her way with faltering steps out of the bedroom and towards the sliding door. Turning the light off she peeped through the gap in the drapes. And swallowed a yelp of terror.

  There was someone out there. And this someone was huge. For a moment she thought her fear may be causing her to hallucinate. But on second thoughts he was too solid to be conjured up by her imagination. It was definitely a he. No woman could be so big.

  Should she run? Where would she escape to? If they’d managed to get as far as her balcony they would be watching the doors to the block of units for sure. Dear God! Where was the police guard she had been promised? Looking around frantically for a weapon, she saw the lamp on the coffee table. It was heavy and she needed two hands to lift it. She wasn’t going down without a fight.

  "Help me, dear God, please help me somebody," she silently prayed.

  A touch as soft as a butterfly’s wings brushed across her face. It was so light she barely felt it, but sensed more than anything she wasn’t alone.

  "I will help you. Put your life in my hands, and I will assist you," the voice from her dream said in her mind.

  Was she going mad? Perhaps the events of this night had sent her over the edge. That was the only plausible explanation. "I’ll do anything," she whispered. Sweat poured from every pore in her body, even while she felt frozen with fear. "Just help me if you can."