Lexie chimed in, “You know what, Shrek? Nia and you would make such a great couple. Maybe you could get married and have little, disfigured children together.”
Nia felt the hair on the back of her neck stand on end as she watched Brandon’s face darken into a frown. Bolting to her feet, she turned her anger at Lexie, barking, “I don’t even think it’s necessary for you to be here for this part of the meeting. Carry your smart ass back to your desk.” She felt Levinson’s heavy gaze bore into her and turned slowly to meet it with wide-eyed shock. The outburst had spewed from her mouth without running through common sense first. “That is, if it’s okay with you, sir.”
Levinson pushed on the bulging vein at his temple. “This is not third grade, people. So, unless you ladies would like to spend some quality time with me in my office, I would suggest we get on with this.”
Brandon continued on with his gadget presentation then slid the box toward Garrett. Nia barely heard Brandon’s words to him. “Take care of her.”
Running his hands through his dark hair, Garrett chuckled. “I learned the hard way. She can more than take care of herself.”
“You know what I mean.” Tilting his head down, looking at him through his scrunched brow, Brandon meant business.
“Will do, my man.” Garrett slapped him on the shoulder when he walked by to leave.
Levinson turned to Lexie. “I trust you can put together a fitting wardrobe for these two.”
An evil smile curled her lips.
Their boss dropped his head into his hands, rubbing both temples. “Lexie, we’ve had this conversation on more than one occasion. I don’t ever want Agent Brooks working in a slutty dress like our last mission again.”
Lexie’s evil smile morphed into a manipulative grin. “Of course, I’ll get right on arranging their clothes today.”
Chapter Six
Nia sat in the conference room mindlessly drumming her fingernails on the table while scrolling through her emails on the computer terminal in front of her. Agent Van Deren was already ten minutes late. This put yet another page in her why-I-hate-new-partners book.
The door swung open, slamming against the wall, a red-faced Garrett standing in the doorway.
“I’m very sorry for being late. This is highly unlike me, I swear.” His tie was crooked, his hair mussed, which left him looking like he’d just left a marathon make-out session.
Nia shook her head, the realization tumbling around her. “How’s Lexie?”
The red color on his face deepened. His eyes looked everywhere but at her. “I won’t let it happen again. I’ll be early the rest of the week, I promise.”
Garrett slid into the chair directly across from her, pulling a pad of paper and pen from his leather brief case before setting it next to him. He ran his fingers through his hair, wiped the hint of gloss from his lips then straightened his tie. “I guess we can start with the basics. What’s your favorite food?”
“Just one?” Nia attempted to keep her more than mild annoyance from her voice.
Instead of answering, Garrett looked at her as though she had asked the dumbest question in the world. His head was turned. He peered at her from the side of one eye with his face scrunched in disbelief.
“What?” she spat, instantly knowing she overreacted. “Are we talking about a meal, snack, or a hypothetical that I had to pick just one to live on?”
His head tilted, gaze narrowed. “All of the above, I suppose, and make it in alphabetical order.”
“Are you kidding me?” Nia matched his defensive stance.
“Yeah, this is my first big case in this division. I want to make a complete mockery of it. Cut me some slack.” He slapped his palms on the table and glared at her.
“Fine,” she muttered, pleasantly surprised at how quickly she could get a rise out of him. “I love a good medium-well steak and baked potato for a sit down type of meal, though I’m not afraid of a burger with fries. Sometimes a salad sounds good, but don’t ever—and I do mean ever—put bleu cheese dressing on it if you expect me to eat it. I could live on fresh fruit and vegetables on an island if I had to. My inner carnivore would probably force me to kill some small woodland creature with my bare hands to have a meat fix eventually. I covet the dessert menu at nearly every eating establishment known to man and will eat pretty much any kind of sweets, even purposefully not eating all of my meal to save room. On the flip side of that coin, if it swims, I will not eat it unless I’m completely starved with absolutely no other choice. Also, I can’t stand anything with fake sugar in it. Honestly, what’s the point?” Nia stuck her tongue out, making gagging noises in hopes that it drove her argument home. “You?”
