by McKenna Dean
With a satisfied nod, he helped himself to my cupboards. After opening the third one and closing it again, he frowned. “What on Earth do you eat? There’s no food in here.”
Shrugging, I pointed to the little pantry. He opened the folding door and after a moment, turned around holding up a single can of Campbell’s Chicken Noodle Soup and a packet of saltines. “That’s it?” He sounded aghast.
“I wasn’t expecting company.” I grabbed the dishcloth from the sink and dropped it on the floor, using my heel to scoot it around to mop up the rainwater. If I smudged my polish, I would have to hit him.
“I’d run around to the Third St. Deli and pick up sandwiches, but I have nothing to pay the gatekeeper at the tollbooth again.” He pointed an index finger at the apartment below. “I’ve given her my last bottle of hooch.”
“Probably just as well.”
He nodded. “I couldn’t stop thinking about what you’d said the night—well, the night you picked me up from Moneta’s.”
“For starters, I didn’t pick you up. That sounds... unsavory. Besides, what could I have said that made such an impression on you?”
He tapped his temple with an index finger. “You pointed out the rate at which I was killing brain cells. I realized you were right. I could see them dying right in front of my eyes.” He made a fluttering motion with his fingers as he withdrew his hand from his head.
His little theatrics amused me. “Someone stop the presses. I can’t recall the last time a man took my advice.”
He lifted a sardonic eyebrow and opened the nearest drawer. Finding a can opener within, he set about opening the can of soup. “I don’t know about that. Given the new security measures now in place at Redclaw, I’d have to say someone was taking your advice. Weren’t they your idea? According to that little man, Jessop, it was your suggestion to beef up security.”
I pulled a pot out of the cupboard, placed it on the burner, and turned on the gas. “More like they’re making sure I don’t leave with the silverware.”
“You’re just upset because you’re on probation. Trust me, you won’t be for long. They’d be fools not to utilize your skills.” After dumping the soup into the pan, he filled the can with water and added it to the pan.
It was a tidy, almost domestic little scene that he had to spoil with his next words.
“Are you one of those women who refuses to eat?” He raked me with his glance as he stirred the soup.
Stung, my answer was snippy. “No. I’m one of those women who lives alone. Dinner for one is hardly conducive to becoming Betty Crocker.”
A sly grin stole over his face as he gave me an assessing glance. Snapping his fingers, he said, “I’ve got it. You can’t cook.”
The ray gun lurched within my pocket. I had to agree with it, shooting Knight seemed like a good idea to me, too. “I just don’t see the point in making a huge mess in the kitchen for one person.”
“No. I’m right. You don’t know how to cook. Fancy that. I’ve discovered something Henrietta Bishop doesn’t know how to do.” He was entirely too gleeful at the prospect.
“It’s Rhett,” I said automatically.
He wrinkled his nose as if he’d caught a whiff of bad fish. “Rhett Bishop? You can’t be serious. That’s too close to Rhett Butler. Though frankly, I can picture you not giving a damn.”
This wasn’t the first time someone had alluded to my name being like that of Clark Gable’s character in Gone with the Wind, but it was the first time anyone had compared me to Butler himself. I sniffed. “At least you don’t think I’m like Scarlett.”
“I don’t know about that.” He stirred the soup. The aroma of chicken broth wafted up from the stove. “Tomorrow is another day for you, too. You seem pretty resilient to me.”
I couldn’t decide if he’d insulted or flattered me, so I said nothing, but took two bowls down from the cabinet. Regardless of my earlier snack, the soup smelled good as he ladled it into the bowls.
He just shook his head when I added crumbled saltine crackers to my portion as we sat at the table. “Why don’t you just open the shaker and pour salt directly into your mouth?”
“I like crackers with my soup.”
He stabbed at my bowl with his spoon. “That’s more like you enjoy a little soup with your crackers. It looks revolting. Like chicken-flavored porridge.”
Put that way, it did sound disgusting. As I eyed the sodden mess, I changed the subject. “You never said how it is you’re able to leave Redclaw with no one being the wiser.”
