Hello, Gorgeous!

by MaryJanice Davidson

  He blinked. “Because it’s wrong to go around killing people, as you put it. No matter what they did to deserve it.”

  “Uh-huh. So I go with you and you help me and nobody else gets murdered and everybody’s happy except the Boss, who will probably swallow all his teeth when I call to tell him that I’m with—okay. I’m in.”

  Chapter 18

  There were a few flaws in her plan, she thought, staring dreamily at what’s-his-name’s hands as he shifted gears. He had wonderful hands, big and blocky, and the knuckles were sprinkled with fine black hair. If she couldn’t stare into his dreamy blue eyes, she’d stare at his hands. Oh, and think about the flaws. Right. That too.

  Flaw number one: she wasn’t the killer.

  Flaw number two: she wasn’t sure he was, but on the chance that he wasn’t, the killer was still running around loose. Killing… what did he say? Members of the Wagner team? She knew about them, they were the team that had infected her. Wagner for Jamie Wagner, the Bionic Woman. Ha. Ha. Ha. Somebody at the O.S.F. was watching too many reruns.

  Flaw number three: she had just agreed to be taken into what’s-his-name’s custody for an indefinite amount of time.

  Flaw number four: she didn’t know what’s-his-name’s name.

  Flaw number five: she was letting her hormones do her thinking for her, which, while almost always resulting in short-term satisfaction, led to long-term poor results.

  Flaw number six: the Boss.

  “That reminds me,” she said. “I need to make a phone call.”

  “Where’s your cell phone?”

  “Pal, you’re probably looking at the one person in the state of Minnesota who doesn’t have one.”

  “’Gregory Hamlin sent a green recruit into the field without a cellphone?”

  “Don’t yell. I’m sitting right here.”

  “Unbelievable,” what’s-his-name muttered. “Truly. The mind reels. The mind is boggled.”

  “Pal.” She snapped her fingers. “Are you with me? Stay focused, okay? I. Need. A. Phone.”

  “When we get to the jet, you can use mine.”

  “Okay.” Jet? Oooh. Jet? “Jet?”

  “Yes.”

  “Where are we going?”

  “My home.”

  “Okey-dokey.”

  She supposed it was time she read that stupid file. She settled back in the luxurious leather seats of the whatever it was he was driving—she had never been a car babe—and closed her eyes. And read.

  Dmitri Novakov sneaked another glance at the odd blonde in the seat next to him and nearly drove into a telephone pole. That’s enough of that, he told himself. Pay attention. Yes, she’s quite pretty, but that’s also quite irrelevant.

  He had calculated several results from his trip to the motel, but the probability of her willingly going with him was only eight point five two three percent. The probability that he would have had to kill her had been almost sixty percent. He was, frankly, amazed she’d gotten into his Lexus.

  He would have to redo all his calculations, because as it was, he was playing it by ear. And he hated playing it by ear.

  Too many variables made it impossible to predict outcome with any accuracy.

  And now… she was asleep!

  He quickly calculated the probability of the Wagner team killer agreeing to come with him and then falling asleep in his car. It was low… one point two six seven percent.

  It was all very strange, and she was possibly the strangest of all in what he knew to be a very odd and cutthroat business. For a field agent, she was remarkably… real.

  Of course, they trained them to be charming, and pretty girls were often specifically recruited, but truly, she was like no other woman he had met. And the amazing thing was, it had nothing to do with the fact that she was the other cybernetically enhanced human being walking around on the planet.

  No, it was just her. When she wasn’t yelling, she was… well, yelling. But when she’d regained consciousness, she had been more angry than scared. In fact, he didn’t believe she had been scared at all.

  Most agents, upon waking in the presence of the Wolf, would have soiled themselves in terror. Or at least cringed a little. Not this one. Not this… Caitlyn.

  And what could her sinister motive be, to willingly come with him? Was he on her hit list? It would make sense, of a twisted sort… she had certainly taken care of enough of the Wagner team.

  That was perhaps the oddest thing of all. She didn’t seem like a cold, detached assassin. She was more like… like someone you might run into at a coffee shop.

  But perhaps that was part of her skill.

