Hunted Read online

  Copyright © 2019 by Theresa Houseman

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

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  Hunted

  Predator Planet Series

  Theresa Beachman

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Also by Theresa Beachman

  About the Author

  1

  The door was supposed to be locked.

  Isabella Hopkins stalled, her hand frozen on the fingerprint keypad. Her fingers tightened involuntarily, her nails scratching the pressure-sensitive pad. She distinctly remembered locking the door when she left for work that morning.

  Left for the job she no longer had.

  She shifted the heavy cardboard box from her hip and placed it on the ground. Isa stared at the door and rested her fingertips on the wood as if she could work out what was wrong by osmosis. But the wood remained silent other than to mock the fact that she was home at one o’clock in the afternoon. The dominion of the day people. Afternoon matinees and comfy slippers beckoned. Or so she’d thought.

  She double-checked behind her.

  Karl’s car definitely wasn’t parked nearby. He wasn’t home. Her heart rate accelerated as she removed a cryo-spanner from the box at her feet.

  Holding it close to her body, she held her breath and eased the front door open, her ears straining for any sound.

  Muted noise emanated from the back of the house. Voices. The master bedroom was to the rear. There was nothing of value in there. She had little jewelry. All her mother had left her had been paste. The only valuable items she owned were her watch and wedding ring, and she was wearing those right now.

  She stepped into the hall, her boots making a soft gritty sound on the polished wood. Isa passed the living room, ducked her head in the doorway. Everything looked normal. Crumpled cushions wedged at the far back of the sofa, her empty mug still sitting on the coffee table waiting for her to come home and tidy up. Karl never picked up.

  She sniffed.

  The room smelled different.

  Someone she didn’t know had been in her home.

  Behind her, voices rose in volume, coming from the bedroom.

  A woman laughed.

  Isa froze.

  Female burglars?

  Shit, she was getting sexist in her old age. She passed the cryo-spanner from hand to hand and wiped her palms on her thigh, counting slow measured breaths in and out.

  A floorboard creaked as she took a step and halted, waiting for the murmur of voices to change. For them to hear her. But the muffled conversation continued. Laughter and the squeal of bedsprings as someone or something landed on her bed.

  Isa frowned. How long did it take to figure out there was nothing worth stealing in her bedroom? About one minute total.

  A man laughed.

  Her stomach lurched. She knew that laugh and the small snort at the end. Once it had been endearing, but now it irritated the hell out of her.

  She paused, clutching the door handle, not sure if she wanted to open the door, if she wanted to take this step forward into the harsh reality that waited on the other side.

  Isa licked her top lip, tasting salt. She’d always prided herself on facing up to reality. When her parents had split in a messy divorce when she was eleven, she’d dealt with the emotional fallout. She’d been the strong one. No matter how much she wanted to turn and walk away, Isa had to know.

  She gripped the handle tight, sucked in a breath and flung the door open. It clattered on the far wall. Her feet remained glued to the hall floor, but she didn’t need to go any further.

  Karl swung around to face her. As best he could, because he was naked, on all fours, crouched over some woman. Long blonde hair covered the woman’s face so Isa couldn’t look her in the eye.

  Fuck.

  Bile rose in the back of her throat, sharp and bitter. Karl was always trying to convince her to dye her mousy hair blonde.

  His mouth fell open and Isa had the urge to insert her fist into the vacant space. Whole. Maybe he’d choke.

  The blonde was pushing her hair out of her eyes. “Who…what the—”

  Karl’s butt cheeks were frozen mid-thrust.

  Isa threw the spanner at his head. Her aim was shit, her arms trembling, but it was close enough. He ducked, the whites of his eyes showing as he fell back, sliding out of the blonde.

  Isa screwed her eyes shut. Her retinas stung from the visual that could never be unseen. She turned on her heel and slammed the door behind her as she bolted up the hallway, her dry eyes burning.

  “Isa!”

  Lord. He was coming after her.

  His bare feet slapped against the smooth wood. “Isa!”

  She spun on her heel. He was clutching a pillow across his groin like some kind of loincloth. Something wound tight for too long snapped deep inside her.

  She pointed. “That’s my pillow. I waited months for them to go on sale.”

  “What?” He glanced down at it in confusion. “Isa, it isn’t what it seems—”

  “Of course not. How silly of me to think seeing my husband with his dick in another woman could mean that they were having sex. Did she stop by to clean the windows and your cock just fell in?”

  He straightened, tugging the pillow tighter. Isa eyed it. That pillow was eight-hundred thread count. Egyptian cotton. Pressed against his cheating body parts. She’d given him so many chances, not wanting her family history to repeat, needing to believe she hadn’t made the biggest mistake in her life by marrying him.

