Inalienable: Book 7 of the Starstruck saga

  Book 7 of the Starstruck Saga

  by S. E. Anderson

  INALIENABLE

  © S.E. Anderson 2021

  Cover Art by S.E. Anderson

  Editorial: Michelle Dunbar, Cayleigh Stickler, Anna Johnstone

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, scanning, uploading to the internet, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher and/or author, except in the case of brief quotations for reviews.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, or actual events is entirely coincidental.

  First published in 2021 by Bolide Publishing Limited

  http://bolidepublishing.com

  CONTENTS

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  CHAPTER TEN

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  EXCLUSIVE CONTENT AND SPECIAL OFFERS

  OTHER BOOKS BY S.E. ANDERSON

  ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  For Mom and Dad

  No pun or punchline

  I just really love you

  CHAPTER ONE

  If I knew we’d need a prison break I’d have started a Pinterest board of tattoo artists I like

  Let me start by saying I didn’t actually kill anyone.

  Not on purpose, anyway.

  And not anyone human. I should probably specify I have never killed an actual human. I’m not even sure if a person half-controlled by nanobots and bits of wiring could be considered human, but even so, that wasn’t murder. The homicide I was currently being held for was for a serial killer in the guise of an FBI agent, but Earth apparently frowns upon alien vigilante justice if said alien looks good in a suit.

  Marcy didn’t need to know the exact details anyway. Dressed in her heavy winter coat and with big, black circles under her eyes like she hadn’t slept in days, she stood on the other side of the metal bars like a burned-out babysitter who’d brought her charge to the zoo and forgot about them—much too tired for inconsequential details about the moral gray areas of taking a life. She slid the coat off her shoulders, revealing a stunning, slinky silk dress better suited for a gala than a jail.

  “They can’t hold you here for long,” she insisted. “They need evidence! And where on earth are they going to get proof of that? I mean … I mean …”

  I gave her a weak smile. “Exactly. We’ll be out of here before you know it. Don’t worry, okay?”

  “My best friend is arrested for murder, and you tell me not to worry about it?”

  “Marce, I mean it. Don’t worry about it.”

  “Dany has sworn to find you the best damn lawyer that money can buy.” She caught my gaze and held it tight. “You’ll be out of here before you know it.”

  She didn’t know how literal she was. It would have been so easy to close my eyes, tap my heels, and think of home. I could be back there in the blink of an eye. The only things truly holding me here were the security cameras and the mountain of paperwork I would leave behind.

  “I didn’t mean to cut your honeymoon short,” I said. “I’m sure you and Dany were having an absolutely lovely time in Tibet. You didn’t need to come back for me.”

  “Reality check: You are in jail. For murdering an FBI agent. In FLORIDA. I’m pretty sure that warrants me checking in with you.”

  Ah, the late Dustin Cross. FBI agent and undercover off-worlder using and abusing his position to snack on women’s cerebrospinal fluid. While we’d stopped him and covered our tracks in D.C., the local cops had found his remains—and, apparently, mountains of our DNA, gross—just a few miles from my parent’s home. Can you say frame job? Because I want to scream it from the rooftops. They did such a good framing I would hang it on my wall.

  But instead of screaming, I said, “It’s fine, seriously,” and smiled. This was beginning to be a bad habit of mine. “I have friends in the FBI. They’ll be able to prove I had nothing to do with killing this man.”

  “You have—” She took a deep breath, hands on her hips like she were a teapot about to boil over. “Sally, how the hell do you have friends in the FBI?”

  “I met her like a year ago.”

  “And you never told me?”

  “Well, it isn’t something to mass text about, you know! I barely knew her before the incident in January.”

  “You mean the hoax?” She pinched the bridge of her nose. “Sally, did you have something to do with the alien hoax?”

  “It wasn’t a hoax,” said Blayde, pulling herself up from the bench as if rising from the dead.

  Marcy shrieked, a sound so shrill I almost jumped out of my skin. “Who the hell are you?”

  I waved my arm at the alien in the corner. “Marcy, meet Blayde.”

  “Blade?”

  “Blayde.”

  “Sorry, it just sounds like you’re saying ‘blade’ with a really heavy Australian accent.”

  Blayde raised a hand as if to wave but dropped it just as quickly. She wasn’t too thrilled about the accommodations either, but she was more used to it than I was. At the very least, this cell was much nicer than the one the Atlans had provided us with.

  Stars, I needed to stop getting arrested.

  “Who on earth is she?” Marcy’s voice dropped to a whisper. “She’s giving off hella weird vibes.”

  “My sister has that effect on people,” said Zander, reaching through the bars of his cell. “Does anyone have any food? I’m feeling peckish.”

  “Zander?” she squawked. “You’re … what the hell? You’re alive?”

  Marcy’s eyes grew so fast and wide I thought they might fly out of her skull. Mine would, too, if my very much once-dead friend was standing only a meter away from me. Which had truly happened, and I had later killed him. But it wasn’t going to stick, so I didn’t count it in my running tally of murders. He was probably still out there somewhere—crap. He couldn’t be involved with this arrest, could he?