  Chapter 19

  “Caitlyn James is coming in on the SAT line,” Rebecca told the Boss. “And the senator from Florida canceled.”

  “Good. And good. Now I don’t have to cancel on him. Patch Caitlyn through. Oh, and have one of the boys bring my car around. I’m leaving at five.”

  Rebecca’s jaw dropped, and she backed out of the room as if unsure if he would leap over the desk and strangle her.

  The Boss rolled his eyes. Okay, so he was married to his job. And he seldom left the office before nine P.M. (Frankly, he didn’t know how bankers and brokers pulled off that whole forty-hour-work-week thing.) But was it so terrifically unusual that he wanted to leave at a decent hour in order to take Stacy to the Oceanaire? Not at all. But meet a nice girl and send her flowers and take her to dinner and you’d think it was one of the signs of the Apocalypse.

  He picked up the SAT line. “Mirage, this is Team Leader. Go.”

  “What?” Caitlyn said. The connection was excellent; it sounded, unfortunately, like she was in the room with him.

  “Mirage. That’s your code name when you’re in the field,” he explained, “and I’m Team Leader. This is an SAT line, which means—“

  “Yeah, yeah, save it for the technogeeks. Why Mirage?”

  “Because, frankly, nobody here ever knows when you’ll show up for a mission. You’ve only yourself to blame for that one. Mirage.”

  “I hate you. And it’s not a simple, easy hate like people hating fish. I hate you like the plague. I hate you like a famine. I—“

  “Mirage, can we speed this up? You have no idea what this is costing me per minute.”

  “Aw, go bitch to AT&T. Listen, there were just a few tiny details you forgot to share with me when you sent me to Paris. Paris, Texas, you big jerkoff.”

  He giggled. He couldn’t help it… “Describe exactly what your face looked like when you found out you weren’t in the City of Light. Leave out nothing.”

  “How about I describe what your face is gonna look like after I get done pounding it for about three hours? Now listen to me, you sadistic fuck. You didn’t tell me the guy you think is killing all the geeks is not only not a former agent of yours, but he’s been infected with nanobytes too!”

  “It was all in the file,” he said inexorably. Sadistic fuck? Lord, the mouth on this girl. He peeked at his watch. He’d finish up this call and then go pick Stacy up. He should probably give his bodyguards the night off. They might cramp Stacy’s style. “Every bit of it.”

  “Dmitri Novakov… The Wolf? Hello, could he have a scarier code name? Why not just call him Killer and be done with it?”

  “We can’t all get Mirage,” he said with a straight face.

  She ignored his obvious jibe and proceeded to tell him things he already knew. He yawned and peeked at his watch while she droned on. “Lithuanian by birth, nationalized here when he was twenty-two. Speaks flawless English, Russian, Japanese, French, and Spanish? Oh, and did I mention, he’s a freak like me?”

  “No one is a freak like you. That is both your blessing and your curse.” Not to mention mine.

  “Oh, save it for the recruiting speech, ya big weirdo. Plus… plus! I recognized one of the dead guys. Which gave me a total start, I can tell you. He was Egghead #1. He’s the guy who was hanging around when I woke up in the hospital after you ruined my l
ife.”

  “Yes, Dr. Jeeter.”

  “Jeeter? Like Skeeter? Look, all I know is, he was one of your main dudes for the nanoteam, and he’s dead. Along with two of his team members.”

  “Mirage,” he said, forcing patience, “I know all this.”

  “Well, thanks for mentioning it! Bad enough I had to spend almost two hours in Texas—do you know what that climate did to my ends?”

  “Your what?”

  “My ends, the ends of my hair. Next time send me to Ireland. I read somewhere that all the moisture in the air is great for your skin. But I digress.”

  “Yes,” he agreed, resting his forehead on his hand. He had his daily Caitlyn headache, right on time. Never mind a Tylenol. He needed a jab of morphine.

  “Bad enough I even set foot on that lame plane of yours to go anywhere. Bad enough you send me after a guy you so affectionately named the Wolf. But you think he’s killing the team that made him? And me?”

  “Well,” the Boss said reasonably, “someone is.”