Especially in view of the added security.
He must not have been all that hungry, for he pushed the bowl of soup aside and fished something out of one of his pockets. After placing it on the table in front of him, he gave it a gentle push in my direction.
I didn’t reach for it. Much like the previous devices I’d seen, this one had that same dull metallic casing, with odd markings carved on the sides. Unlike anything else I’d seen before, however, it had a raised ring in the center that cast a warm yellow glow. “What’s that?”
An infectious grin lit up his face. “I call it an image-projector. I think about what I want to look like in great detail, and it projects that image over me. I’m still wearing the same clothes and everything, but if I can imagine it, I can look like it.” He swept the device back toward him when I would have picked it up. “Few people question the boss when he’s leaving the building.”
“What if you run into the boss? That could be awkward.”
He didn’t seem concerned. “The odds are low. Besides, I can just as easily be an anonymous lab tech. Have you been downstairs? There’s a lot going on, and as I said the other day, they’re more worried about unauthorized people getting in than paying attention to who’s getting out.”
“But to what purpose?” His attitude made little sense. “You’re safer inside Redclaw. Why leave?”
“Boredom.” He shrugged when I raised a disbelieving eyebrow. “Okay, then. The desire for decent food.”
My eyebrow went even higher as I stared pointedly at the cooling soup in front of him.
“Fine. I don’t like being caged. Is that answer enough for you?”
I could see his point. And since I had him here, I asked about something that had been on my mind since the day of the mechanical spider. “What do you think is the purpose behind these artifacts?”
He leaned back in his chair to the point he risked toppling it over backward. The front legs lifted until he settled the chair back in place with a thump. “That’s the sixty-four-thousand-dollar question, isn’t it?” His raised eyebrow implied both curiosity and concern. The combination was frankly compelling. “Where do they come from? Who or what is behind the technology? It’s beyond anything I’ve ever seen, and I’ve worked on some top-secret projects. My guess? It’s not from this planet.”
My mouth dropped open. “You mean...alien?” I sputtered.
He nodded in all seriousness.
“You seriously believe Martians or Moon Men or something like that is seeding our plant with their gizmos?” The shock of his statement having worn off, scorn now laced my voice.
His shrug was eloquent. “Maybe. I think it more likely an advanced race implanted these devices millennia ago, knowing at some point we’d develop nuclear technology, hence the activation of said devices now.”
“But why?”
He shook his head. “A test? A trap? Who knows? Maybe the awakening tech triggered some kind of signal to the developers and even now, they’re on their way to greet us.”
I wondered if we would disappoint them. It was a distinctly disturbing thought. “Is this a working theory or are you just blowing smoke?”
His devilish smile made an appearance. The way it peeped out of hiding, combined with the fall of that rebellious lock of hair over his intense eyes when he leaned forward, would have charmed the pants off most women I know.
I don’t charm that easily.
“My dear, I j
ust tinker with the gizmos.” He leaned back in his seat once more, his clever fingers toying with his spoon as he spoke. “I’ll leave winkling out the motives of the artifact-builders to the scary people, like you and Ryker.”
I straightened. “Me? Scary? What on earth have I done to give you that impression?” Ryker, I could understand. We knew so little about the shifters, how they lived, and what they could do. The way Ryker had tossed Billy around that day in the office was a fair indication he was stronger than most men, and of course, there was the rapid healing thing as well. More than that, I didn’t know.
“Scarily competent.”
I wrinkled my nose. “Am I supposed to thank you? That makes me sound like every other woman in the workplace. Standing behind the boss and making him look good.”
His laugh caught me off guard. “No, you have it all wrong. The smart man stands behind the girl with the ray gun.”
Okay. Perhaps I could be charmed a little.
Another thought occurred to me. “You must have the shifter gene.”
His head snapped up at that. “What?”
“The shifter gene. In order to make the technology work. Not everyone can, you know. Only those with the gene.”
Narrowing his eyes, he said, “Then you must have it too. The other night, you with the ray gun.” His brows furrowed in concern. “Does that mean we’ll both change into some creature when we least expect it?”
