Kate raised an eyebrow. "Why did I do what?"
"This..." Tears threatened to spill, but she knew she wouldn't give Kate, Tania, or any of the others involved the satisfaction of watching her cry. She pointed at the mess on the floor and then to the computer. "Why would you do this?"
Rising from her desk, Kate looked the model of perfection—as always. Her black hair fell past her shoulders, perfectly coifed, never a strand out of place, slick and smooth. Her sculpted eyebrows sat atop her long face, which belonged in a magazine spread not on the top floor of a company of Guardians. Oh yes, Wendy was sure Kate knew how beautiful she was, the amount
of power her looks held over both men who wanted her sexually, and women who hoped being in her presence would make them somehow like her.
"I didn't do anything." Putting her hands on her hips, she regarded Wendy's destroyed purse and disrupted computer screen with an air of amusement. "I was with Tania the whole time. I only recently got to my desk. It must have happened while you were in there doing whatever it is you do every morning with Draco."
Whatever she did every morning with Draco? She gritted her teeth and wished she could scream. "You're lying." She pointed a finger at Kate. "If you ever do this again—and tell this to all of your friends too—I'll go to HR and report it."
Kate laughed mirthlessly. "You're going to tattle? I told you, I didn't do this."
The thud of a door closing interrupted Kate's speech. Oh, god. Draco. Wendy had only a second before he appeared. Even knowing how powerful and fast he was, his quick arrival at her desk still startled her.
"What's going on here?"
Kate's eyes widened. If Wendy hadn't been so furious, she might have laughed.
Unless you were used to Draco's intensity, you could be overwhelmed. Kate almost never saw him in person. Most of the time, he spoke to her over the intercom or sent her computer messages.
Wendy covered her eyes with her hand. When hysteria threatened, it helped to shut out all light. Since she couldn't actually flip the light switch, this would have to do. Draco could not see her lose her cool. Handlers did not display emotions in front of their Guardians. It was imperative to remain calm. Guardians lived with a lot of pressure, both by putting their lives on the line and then by having to hide their real identities from the world. Handler rule number one?
Make your boss' job easier, not harder by freaking out all the time.
Taking her hand off her eyes, she forced a smile. "It's fine, I think we just had a misunderstanding."
"You're lying to me. I can hear it." Draco turned all his attention on Kate. "I have the ability to compel you to tell the truth. All I have to do is alter my vocal patterns and not only will you tell me what I want to know, but you'll also confess all kinds of things we'd both rather I not hear. If you want to keep your job, tell me the truth, Kate. What happened here?"
"It was just meant to be a practical joke. She's just such...a..."
He narrowed his eyes, and though the force of his blue-eyed stare was not on her, Wendy gulped.
Draco raised an eyebrow, with what could only be described as venom in his gaze. "Such a what?"
"Such a geek, and she gets such preferential treatment here. We wanted to knock her down a peg."
"If Wendy gets preferential treatment, which I don't think is true, it is only because she does her job better than anyone else."
Feeling her cheeks heat again, she wanted to crawl in a hole and hide. It was great to be appreciated by your employer but not like this.
She tried to interrupt. "Look—"
"If anything like this ever happens again to Wendy or to anyone else, the person responsible will be fired immediately. Clean up this mess, Kate, now."
Without another word, Draco turned on his heel and returned to his office. The thud of the wooden door stretched out over the silence in the room. Kate's eyes, still huge from Draco's interrogation, closed for a second. When she opened them, she'd regained the distant composure Wendy was used to seeing.
"I'll get a cloth to clean off your computer."
As Kate walked down the hall, Wendy gave in and collapsed in her chair, letting her knees buckle as she did. She wished, for a moment, she were a member of the crew in Space Adventures; none of them would ever have needed their boss to rescue them from bitchy coworkers. Sighing, she wondered how he had known to do so in the first place.