  “And he thinks it’s me!”

  “Don’t be ridiculous. If it was you, we’d know.”

  “Well, thanks for that. I think. Plus, he says he never worked for you.”

  “Well, he’s wrong,” the Boss snapped.

  “So, he worked for you like I work for you, which is to say not at all, you lame, delusional weirdo. That is, you think we’re working for you, but in our hearts we’re not.”

  “Oh, Caitlyn, you’ve really got to jettison this idea of personal freedom you—wait a minute. He said?You’ve spoken to the Wolf?”

  “Dude, I’m in his plane right now!”

  The Boss nearly dropped the phone. How vastly he had underestimated Caitlyn James! She had left his office that morning and, in the hours that followed, tracked down the Wolf (the Wolf!), took him into custody, and commandeered his private jet. Now she was returning to him in triumph. Oh, it was sweet.

  “Mirage… I don’t know what to say. I’m very p—“

  “If you say you’re proud of me, I’m barfing right into the phone, you wretch.”

  “I was going to say I’m very pleased,” he lied.

  “Well, don’t sprain your elbow patting yourself on the back, chum. I think you might be jumping to a few conclusions. He’s not with me. I’m with him.”

  “What?”

  “You heard me. We got to talking in the Wally Dorfman Motel… something else I’ll be kicking your ass for now that I think of it, and anyway, I’m going home with him.”

  His knuckles whitened on the phone. “Is this… is this part of your plan?”

  “My plan to get laid, maybe.” She laughed. “Don’t wait up… Boss.”

  There was a gentle click as she hung up. But even though she was thousands of miles away, flying over the ocean somewhere, he could still hear her laughing.

  Chapter 20

  From the private case files of Dr. Elena Balta.

  First interview with subject Caitlyn James, 04/18, 14:25 hours. Subject is 24 yo Caucasian female who appears younger than her stated age. Very attractive, well nourished, socks match, coordinated outfit.

  Subject was initially given MMPI and Rorschach, scoring above average normal, but has an interesting way of seeing the Boss in most of the inkblots (e.g., “That’s that crumb, the Boss, sending me on another assignment. And that’s him telling me he’s got the receipt. And that’s the schmuck telling me I owe the government because they saved my ass, not that I asked them to. And that’s—“). Full test scores and interpretations can be found in Appendix A.

  Subject is oriented to time and place, seems very interested in her surroundings, and appears in no hurry to return to her home. Subject has asked for the use of a telephone and has called someone named Stacy and someone named Jennifer (full transcripts of conversations can be found in Appendix B).

  A brief case history was taken before testing began. Subject’s parents are both deceased, killed in a car accident when subject was a teenager. Subject graduated high school and has a bachelor’s degree in applied business, and currently styles hair at an American salon in Minnesota, Magnifique.

  Subject was part of the Wagner team following a severe car accident and, according to files downloaded from the O.S.F. database, is cybernetically enhanced.

  Begin session number one.

  “So, am I a slavering sociopath, or what?”

  “You tested high normal,” Dr. Balta explained. “This is to your credit, and congratulations. However, I feel obliged to tell you that masking responses is an indicator of the sociopathic personality.”

  “So, what you’re saying is, the fact that I tested normal is an ominous development.” Caitlyn snickered. “That’s like saying the fact that there are no developments is an ominous development.”

  There was a short silence, then Dr. Balta—who wasn’t a bad-looking woman for someone who wouldn’t see fifty again—said, “You don’t have to lie on the couch, you know. You can sit on one of the chairs.”

  “No, no, let’s get this over with. Jeez, Dmitri didn’t waste any time, did he? Hustled me off the plane, to his castle no less, and then brought me right to you. A castle. Hello? Am I the only one who feels trapped in an old movie?”

  There was another short pause, followed by “Everyone here wants to help you.”

  “Gosh, that makes me feel so warm and tingly inside… okay, it doesn’t, really, in fact it kind of creeps me out. So, he keeps his own private shrink in his own private castle?”

  “Yes.”

  “You know, you’ve got great skin.”

  “Thank you.”

  “I bet you never spent a minute in Texas,” she continued gloomily.