  “Marcy, that’s not Xander,” I said, shaking Nimien out of my thoughts and instead jumping wholeheartedly on the terrible backstory bandwagon. “That’s Zander. His identical twin brother.”

  “Hell if he is. I’d recognize him anywhere!” She stomped over to his cell, forcing him back in surprise. “Holy shit, you faked your own death?”

  “Sorry.” He shook his head, feigning ignorance. “I’m the other Zander. With a Z, not an X. That was my twin.”

  “Xander and Zander?” She frowned. “This isn’t a soap opera!”

  “Well, no.” Zander came up close to the bars now, putting on a brilliant display of meekness. “His full name was Lysander. Mine actually is Zander. My parents had wanted to call me Alexander, but their friends stole the name and gave it to their child. So, they ended up w
ith Lysander and Zander. Technically, his nickname was Sander, but he hated that and changed it to Xander.”

  “I think you have your own backstory backwards,” muttered Blayde, low enough I’m not even sure I heard her.

  “Ho, come on!” Marcy shook her head. “You can’t not be Xander–Zander–whatever! Also, why would Alexander have the Z name? This is the dumbest crap I’ve ever heard!”

  She turned back to face me. I was dying for a drink at this point. These kinds of conversations were much better held in a bar than behind them.

  “So,” she said, smacking her lips, “I leave you alone for one month—One. Month—and you get involved with the FBI and the so-called ‘twin’ of your dead roommate along with his weird sister, wrapped up in an alien hoax, and get arrested for murder. Am I missing anything?”

  “Sally’s also dating said twin,” said Blayde. I would have strangled her if it served a purpose.

  “What?” Marcy rubbed her temples. “This can’t be happening. None of this makes any sense. It’s like a telenovela written by a drunkard.”

  When she turned back to look at me, I couldn’t read her face, so I plastered on a grin and hoped it would stick.

  It did not. Massive fail. A good 3/10. And those points were only for effort.

  “So, how was the honeymoon?” I asked through my sheepish smile.

  The unreadable face remained illegible. “Ironically, I’m sure you could have Dany arrested for what we were up to. Out of this world, I tell you. But we are in a jail, so I’m going to shut up now.”

  Blayde let out a bark of a laugh. “Sally, you never told me you Terrans had a sense of humor. I would have stuck around longer.”

  “Again, who is she?” asked Marcy. “Am I supposed to like her?”

  “She’s my sister,” said Zander. “The only family I have. So, you don’t have to like her, but you do at least need to put up with her. You put up with Dany, so I know it’s possible. Hell, you even married her!”

  “There. I knew it. You’re Zander! And shut up about these Xs and Zs. There’s only one you, and I’d recognize him anywhere.”

  “Oh, Veesh!” Blayde stormed noisily over to the bars of our cell. “I can’t believe you, Zander. You can shatter entire empires just by showing up, you can keep deep covers for months at a time, but one stray word from a friend and you ruin everything! This, all this, is why we don’t fraternize. You’re an idiot!”

  “Hey, you’re the one who ruined my cover this time! I was doing fine on my own!”

  “No, you weren’t. Marcy, was he convincing you with his dashing charms?”

  “I knew it!” Marcy said, as if she had just uncovered an ancient secret. “But how did you survive?”

  “The truth is”—pause for dramatic sigh—“I’m a ghost! OOooOOooh …”

  Marce turned back to me again. “Did his near-death experience snap something in his brain?”

  He let out a heavy sigh. “Underneath the plant, there was an abandoned WWII bunker where I found food and shelter as I tried to climb my way back to the surface.”

  “That’s all fine.” She waved him off. “I mean, what the hell? At the very least, you could have told me you’re alive!”

  “You were on your honeymoon!”

  “And you survived a semi-nuclear explosion! You could have just left me a voicemail! I know no one listens to those these days but come on! I wanted you to be the best man at our wedding. You know, if you had actually been alive for it! Instead, Dany went with Martin from the office, who, believe it or not, hooked up with my sister in the reception hall’s bathroom.”

  “What?” Zander cringed. “Why are you telling me this?”

  “I would have rather you two had danced the horizontal cha-cha. At least then I wouldn’t have to explain to Mom and Dad why my youngest sibling ran off to Costa Rica with three men and intended to start a llama farm.”

  “A llama farm?”

  “She named her first one Steve,” she said. “The llama. Not her polyamorous lover. She just wants our blessing. Speaking of blessings, congrats on getting your not-dead-ex-roomie into your bed!” She gave me the most passive-aggressive clap I ever did see. “So, how was it?”

  “Marce, he’s standing right behind you.”

  “It’s okay. I’ll just put my fingers in my ears and make a few funny noises,” Zander said, doing just that.

  “Well, I’m not.” Blayde smirked, readjusting her seat to better see me straight on. “So, is my brother good in bed?”

  I wanted to slam my head against the wall. “This can’t be happening.”