Chapter Two
Draco Powers sat, feeling incredibly uncomfortable, in his client's too-small-for- him flowery fabric lounge chair as he turned down her offer of tea for the third time.
What gave with the tea? He didn't drink the stuff. Why push it on him? The whole living room, from ceiling to floor and everything in between, looked like a floral shop had thrown up.
The ceiling boasted badly stenciled roses. Daisies exploded on the carpet, and a different flower print covered each of the couches. Even his client, who looked to be around fifty years of age with graying brown hair and unremarkably dull gray eyes, wore lilacs on her housedress. If he spent too much time in this room, he was going to get hay fever.
Forcing himself to pay attention, he listened to the smooth rhythm of Wendy's voice as she asked the requisite questions of the woman who wanted to hire him. He knew, having worked with and counted on Wendy for years, she had done some version of this questioning over the phone when the case was first sent upstairs after the online request for services had been filtered and approved. It was unusual to have Wendy so thoroughly ask the questions again. She'd expressed her concern that something felt askew with this woman's story, so he was inclined to let his little Handler have at the flower-wearing lady until Wendy was satisfied with the answers.
Little Handler? Where had his thought come from?
"Tell me again why you aren't using the police to investigate this issue, Mrs. Marckham?"
"I tried the police. For the first six months after Lael was taken, I waited and waited for the police to recover my son. Now, I'm pursuing other means."
Clearly, or they wouldn't be there. Draco looked at his watch. They'd shown up half-an-hour early so Wendy could do this, and then, assuming she let him take the job, he could find the child and still get home on time to go on his date.
"I guess I'm confused, Mrs. Marckham. Why do you think the Guardian route is your only option?"
Color rose in the woman's cheeks. Draco wanted to sink into the chair as her gaze met his and he realized what was bothering Wendy. Their potential client fancied herself in love with him. It wasn't the first time he'd run into this problem. All Guardians did on a regular basis. But
when this woman met his gaze, and her dull eyes lit up like stars, she made the 'crazy alarm' go off in his head.
Especially when she said, "The Guardians can do anything." Something about this woman was off...
He would still find her son. Not the teenager's fault his mama was a whack job. Wendy started to speak and he interrupted. "That's unfortunately not true, ma'am. If we could do anything then I wouldn't have a career. We would have long ago eliminated poverty, destruction, illness, and violence from the world." Making eye contact with Wendy, he nodded to let her know that while he was fully aware of what she sensed from their client, he intended to take the job anyway. The great thing about Wendy Warner was she understood unspoken signals. She nodded back.
He might even be able to use Mrs. Markham's Guardian infatuation to his advantage. "Why don't you tell me who you think has your son?"
"It's obvious."
"Not to me, I'm afraid."
He gritted his teeth. Years ago, when he and Ace had opened Powers, Inc., he'd been naïve in thinking he should feel a tremendous amount of satisfaction helping people. Now, all they did was annoy him. If the identity of her son's kidnapper had been obvious, would he have asked her the damned question?
"Aliens took him, of course." The older woman took a sip of her tea.
He closed his mouth, opting not to speak. This turn of events wa
s almost too delicious to be real. He sat back in the chair and crossed his arms over his chest. This was why he had a Handler. So Wendy could speak at this moment and he could pretend he was a statue and stop communicating all together.
Wendy straightened in her chair. He could see she'd bit down for a second on her bottom lip.
His super sight revealed two minute teeth marks left on the lower part of her lip. His cock stirred to attention, as it always did when Wendy was concerned. He wouldn't act on it. No, he'd resisted her appeal for years. Nothing had to change now.
"Why do you think aliens took your son, ma'am?" Wendy's Upstate New York accent slipped out. She was usually so careful not to show it but when she got really bothered, it flew out of her like they were sitting in Buffalo or Rochester instead of Allentown, Pennsylvania. At least he
thought they were in Allentown. He flew all day, every day. Sometimes, he had a hard time remembering where he was...
