Read Bad Vibrations: Book 1 of the Sedona Files for Free Online Page A

blinked at him. “Thought you weren’t ordering a drink.”
    He smiled again, but it looked a little strained. “I have a feeling I’m going to need one.”
    “What about the five minutes?”
    “I’m considering an extension.” And he pulled out his own phone and began to enter a text—begging off from the cocktail reception, I guessed.
    Well, in that case… “Bring me a glass of pinot noir,” I told her. “And an order of the Thai spring rolls.”
    She nodded and wrote down our orders, then made herself scarce again.
    “As to your question,” Paul said, “there are accounts where individuals state their bodies have been taken over by entities not of this world, or that they have felt the presence of some ‘other’ within their thoughts. It’s far less common than abduction, but it isn’t unknown.”
    The image of Alex Hathaway’s haunted eyes rose in my mind, and I shivered. Not that I believed in possession—as I’d told Alex, ghosts couldn’t possess people, and in all my time working with troubled people I’d never seen any evidence to suggest that demons or devils even existed. But Paul Oliver seemed to believe, or at least be open to the idea.
    “So you believe in alien abduction?”
    He crossed his arms and watched me over the flickering little tea light in its blue glass holder at the center of our table. “Of course I do. Wouldn’t make much sense to have me as the keynote speaker here if I didn’t, would it?”
    I had to admit to myself that he had a point. “Have you ever been abducted?”
    “No.”
    “But you believe it happens?”
    “Absolutely.”
    It was my turn to settle back in my seat and give him a narrow glance. “Exactly what are you a doctor of, Dr. Oliver?”
    “I have Ph.Ds in astronomy and astrophysics,” he replied imperturbably. There might have been the slightest glint in his eyes as he watched me…or maybe it was just a reflection from the candle flame. “From Stanford.”
    Oh. While I knew it was entirely possible for a university as prestigious as Stanford to churn out its share of crackpots, I was becoming less and less convinced that Paul Oliver was one. After all, there were plenty of people in the world who didn’t believe in psychics, and yet here I was.
    “So, my client,” I went on doggedly. “He was absolutely convinced that his girlfriend had been taken over by some alien intelligence. He noted changes in her behavior and personality…none of which seemed all that strange to me, but of course I didn’t have a chance to meet her.”
    At that moment the waitress showed up with our drinks and the appetizer. I made myself take several bites of a spring roll before I had any of the pinot. Best to lay down a base. At least it seemed as if the ghosts of mojitos past had pretty much disappeared by that time.
    Paul didn’t bother with the appetizers, and lifted his martini right away. He had long, strong fingers, but not pale and smooth the way I might imagine a scientist’s would be. No, they were tanned and even callused, as if he did some kind of physical labor as well. Maybe setting up telescopes took more work than I had thought.
    “What were these personality changes?” he inquired.
    “Well, primarily reading Variety , from what I can recall.”
    He choked, then helped himself to a medicinal application of martini before replying, “Reading what?”
    “ Variety . And the Hollywood Reporter , apparently. And they hadn’t—” I felt myself flush but persevered. “That is, Alex claimed they hadn’t been intimate for some time.”
    “That actually follows with a good deal of what I’ve read on the topic. But the reading material…”
    “I know.” It hadn’t made any sense to me, either. “What use would aliens have for Hollywood trade rags?”
    “I’m not sure.” He rubbed his chin absently, as if considering. Then he seemed to notice the spring rolls, and bent down and picked one up. “What’s the young woman’s