  She’d been so wrong.

  Isa exhaled a slow breath and flexed her hands. The rest of her tools were in the box at the front door, otherwise she would have launched something lethal at his stupid head.

  And he was still talking.

  “Isa, there’s no need for sarcasm. Marilyn came over to discuss some facts for the Barden presentation and we had some wine. Big mistake in the middle of the day, I know. But, it means nothing—”

  “Karl, do I look like an idiot?”

  “Of course not.” His voice dropped to that wheedling tone he used whenever he wasn’t getting his way. She wanted to slap him across the face and knock that right out of him. How dare he. Tension thrummed through her jaw. She should have seen this coming.

  He reached for her. “These things happen. You’ve been so busy with projects at work… a man has needs.”

  Isa bristled. A deep shiver of revulsion tore through her, severing
the last strands that connected them. “Don’t even try to blame that crap on me.”

  She retreated to the front door and headed out onto the driveway, scooping up her cardboard box of tools as she swept past. She scanned the street, blood pumping thick and hot through her veins. How had she not known he was home? Where was his car? There was only a sleek white Lexus hovercar parked a few houses down. Ah. Miss. Lexus had brought him home for some lunchtime fun.

  Isa unlocked her own more prosaic hovercar. The door locks popped up with a grating clunk. It was already several years past its recycling date but she’d kept stalling, squirreling away the money hoping to use it to start her own business instead. That dream had never been further away.

  Karl wasn’t giving up. He followed her onto the driveway, his bare feet crunching on gravel. “Isa, sweetheart, you’re jumping to conclusions—”

  She spun around, her clenched fists damp with sweat. “I’ll be in touch about my things.” Even though she knew there was nothing she wanted to take from this house or any memory she wanted to save. Why had it taken her so long to realize what a colossal mistake this whole marriage had been?

  She took a step toward him and his face softened. It was there in his eyes. He thought he’d won that easily.

  Isa grabbed the pillow. The fabric was smooth under her fingers. Gorgeous. She’d admired it so many times before she bought it. “I’ll take this now,” she said as she ripped it from his grip.

  “What?” His hands flew to his groin as she tossed the pillow into the passenger seat. Isa ducked into the hovercar and pressed the ignition. The engine revved to a labored hum. She put it into reverse, wincing as weary gears fought each other.

  Karl had turned red, he was waving one of his hands about like an apoplectic lunatic. He only needed one hand to cover his pathetic excuse of a penis. “Isa, don’t do this. You’ll regret it later. Seriously.” His gaze jerked up and down the street. “Come in before the neighbors see you making a fool of yourself.”

  “Me? Making a fool of myself?”

  She quashed the urge to save the females of the human race the pleasure of his existence by running him over. God knew the world would be a better place.

  His fingers closed around the open top of the passenger window and he leaned in, his eyes shaded with secrets and lies. The hood of her hovercar tilted skyward from the pressure of his grip. “Isa—”

  She accelerated, enjoying the clunk of his skull against the car frame as she peeled out of the driveway.

  A passing hovercar honked and swerved to avoid her, shearing through several low-lying bushes. The tart scent of cut pine filled her nostrils. Isa stopped the car for a moment, her heart in her throat, her hands sweaty on the steering wheel. Karl was staggering toward her, waving his fist. His face contorted, all pretense gone. He was livid.

  “Look…” His tone was threatening.

  She was so done with that shit.

  “Isa, if you drive away now, don’t bother coming back.”

  He lunged for the passenger window once more. Jesus, didn’t he learn?

  His fingers clenched the edge of the glass, his fingertips white from the pressure. “Isa, you’ll regret this—”

  “No, Karl, it’s too late for that. I already regret this. All of it.”

  Isa jammed her foot against the accelerator pedal forcing Karl to release the window as the vehicle’s speed increased. Within seconds, he was only a pink figure dancing an angry jig in her rearview mirror, his voice fading behind her like the wail of a lost person. “Isssaaaaaaa.”

  Isa tossed his sunglasses out the window and didn’t look back.

  2

  Heath Emerson scanned the bar for Buke’s bodyguards. Would he know one if he saw one? Doubtful. He pushed through the thronging crowd, bodies jostling him. The tang of sweat and alcohol were thick in the air, loosening the grip of antiseptic that still lingered on his skin. Music pulsed through his bones, a hot thumping bass that when he was younger would have pulled him onto the dance floor.

  But now it washed over his head.

  At the bar he caught the eye of the bartender. “Xia. Double.”

  The barman selected a chunky glass as Heath eased onto one of the tattered leather barstools and surveyed the throng. The underground London club had been his choice of meeting place but his nerves were shredded, expecting Buke and his lackeys to come hustling out of the multitude of shadows.