"Who else would take him?"
Wendy sighed. "Any number of people, I would imagine. Did your son have any enemies?"
"Enemies?" Sylvia Markham laughed. "No, of course not. Everyone loves Lael. Except for the Aliens, of course."
Wendy shot him a pleading look. He wanted to smile at her exasperation. She didn't really expect him to speak, did she? He paid her to handle types of situations.
She turned back to their Alien-obsessed client. "Let's all pretend it was not aliens who took Lael. Let's come up with some other ideas."
Maybe he should let Wendy off the hook and just drop Sylvia Markham. If she really thought aliens had Lael then she needed to find herself some Alien hunters, if such people existed. And they might. Guardians existed. Maybe Alien hunters did too.
"I would think, Ms. Warner, considering your attire, you, of all people wouldn't object to the well documented facts stating aliens walk among us."
Wendy went very still. He had to give her credit; she could get control of her emotions faster than anyone he'd ever known.
"While I am obviously a staunch fan of Space Adventures, ma'am, with a great love for the ideals expressed on the show and the culture of charity and responsibility, I do not, as a rule, feel there are aliens walking around on our planet right now as we speak." She set down her cup.
"Then why are you wearing that ridiculous costume?"
Wendy clenched her hands at her side. "When I leave work today, I am doing work with my fan group at the local soup kitchen near my home. As a rule, we wear uniforms so people recognize us. A lot of locals in my area are not comfortable with strangers they don't know and will refuse help out of speculation of their motives. But, if they see us coming in our regalia, then they know we're safe. Since we had your appointment today, so late in the day, I will have to ask Mr. Powers to drop me directly at the soup kitchen, as he has done before, and I won't have any time to change."
She'd never explained her reasons for wearing the uniform before. Of course, most people just stared and whispered. She might never have had the chance to come right out and explain it.
Something odd panged in his chest and he rubbed over the uncomfortable feeling, wondering
what it could be. He'd never cared why she wore it. Wendy was everything he could have asked for in a Handler and then some.
Not to mention she looked hot in the outfit, and anyone who couldn't see that was blind.
Her brown hair fell just past her chin, and displayed next to the red of the Space Adventures uniform, it looked almost golden. The high collar of the costume accentuated her long, pale neck and slightly pointed features. Her stubborn chin matched the nature of its owner. It said to the world, I'm not a push over and I don't care what you think. Her nose was small and turned up a little at the end, in a way his mother would have referred to as 'pixie-like', and spoke of a Nordic heritage in her background. It wasn't hard to picture her ancestors as Vikings. Wendy would have stood on the mast of the ship, giving orders and being revered as a goddess.
The rest of her face was heart shaped, but her brilliant brown eyes held his attention. With them, she'd held his gaze when he'd interviewed her for the position four years earlier. Only twenty-two years old then, she'd been working for one of the Associates for three months. It had been gutsy for her to think she could get a job with him so soon after signing on with the company. Yet, here she was, his most valued asset.
He'd do anything to keep her.
Dressed in the uniform, the shirt pulled at her thin waist, showing her lush curves. Her breasts were more than a handful. They were maybe two or three handfuls, and he had big hands.
Tailored to fit snugly, the pants showed off a rear end made for grabbing. More than once, he'd been tempted to reach out and squeeze.
Of course, he hadn't. He didn't date—or screw around with—Handlers. That was how you got into trouble. That's why Ace no longer showed his face in the office. He'd broken his Handler's heart. Of course, the woman should have known better. His brother had a reputation for using them and then losing them. Now, however, Ace's Handler was distraught and the man couldn't come near the office without her screaming and crying. The situation was incredibly awkward.
Relegated to working from home, Ace received no help from his Handler. You couldn't fire a woman you'd just dumped. Doing so meant a lawsuit, or a payoff, and horrible publicity. His brother wanted to switch Handlers with him. Draco rubbed his chin as he thought about the suggestion for a second. His answer wasn't going to change. No way, no how was Ace taking Wendy from him.