Garrett’s glare turned into a crooked grin. “Well, we should be pretty compatible at the dinner table at least. All I have to say is ‘ditto.’” He leaned back in his chair, his eyes scanning the room in thought. “I’m not quite as picky about the whole seafood area though, it definitely isn’t my favorite. Also, I can eat most of a bag of chips, drink a couple of beers, and call it supper on the rare occasion of a gripping ball game or movie.”
Nia inhaled a sharp breath. “Football or baseball?”
“I said ‘gripping,’ didn’t I? While I enjoy baseball, have you ever heard of a gripping baseball game?”
She released her breath in an overstated, relieved whoosh. “Well, as long as you aren’t a black and silver fan, then we’re safe there, too.” Nia watched him scrunch his face and stick out his tongue like she’d done earlier. She felt herself relax, a genuine smile sneaking onto her lips.
“Okay, how about music?” Garrett put his pen down, leaning forward, his elbows planted firmly on the table.
“Hmm, that’s a bit of a diverse area for me. Blues are at the top; rap is dead last.”
“The blues?” His chin dropped onto one hand, hoisting a single brow. “Who’s your favorite singer?”
“Well, Ray Charles is the most well-known of my faves. Muddy Waters and B.B. King would have to be my all-time favorites.” Nia watched him lean back in his chair again, slowly shaking his head. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing, I never thought I’d meet another Muddy Waters fan. He’s not exactly main stream, you know.”
“Huh.” Nia studied the man across the table again, this time without prejudice. Anyone who was a fan of Blues couldn’t be completely bad. “What are your feelings on rap?”
“Kind of how you feel about fake sugar; what’s the use?”
Thoughts of an actual date with Garrett floated into Nia’s mind; common sense lobbed it back out. The meetings served a purpose. That purpose was not for actual compatibility. They needed to know each other intimately for their mission and nothing more.
Nia sighed.
“You okay?” Garrett’s head cocked to the side, concern contorting his handsome face.
“Yeah, it’s nothing. Anymore questions for me today?”
“If Stephen Nichols were to give his wife flowers, what color roses would she like?” An impish grin tugged the corner of his mouth.
“She would accept any color of roses gracefully and gratefully, but wish they were daisies, brightly colored daisies.” Nia tried to keep the smug look from her face when his expression fell.
“I was under the impression that all women wanted roses.”
“Well, you were misinformed. I’m not saying I don’t like roses. My preference, when it comes to receiving a bouquet, is a tad less typical.” Nia leaned forward. “What kind of gift would you prefer from your wife?”
Garrett tapped his pen on the pad of paper, a thoughtful look creasing his forehead and pursing his lips. His eyes then popped opened wide, a smile consuming his face. “A new gun.” He reached around and pulled one from his holster, admiring it for a moment. He racked the slide, catching the ejected round in his hand. After dropping the clip of ammunition, he carefully displayed his gun on the table between them. “Not just any gun will do.”
Nia stared at the huge
.45 caliber Colt 1911. She couldn’t help but follow the same safety protocol—minus the whole bullet catching thing, but she did make a mental note to learn how—and placed her own 9mm Beretta 92 next to his. Neither gun was CIA issue. When they weren’t on a mission, they generally carried the firearm of their choice. She tried to keep her facial features blank, even though inside she turned into a giddy gun-freak who really wanted to touch his.
When she finally tore her eyes away from the guns and looked at Garrett, she caught him gawking in much the same manner. She cleared her throat and his gaze met hers.
“I, uh, was just admiring your gun.” He flashed a lopsided grin.
Nia reached toward the middle of the table. “Do you mind?”
“Not if you don’t mind.” His smile again reached his entire face.
They spent the next twenty minutes opening slides, sighting imaginary targets, everything short of discharging the weapons.
Garrett placed the Beretta back on the table and whistled. “Wow, I almost need a cigarette after that.”
Nia’s top lip did a sideways snarl. “You smoke?”