I shook my head. “I don’t think so. Ryker seemed to think it’s a recessive gene in my case. But that’s why they’re bringing in a geneticist. To test me, among other things.”
His expression cleared. “Ah, yes. Botha. Yes, they wanted a sample of my blood too. That explains it.”
For a split second, the question of what would happen if two people with recessive shifter genes got together and had children leapt into mind, but I dismissed it as immaterial to the discussion at hand. I would have responded to Knight’s statement, but the buzzer at the front door sounded. Frowning, I lifted a finger to my lips and glared a warning at him before I plucked the cotton balls from between my toes and went to answer the door. Though it made for a lumpy bulge, I felt comforted by the weight of the ray gun in my kimono pocket.
When I opened the door, Em breezed in as though she were at a red carpet event in Hollywood. She even looked the part, wearing a cream-colored wiggle dress decorated with sequins, and a mahogany-brown mink stole that slid off one shoulder and emphasized the grace of a lush, bare arm. The sparkling diamond bracelet completed the picture of sophisticated wealth. There had been a time when dressing in this manner would have been as natural to me as breathing.
“Rhett, darling.” She glanced around with a delicately arched eyebrow, as though she couldn’t quite believe what she was seeing. “What a charming little place you have. Don’t think I’m rude but I haven’t much time. I’ve got a car waiting so I must get right to the point. I need your help.”
I shut the door and joined her in my small living room. She flopped down in the nearest chair, opened her bag, and pulled out her cigarette case. I pushed the ashtray on the coffee table closer to her and took a seat on the settee, hoping Knight would have enough sense to stay in the kitchen and be quiet until I could get rid of Em. “Sweetie, what’s wrong? Wedding planning got you down?”
She turned her lovely wide-eyed stare on me, pausing mid-strike of her match. “How did you know? Everything’s a mess.” She shook her head so hard her dark-brown waves bounced, despite the heavy application of hairspray. “You must come and make things right.”
“I doubt they’re as bad as all that. Perhaps I can make a few phone calls for you next week on my lunch break.”
Lighting the cigarette, she took several deep drags before speaking. “No, I need you there on the spot. Promise me you’ll come help straighten out my wedding. There’s only four weeks left to fix things. Milly has been such a sad sack and has left everything up to the planners, who have gone crazy with the expenses. Mrs. Hardcastle keeps demanding lavish changes that would put the Rockefellers to shame. Daddy might be rich, but I don’t want to bankrupt him with ridiculous expenditures.” To my surprise, Em pulled a dainty handkerchief out of her clutch and dabbed at her eyes. “I thought these people had class! But Eddie’s mother actually approved gold leaf trombones for the wedding cake.”
“Trombones? What’s the significance of that? And I thought Milly was just the maid of honor. How did she—or her mother—wind up authorizing the decorations like this?”
Em’s chocolate-brown eyes flashed with anger when she looked up over her handkerchief. “Mrs. Hardcastle decided I had too much on my plate to plan my own wedding. The truth of the matter is she didn’t trust me to do any planning, so she nominated Milly for the job. Milly abdicates every decision back to her mother, who has the most frightful taste I’ve ever seen. I thought society bluebloods were supposed to be classy. She’s decided on a Nutcracker ballet theme. You know, ballerinas and hideous grinning toy soldiers. Who wants that hideous junk tarting up the venue?”
Stifling a snort, I patted her hand. “A place in society is no guarantee of good taste, I’m afraid. Just tell your father. I’m sure he’ll put his foot down if you don’t want what Mrs. Hardcastle has planned.”
“He says Mrs. Hardcastle must know best and I should bow to her expert opinion.” Em’s voice rose to a wail as she completed her sentence.
“Then I’m not sure what you think I can do. Why don’t you elope?” I kept an ear cocked for any sound from the kitchen, but all was silent there.
“I said as much to Eddie but he just roared like a hyena. He thought I was joking. Darling, I know you could reel them in. Come back with me tonight to the Hamptons. Since the bridal shower is this weekend, we’re staying in the Hamptons until the wedding. You can sort everything out. Daddy will listen to you. He thinks you’re the bee’s knees.”