  “Zander, you can stop that!” Blayde said as she waved at him. “Nothing huge and revealing going on over here after all.”

  “You do realize we’ve been so busy babysitting you that we haven’t had much activity in the bedroom department, right?” I said.

  “Well, sorry that the implosion of my reality has stopped you from getting it on. Next time, I’ll wait until you’ve had time to consummate the relationship before I light everything on fire.”

  “Good god, what is wrong with you people?” Marcy threw her hands up to the sky in a highly dramatic display of frustration. Which, admittedly, the situation certainly deserved.

  “Maybe I can explain with an interpretive dance?” With slick arm movements, Zander indicted jail, court, him pleading in said court, and, finally, solitary confinement.

  “What?”

  “Sally’s nervous because she’s never been in jail before, Blayde is fine because she’s used to it, and I, I could really go for a sandwich right now. Can you find me a sandwich?”

  “I’m not your maid,” Marcy replied coolly.

  “But you’re my friend, and we haven’t seen each other in two years. Vending machine down the hall? I’ll pay you back when I get out.”

  “My sister. Costa Rica. Three men. Llama named Steve. So, if you want a sandwich, get it yourself.”

  “I would, but then the government would want to cut me up. And I personally don’t want that at the moment.”

  “Pardon?”

  “The CIA really doesn’t like me,” he said. “They think the old WWII bunker food was so old it gave me superpowers.”

  “What’s that got to do with anything?”

  “Just making conversation. Yeah, I’ve spent the past two years climbing out of a radioactive sinkhole. What about you? It feels like forever since we last talked.”

  “Yeah, it really does.” Marcy’s face finally broke into a smile. “It’s good to see you, Zander-with-a-Z. You haven’t changed a bit.” She turned to me now. “Sally, Dany will get you a lawyer; I promise you. But it’s up to you if you want him to defend … all three of you.”

  “Thank you,” I said. “I’m so sorry your honeymoon ended like this.”

  “Hey, what are friends for, if not to pull friends out of tight spots? Really, really tight spots. Honestly, it’s better than I had expected with all those rumors. Still, I can’t wrap my head around the fact you were arrested in Florida.”

  Me neither, sister. Me neither.

  “So, that’s a no-go on the sandwich then?” asked Zander. “Even vending machine food will be better than what I had to put up with in the pit.”

  “Sally Webber?” The guard who had processed us stepped into view, practically shoving Marcy to the side. “Your lawyer’s here to see you.”

  “Lawyer?” Marcy blanched. “Oh, no, no, no. There’s no way Dany’s guy could get here so fast.”

  The guard was already unlatching the door, giving me no time to process his words. He had me in handcuffs before I even stepped out of the cell. So much for innocent until proven guilty.

  “Don’t trust anything they say,” Marcy hissed, catching my arm as he led me out. “Whoever this person is, they are not on your side. You hear me? Not on your side.”

  The guard pushed me roughly past Marcy, leading me through the bullpen and into one of the interrogation rooms, which he left and locked without a s
ingle word. I had seen enough police procedurals on TV to understand that when you were alone in the interrogation room, it was to make you sweat, so to speak. Isolation did strange things to a person’s brain, and half the interrogation took place in total and complete silence, just to make you stew. I knew better than to give in to that anxiety, not when I had powerful new tools at my disposal, such as a perfectly healthy brain and no fear of death.

  Even still, those weren’t enough to quell my rising anxiety at the thought of Marcy alone with Blayde and Zander. Who knew what kind of crap stories they would feed her.

  I was mildly surprised when a short, mousy man slipped into the room before any cop stopped by. He seemed oddly familiar, like a mild recurring character actor or just genetics playing favorites. I forced a smile.

  “Ms. Webber,” he declared rather than asked as he sat in front of me. This felt like an ill omen somehow. Marcy’s words rang in my head. Not on my side, not on my side. Any louder, and a pop song would have written itself.

  “The one and only,” I said, cockier than I wanted to be. He glanced up at the corner of the room directly behind me, and I followed his gaze to the camera there. The little red camera light went dark, and the man pulled out the seat to his right.

  “What’s going on here?” I asked. It made no difference. He ignored me, placing his briefcase on the table and pulling out sheets of diligently typed paper.

  I hadn’t been prepared for her arrival. The man could have said something, warned me somehow, but I wouldn’t have believed him. A split second later, Foollegg was sitting directly in front of me, arms crossed on the table as if she had been here since before I had walked in.

  My skin rose in gooseflesh so quickly I half-expected a brain freeze. Foollegg scanned me up and down like a doll in a store window.

  “Hello, Agent Felling. Or should I say Sally Webber? I trust you remember me.”

  How could I not? An alien higher-up working for the Agency, the Alliance’s tourist base on the far side of Earth’s moon. A woman who watched over crime perpetrated by non-Terran threats on this tiny planet—and done absolutely nothing about it. So long as it wasn’t an Alliance perpetrator, it wasn’t their problem. They’d even allowed the almost-incineration of the planet at the hands of the Sky People because there weren’t any passports to control. Unbelievable.