"Well." Sylvia Markham was still discussing Wendy's attire. "It seems ridiculous to me."
He stood and the room fell silent. Even Wendy, who could usually read him well, looked at him questioningly.
"What Ms. Warner wears to work is nobody's business except hers and mine. I'll ask you to comment on it no further." He stretched his arms over his head and felt the fabric on his black Egyptian cotton turtleneck tear. Wearing clothes was an occupational hazard for him. At least once a week, he had to replace what he wore in the middle of the day after he'd made some simple movement and ripped another seam.
"Now, let's go and see the young man's room. I think it's best if you stay here, ma'am, while Ms. Warner and I check it out. Think about the Aliens. Specifically, we're going to need a description of the creatures. How many heads, limbs, etcetera."
Without another word, he walked to the back of the house. They could both follow him—or not—but it was time to get this show on the road. He was bored. They'd been here too long, and he hadn't had enough action for the day to warrant sitting still.
The morning's job had resolved nicely without him having to exert himself. As soon as he'd walked into the room, the husband had decided to stop hiding the wife's inheritance and give over the bank information she needed.
The troublesome man had restrained himself but Draco still wanted to kick his ass. What kind of man abandoned his family and ran away with their money?
Draco would have laughed at the thought if it wasn't so familiar. He didn't have to look far for an answer; his father had been the kind of man to take off. In fact, if Draco went back through all his traceable relatives, men abandoning their families formed a long history. Maybe it was in the genes. The same biological, evolutionary circumstances making them Guardians made them bad parents.
This was exactly why he would never have children.
Opening the door to Lael's room only added to his thoughts. If his mother's living room was a bad tribute to all things floral, then Lael's room was a shrine to fake Guardians. Cartoon representations of the real thing…
He knew their fictitious stories, had read the comic books as a boy. They'd represented everything he'd hoped to be as a small child, and everything he'd resented as a teenager.
Life didn't work like fiction. No one was going to let him spend days working as a mild-
mannered reporter, as he rushed around occasionally saving the world from mad men. It was an all or nothing deal, and, whether
his critics liked it or not, Guardians had to live under the same constraints as everyone else. The only way to do anything worthwhile with his so-called gifts was to charge money for them.
And fuck anyone who didn't like it.
But back to the matter at hand. Lael Markham and his apparent—based on the cartoon posters covering his walls—obsession with pretend superhumans.
"Wendy?" He called over his shoulder, knowing she would answer. She always did. Some day she might not. Some day she might get a different job, and, when she left, the office would be a cold, uninviting place he wouldn't look forward to going to anymore. Today, however, she was still his to call when he needed her.
"Yes, sir?" Wendy arrived in the room faster than he thought she would. She must have run.
"Thought you might like to see this." He indicated the pictures on the wall. "And don't call me sir." It really ate at him when she said 'sir'. He was six years older than she was. Hardly old enough to warrant such an address. It made him feel like he was approaching his dotage.
"Wow, he's a real fan of comics, isn't he?"
She smiled sheepishly and he wanted to smile back, which was exactly why he didn't.
"This kid's fifteen, right?"
She looked at the notes she'd taken from her computer. By now, he knew her Routine. Any facts she learned, she recorded. Wendy took type-A personality to a whole new level. Nodding, she looked up. "Yes, fifteen last September."
"Seems a bit old for a casual obsession with the comic book heroes." Something was buzzing his intuition. The reason he'd managed to live as long as he had was he'd learned long ago to not doubt his feelings.
"Could be he doesn't have many friends and clearly his family is, I don't know, off." Wendy sighed.
He narrowed his eyes, watching her wander the room, touching the posters on the walls with her fingertips. She seemed to have a strong visceral sense, touching where others might not bother. Whether she knew it or not, Wendy seemed to have a real need to feel things with all of her senses.
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