“Honey, I can’t leave my job for a whole month.” I spoke gently but firmly.
“All expenses paid! I’ll even hire you as a wedding consultant. You must come!”
I shook my head. “And then after the wedding, I’d still be out of a job.”
“Maybe, maybe not. You said you wanted a job that would take advantage of your organizational skills. What about becoming a full-time wedding planner? I’m sure you’d be marvelous.”
“I’m sure I would not.” The thought of marshalling vendors and caterers into creating the perfect event for high-strung brides made me shudder.
“You don’t know until you try. Why don’t you ask your boss for the time off?” The sound of a strange voice made both of us whip our heads around.
The person standing in the kitchen doorway was the spitting image of my downstairs neighbor, complete with cigarette trailing from her lips.
The smirk on her face, however, was reminiscent of a certain scientist’s.
“I didn’t realize you had company.” Em sat up straighter, giving my platinum-blonde ‘neighbor’ a narrow-eyed glare.
“She just dropped in to borrow a cup of sugar.” I fixed Knight with my own glare.
“Only Rhett doesn’t have any. Her cupboards are bare. Like Mother Hubbard’s.” Knight had my neighbor’s languid drawl down pat. Just how many times had he spoken with her?
“So she was leaving.” I bounced up from the settee and took Knight by the arm. I almost gave the show away by reacting to the feel of his coat sleeve—and the undeniably masculine arm beneath it—instead of the silk dressing gown I expected.
Nor had I expected Knight to be so difficult to budge. He simply refused to move a single step toward the door. I had to relinquish my grip when he shook me off and lounged in the doorway instead. My hand itched to slap the infuriating smirk off his face. Fortunately, I have excellent self-control.
“I don’t know about you, but I’d love an excuse to take off to the Hamptons for a few weeks. So very la-di-da.” Knight waved his own cigarette about airily, flowing past me to take a seat beside Em on
the sofa. “Trixie LaSalle, at your service.” He waggled his fingers in Em’s direction.
I started to push the ashtray closer to him, then hesitated. Was he actually smoking a cigarette or just projecting an image of one? And would the image extend to the falling of ash or not? And how did he learn my downstairs neighbor’s name, if indeed that was her real name and not some stage persona she’d adopted? No doubt during one of his bargaining sessions with her on the fire escape.
Em fixed him with a look that this act of friendliness hadn’t deceived her, but she didn’t know how to respond other than to pretend she was. Her smile was very feline as a result. “Now see, Rhett? Miss LaSalle agrees with me. What harm can it to do ask?”
“I just started this job in March. I can’t ask for time off so soon, especially not a full month. I’m not exactly in good graces with the management right now, either. Perhaps I can come down a few days before the wedding, though.”
“Two weeks minimum. I’ll never make it through the ceremony with anything less.” Em sat up straighter. “Oh! I know! You can bring your boyfriend along. There’s plenty of room at the house. Tommy will be wild with jealousy. Won’t that be a nice little incentive?”
I’d almost forgotten about the boyfriend I’d invented for Em’s—and my—sake. I found Knight watching me with bright, interested eyes.
“Oh, do tell us about the boyfriend.” He leaned back on the sofa with the air of someone settling in for the evening.
“I can’t invite my date to spend a month in the Hamptons with me,” I snapped, directing my annoyance toward Em. “He works at the same agency I do. We can’t both leave the office at the same time.”
Em’s eyes turned into feline slits, and she flicked a quick glance at Knight before skewering me with her glare. “How can you both work at the same place? You hadn’t even interviewed for this job when you told me about him.”
Resisting the urge to slap my forehead for such an obvious error, I said stiffly, “That’s how I heard about the job in the first place. Through him.”
Em’s brow cleared as she stood up. “Well, that might make it hard for you to both leave, then. But he could certainly come down for a few days before the wedding.” She stood. “You’ll ask about getting some time off, please? Two weeks.”