“Nope, just a bad sex reference, I guess.”
“Ah, gotcha.” She released a little giggle while she waggled her eyebrows. “Well, that is an awfully big piece of equipment you have there.”
“Thanks. I get that all the time.” Smug satisfaction dripped from his words as he leaned back in his chair again.
“Are you making up for a lack elsewhere?”
Garrett sprung to an upright sitting position. “That could work for both of us, you know. That gun is pretty big for such a little girl.” He dropped his head, staring at her through his lashes.
“Little girl?” Nia snickered. “This little girl kicked your ass.”
“No one’s ass was kicked,” Garrett muttered. “I merely let the spoiled little agent have her way.”
“Ha! Whatever! That would be the story protecting your fragile male ego to cover up your pocket pinky, too.”
An evil sneer crossed his face. He stood, placing his hands on his belt buckle. “I can put your pocket pinky theory to rest right now.”
The door to the conference room opened. Levinson stood there, hands on hips, jaw agape. “I can’t believe this. How old are you two?”
Nia offered a pained, apologetic smile to her boss. His facial expression didn’t soften. She rose, walked over to Levinson, and stood before him.
Without adjusting his head, he stared down his nose at her, a menacing mean-teacher look consuming his face. “Are you two learning anything or just fighting like children who have a crush on one other?”
She glanced over her shoulder at Garrett who now stood at attention next to his chair then turned back to her boss. “I know a lot about my new partner now. I mean, penis envy is an odd trait for a man to have. I suppose I can get past that.” She heard Garrett snort, half expecting him to be standing right behind her when she looked over her shoulder again. He stood strong where he’d been, only his expression morphed to total disgust.
“Brooks,” Levinson huffed. “It is neither imperative for you to have the last word, nor is it important for you to make life a living hell for someone who is replacing a trusted partner. Back off.”
Garrett sputtered, doing an awful job of covering his laugh.
Levinson turned his wrath upon the man behind her. “Son, you are not off my shit list by any means. You’ve only been on the payroll a matter of hours; I’ve already doubted my choice in hiring you. I’m not above firing either one of you, as a matter of fact.” He stared down at Nia, his expression never changing, then stormed out, slamming the door behind him.
Nia spun slowly, facing her new partner again. She cleared her throat, nodded at him then returned to her seat. After loading her gun, she tucked it back into the holster under her jacket, looking sheepishly back across the table.
“So,” Garrett muttered barely above a whisper. He stared intently at his fingers. “What was your family life like?”
“Let’s pretend that it was the setting of a Norman Rockwell painting so we can move on. You?”
“Sounds like a good time to say ‘ditto.’”
Chapter Seven
After she settled into an overstuffed lounge seat on the private CIA jet, Nia re-inspected the tacky outfit she was wearing. Pointed cowboy boots started the ensemble; dark pleated denim jeans that practically fastened under her breasts and a leopard print silk blouse topped it off. All of it was designer label, but fit more for a woman traveling in a motorized wheelchair to meet her great-grandchildren. The dark brown wig she got was just as awful. It was coiffed in tight curls, reminding her of some of the perms from the Eighties. Tugging it from her head, she took a brush, taming the mane into something more suitable to her own taste. The only bright part of her outfit was the glittery two-carat diamond ring weighing down her left hand.
When Garrett pushed through the heavy curtains at the front of the cabin, Nia broke into a fit of giggles. He was decked out in a loud plaid western shirt with a bolo tie, skin-tight blue jeans fastened with a studded belt buckle the size of Texas itself, and boots with such pointed toes they could be considered weapons.
Flopping into the seat facing her, he mumbled, “Nice outfit, Granny.”
“I was just going to say the same thing about yours.” Nia cleared her throat in an attempt to squelch her laughter before she finally continued, “I know Lexie hates me, so my getup is understandable. What did you do to piss her off?”
Garrett slouched in his seat. “I didn’t take her out last weekend. I tried to explain that I was in no position to be dating someone else when I had all of your information rolling around in my head.”