  “No, I’ve never had that pleasure. I have lived most of my life here. I went to school in Massachusetts but then came back home.”

  “Uh-huh. And where is ‘here’? I asked Dmitri, but he was on the phones—the guy carries two cell phones with him, you believe that?”

  “Three,” Dr. Balta said.

  “And he didn’t answer me.”

  “I apologize. He gets… preoccupied… at times. Of course you should know where you are. I confess, I was unaware you did not know, and I’m surprised you haven’t asked earlier.”

  “Oh, well.” Caitlyn shrugged. “It didn’t really matter. What matters is I got to call the jerk and tell him what was going on.”

  “Mm-hmm. So what you’re saying is, the destination did not matter so long as you got your phone call with the j—er, the Boss?”

  “Exactly.”

  “Well, you’re in Lithuania.”

  “Help me out here. We’re how many miles from Paris? Paris, France?” she added hastily.

  “Lithuania is in Eastern Europe,” Dr. Balta explained gently. “On the coast of the Baltic Sea. Not very close to Paris.”

  “Dammit. Okay. Thanks for telling me.” She looked around the large office, tastefully decorated in circus clown. “So! You work for the Wolf, huh?”

  “Yes.”

  “Do you like it?”

  “As a matter of fact, yes, but, Miss James, we’re talking about you.”

  “Okay, okay, don’t get your doctorate in a knot. So you went to school in the States? Because your English is excellent. Better than mine!”

  “Thank you. Shall we get down to business?”

  “Not very shrinky of you. You’re supposed to let me babble on about whatever, and then decide I secretly hated my mother when I was six.”

  “If I let you babble on about whatever, I will doubtless hear more than I ever wanted to about current American hairstyles.”

  “Meow! Fine, I suppose you want to talk about all the dead guys. Poor bastards.”

  “Well. That is why Dmitri brought you here. He’s very worried about you. As are we all,” she added.

  “Uh-huh. Well, set your mind at ease, Dr. Balta. I’m not a slobbering psycho. I never killed anybody. Though I’ve been tempted. Especially recently.”


  “Tell me about that,” Dr. Balta suggested.

  “Oh, this dick who heads up this government team who saved me and then wrecked me. He bugs the hell out of me. I mean, I thought my econ prof was bad. But this guy. He’s the worst.”

  “This would be the man referred to as the Boss?”

  “That’s him. Except he’s not my boss.”

  “Mmm.”

  “And did you have to show me so many pictures of him? Gripes. I’m trying to digest my lunch here.”

  Dr. Balta blinked but, to Caitlyn’s disappointment, didn’t give her Rorschach 101. “So sorry. So you’re saying you are not responsible for the murders of the Wagner team?”

  “That’s right. T’warn’t me!” she said cheerfully. “But I’m wondering if it was the Wolf.”

  “I can assure you, it wasn’t.”

  “Says the loyal, possibly brainwashed employee.”

  “I’ve known him his entire life. He will kill, if necessary, to save himself or someone else, but he won’t kill for vengeance. It’s not… logical, I suppose you would say.”

  “Also, it’s morally wrong,” Caitlyn prompted.

  “Well, yes.”

  “Gee, I feel much better. Case closed. Back to America! Well, maybe not. I’ve never been in an honest-to-God castle before.”

  “It’s been in Dmitri’s family for three hundred years.”

  “A real fixer-upper, huh? I couldn’t help but notice the lack of central heating. Place is about as warm and cozy as a meat freezer. So, you seem to know a lot about this guy. He hire you when he was four?”

  Dr. Balta smiled. “No. He’s my son.”

  “Oh. Whoa!” But she could see it now. They both had the same clear blue eyes and the same dark hair, except Dr. Balta’s was sprinkled with silver strands and twisted up in a knot, while the Wolf’s was cut brutally short. “That whole different-last-name thing threw me off.”

  “I remarried after the death of Dmitri’s father. But we were talking about you.”

  “No, we were talking about your kid, and you were explaining that he wouldn’t kill all those guys because it’s not logical. Now, I don’t want to think someone as yummy as your son is responsible for a killing spree, but who else would do it?”