AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“Maggie!” Bruce’s chipper voice called out from behind. He lived across the hall from her and if she unlocked her apartment quietly enough, she could avoid him. With so much on her mind, she’d made the mistake of jingling her keys.
Maggie took a subtle but deep breath and plastered on a smile before turning around. There he stood, with his wavy brown hair in its usual state of disarray, wearing his blue artist’s smock that had dried bits of clay and fresh paint on it.
“Hi, Bruce. How’s the painting coming along?”
“It will be a masterpiece. You’re my inspiration, Maggie. You want to come in and see?”
“Some other time. I’m exhausted.” For the last three days, she’d traveled all over San Bernardino, Ventura, Riverside, and Los Angeles counties, trying to jog her memory. Nothing worked, and she was running out of vacation days.
“Wait here, I have something for you.” Bruce rushed back into his apartment.
Maggie slowly released a breath. Every time she ran into him, he gave her a yellow rose. She loved flowers, but not from him. Zirkov’s image popped into her head. He was all she could think of since that kiss several days ago. With this mole accusation hanging over her, she’d been avoiding him. The next time she saw him, she wanted to be able to give him proof of her innocence.
Bruce returned with a white envelope in hand and no roses.
“Really, Bruce, you need to stop wasting your money buying things for me.”
“Whatever this is, it isn’t from me.” He shook the envelope. “I don’t hear anything shifting around inside. Paper, then. An alien gave it to me, to deliver.”
“Alien?”
“Tall, blue guy, with horns and a nasty expression. I almost walked in the other direction when I saw him blocking the door, but then he asked me if I knew you and would deliver this. I told him it would cost ten credits.”
“You charged himtencredits to deliver a note to the person who lives across the hall from you? A service that took absolutely no effort?”
“I didn’t think he’d pay, especially not that much, but aliens pay for anything when they want it badly enough. And the dude seemed determined.” Bruce handed her the note. “If you think about it, he got the note delivered, you received the note, and I got paid. Win-win all around. Plus you get a bonus.”
“What bonus?”
From behind his back, Bruce presented a long-stemmed yellow rose.
“Bruce…. Flowers are expensive.”
He shrugged. “I enjoy seeing you smile. It inspires my painting. Plus, I have multiple sources of income.”
“Like aliens paying you to deliver messages?”
His crooked smile emerged. “I’m an entrepreneur. Have a sweet day, milady.” With an exuberant twirl, he disappeared into his apartment.
As Maggie entered her little slice of heaven, she inhaled the rose’s essence and immediately thought of Zirkov. Not that he smelled like flowers, but his scent held a unique note that existed nowhere else.
Maggie tossed the mail and her keys into the bowl on the entryway table. The note Bruce handed her had her name and apartment number in shaky handwriting. Zirkov’s. None of the aliens practiced writing English. They didn’t need to, given the prevalence of datapads and comms in Galactic Intelligence.
After adding the rose to the vase with the other two flowers Bruce had given her earlier in the week, she sat down at the breakfast bar and stared at the envelope. One day she’d get out of this building with its nosy neighbors and leaky pipes. She’d own a house of her own. Not the house her mother left her, either. That useless place needed to be torn down, along with all the bad memories.
She wanted a place to call her own, one where she could build happy memories with a male who would love and care about her. The house didn’t need to be fancy or large. Something quaint, with grass and a small garden. Maybe a swing on the porch. A place to sit and talk with that special someone.
More images of Zirkov surfaced. All those times she’d tried to get his attention, and he had ignored her… Just thinking about it angered her.
With a knife from the butcher block, Maggie slit open the envelope. The note inside had all of five words in the same shaky handwriting.
We need to speak.
–Zirkov
“Ever the romantic, Z.” Maggie propped the note against the bottle of red wine on the counter. Two years ago, a witness’s family had given her the wine as a thank-you for rescuing their twenty-year-old daughter. One of Galactic Intelligence’s units had done all the hard work. Maggie had simply protected the woman and kept her company until her family arrived to take her home. The young woman had been in shock and wouldn’t let any of the male marshals touch her.
Maggie stared at the expensive gift. Very few bottles of wine survived the war. Shaunda suggested she sell it to a collector and use the money to buy her dream house, but Maggie couldn’t. That bottle reminded her of all the women out there who hadn’t been rescued. She wouldn’t profit from their misfortune.