“Ah, there’s your mistake. You mentioned me. Bad choice.”
Loosening his string tie, he said, “That could have been useful information this past week.”
“Unless you’re blind, I think you could have figured that one out on your own. You are, after all, a highly trained CIA Agent.”
Shoving both hands in her face as though he could block her knowing glare, he spat, “I was wrong in assuming she would be a bit more professional.”
“My daddy always said, ‘When you assume something, you make an ass out of you and me.’ I’d say he hit the nail on the head with this situation.” Nia glanced between their hideous outfits then turned her attention back to taming the wig. Part of it now lay in big soft curls.
“Your father sounds like a smart man. How does he feel about you being an agent for the CIA?”
Nia swung her gaze to the window, staring at the man fueling the plane. Pain, guilt, and sorrow slammed into her gut. “I’d rather not talk about it.”
Memories of her parents danced through her mind. Growing up, she had lived the life any kid would have loved: great parents, upper middle class home with a big swimming pool in the backyard, she was popular in school. Her mom and dad had never missed a game she cheered at, either. They were proud of every accomplishment she made, regardless of the size. Neither of them would like her career choice if they were alive. Unfortunately, their gruesome deaths while home for the summer from medical school were why she chose the CIA instead of becoming a cardiologist.
She was home for summer break, bonding with the swimming pool while working on her tan. About two weeks before it was time to return to her dorm, the fateful night that turned her life upside down happened.
Unfamiliar muffled voices below had woken Nia at about midnight. She’d grabbed her cell phone, tiptoed down the hall, descending a few stairs to investigate. She remained in the shadows with a clear view of the living room below. Clamping a hand over her mouth, tears flooded her eyes at the gruesome sight. She’d sat in the dark stairwell, watching two large, muscular men with long dark hair stand over her father’s lifeless, bloodied body. Another had held her mother’s arms behind her back. She fought for breath and tried to scream, but her mouth was duct taped. Nia dialed 911. The woman on the other end of t
he line had undoubtedly spoken. All Nia remembered hearing was a loud buzz in her numb mind.
The man who’d held her mother finally spoke. “Now that you know we aren’t playing with you, tell us where the amulet is.” He ripped the tape from her mother’s mouth. “Tell us.”
Her mother had whimpered, tears streaming down her face. “I promise you, I have no idea what you’re talking about. Why are you doing this to us?”
The two men who’d been standing over her father turned around. Crimson blood covered their chins, dripping onto their shirts. “Wrong answer,” they announced in unison, long sallow fangs protruding from their mouths.
As they walked away from her dad’s body, Nia had noticed the opened, mangled mess of his abdomen. She fought back the vomit in her throat, her hand still clamped tightly over her mouth. The three men had circled her mother. Without any thought for her own wellbeing, Nia screamed, “Leave her alone!” No sooner had the words come from her mouth than sirens pierced the quiet night. Red and blue flashing light filled the living room. The men bolted for the back door, but not before the lead man plunged his dagger-like fingernails under her mother’s sternum, shredding her flesh, ripping her heart from her chest, taking it with them. Her mother fell against the wall, her face frozen in terror, mouth agape. She lethargically slid to the floor. Nia scrambled to her crumpled form, holding her convulsing body as tightly as she could. She screamed and sobbed, the warmth of her mother’s blood flowing over her legs.
Police officers burst through the door, tearing her away, questioning her. After she explained in detail about the men, their fangs, all she’d seen, they attempted to convince her she’d been dreaming.
Their story later consisted of a mob war, a mafia family known for tearing their victim’s hearts out. No one was ever brought to trial, not that Nia ever figured they would. What she saw—what she knew she saw—and what they tried to make of it were two entirely different stories. All of this had led her into a life as a CIA Agent, begging Levinson to hire her in the Paranormal Division. She’d yet to make clearance to view any classified documents but knew it was only a matter of time before the vampires she’d seen surfaced again. She’d have her chance to find out what happened.
Secrets of the Sapphires Page 4