  He downed the xia in one gulp, closing his eyes to savor the potent burn down his throat, and then slammed the glass down on the counter. “Another.”

  He swallowed the second just as fast, waiting for the alcohol to cleanse the image of his mother, her skin translucent and papery as she rested against the hospital pillow, her knuckles loosening on the sheet as strong meds soothed her pain. The thin white scar that bisected her eyebrow was as vivid in his mind as it was real life. A permanent reminder of his inability to protect her from his violent father. His hand tightened around the glass. He was an adult now, and he’d do whatever it took to keep his mother comfortable and looked after.

  When he opened his eyes, Jack was standing in front of him, hands on his hips, his mouth set under his red-blond beard. The ex-soldier, now ship’s engineer, cocked one thick eyebrow. “Were you planning on telling us where you were going or were you just being a sneaky bastard?”

  Angie stepped out from behind Jack, her expression fixed in its customary scowl.

  She caught Heath by the chin and squeezed a little too tight. The silver cybernetic enhancements glimmered around the gray edge of her irises. “Friends don’t deal with their shit on their own.”

  He batted her hand away. “I was visiting my mother.”

  Angie hooked a stool and sniffed the dregs of his glass. “And the rest.” Her tone softened. “How is she?”

  She sat opposite him, her svelte body dressed in a lustrous black one-piece that only left her hands and face uncovered. When she leaned back in her seat, she crossed her legs, the polished leather of her knee-high boots reflecting the strobe lights of the dance floor. The effect was severe and intimidating.

  Angie had always been in his life. The sister he never had. Their mothers had given birth in the same maternity ward and they remained close. He’d been there when Angie almost died from a brain infection at age twelve and she’d chosen to become incorporated. Surgeons had replaced the damaged neurons of her brain with cybernetic clones, a process that had saved her life and gifted her the speed and brilliance of an evolving biological artificial intelligence. But it came at a cost: emotions. The young girl he’d known never came back from the hospital. Her body had, with an improved brain, but Angie’s emotional side was gone. Whether her emotions and fire were lost forever he didn’t know.

  “My mom’s okay. She’s on new meds that are helping.” He looked her straight in the eye. “Expensive ones.”

  Angie pursed her lips. “Heath—”

  “Where is he?” Jack surveyed the crowd. The muscles in his bare arms bunched as he ground his fist against his palm, eager to expend some of his ceaseless energy in physical contact. Heath had spent much of his teenage years dragging Jack away from brawls and had the scars to prove it.

  “Chill.” Heath slapped Jack between the shoulder blades in a confident display of relaxation at odds with the knot of tension humming low in his belly. He caught the bartender’s attention once more and pointed at his empty glass, holding up three fingers.

  Jack narrowed his eyes, scanning the dance floor, but he settled his substantial frame on a stool, the breadth of his shoulders making the furniture appear spindly.

  “We saw Buke’s transmission,” Angie said, the clipped tones of her voice conveying her displeasure, as the bartender slid three tumblers golden with xia toward them.

  Angie. The knot in Heath’s stomach constricted. He should have known.

  He released a slow sigh. “Angie, you’re snooping in business that doesn’t concern you.” Keeping anything confidential fro
m your best friend whose cybernetic enhancements allowed her to access the secrets of any tech she touched was a never-ending challenge. “I swear to God, one of these days I’ll revert to carrier pigeon just for the sake of privacy.”

  Angie shrugged. “It’s a burden, but someone has to look out for you.”

  “Yeah, and that someone is me. I’m capable of looking after myself, and if you don’t mind, I’d like to drink myself into a stupor. Alone.”

  “I just ordered a cherry frothy-tini.” Angie gestured at the pink drink that the bartender was preparing. Bubbles escaped down the side of the glass as he slid it toward her.

  Jack squinted at the drink from the corner of his eye and tipped his own glass of xia down his throat. “Isn’t that meant to stay in the glass?”

  Angie ignored him and licked rosy froth from the tip of her finger.

  Heath rapped his fingers against the polished bar. Did she know he was meeting Buke?

  “Well, I’m going nowhere either.” Jack leaned back, stretching out his long legs. He turned his attention to the throng of dancers, the crook of his mouth conveying his appreciation of the sheer quantity of gyrating scantily clad women. He inclined his head at them. “I mean do I look stupid?”

  “We’re not here to ogle.” Angie flicked her fingers at the back of Jack’s neck. “We’re here to talk sense into him.”

  Jack dodged her hand. “I’m not the only one who could do with some distraction in his life,” he said making a point of looking at Heath.