Under Cover

by MaryJanice Davidson

  “My ass,” Lori blurted, and took courage from the way Mama Chuck lifted a hand to cover the sudden smile. “Get out of here, Edward. You’re not in my family anymore, and I’m not a child. I don’t have to listen to you or cover up for you or do what you tell me ever again.”

  “Also,” Peter added, “you’re an asshole.”

  “Get out of here,” Lori thundered. Well, squeaked.

  “Gladly. You’ll be coming with me, of course. Unless you want your friend arrested for assault. Conrad’s arm is broken in two places. You shouldn’t have set your guard dog on my son, girly. I wasn’t sure what lever to use until you did that.”

  “Poor Connie’s arm hurts? Awwwwwww,” Peter said, not looking too worried about police intervention. Lori noticed that everything was happening so fast, he hadn’t had time to take off his greatcoat, the one that made him look like a bear. “Pardon me while I cry a fucking river.”

  “Go ahead,” she said. “Have him arrested!”

  “Thanks, babe,” Peter said dryly.

  “I’ll testify for him! I’ll tell the police everything. And I’ll pass a lie detector test, too, you know I will. How about your son going up on charges of attempted rape? How about you facing the music for attempted embezzlement? And you can face assault charges yourself!”

  “Don’t be a fool.”

  Oh, she wanted to kill him. “Did you really think I believed my mother when she said she ran into the door? Six times in two weeks? You’re not as clever as you think. Conrad was gone by then, but you were still after her about the money. The fucking money. But she died, she got away from you. And—and—”

  “You smacked Red’s mom around?” Peter asked with deceptive calm.

  “Here!” Lori shrilled. She had grabbed the trust checkbook on her way out of the bedroom, and now threw it at Edward’s head. He moved, showcasing the quickness that had always terrified her as a child, and caught it. His cold smile faded as she continued, “It’s all gone, anyway! I’ve been spending the money since this morning! The last check was for Mama Chuck, and I just dare you to try and take it away from her!”

  “Yeah,” said Mama Chuck. Then, “What?”

  “It’s over, Eddie,” Peter said. “Lori’s not going with you, Connie’s just gonna have to find some other broad to make miserable. And the money’s kaput. Gone. I was there—she spent it left and right. It was pretty funny. Weird, though,” he added under his breath.

  “Get lost, swineherd,” Mama Chuck said. “Or I’ll send some of my kids around to see how many of your bones they can break before they get tired.”

  “You could have been happy,” Lori said quietly. Her wild hysteria had died, leaving a kind of awful calm. She was having trouble processing what was happening. She was standing up to the devil, and Peter and Mama Chuck were helping. “But you’ll always be bent, always need more than people can give you. All you’ve got is Conrad, and he’ll drop you in a heartbeat for a big enough paycheck.”

  “Don’t let the door hit you in the ass on the way out,” Peter added cheerfully.

  “Good-bye, you frog-faced troglodyte.”

  “Troglodyte?” Ed looked at Mama Chuck with distaste.

  “Master’s in literature,” Peter explained.

  “How interesting. I’ll leave when I wish, thank you,” Edward said. He paged through the checkbook and eyed the register, which was down to sixty-seven dollars and eighty-four cents. “I hardly need to take direction from a thug, a whore, and a nigger midget.”

  “That’s Doctor Nigger Midget,” Mama Chuck snapped.

  “Doctorate in English,” Peter supplied helpfully.

  “Don’t you talk to them like that,” Lori said, trembling. Whore? Had he really called her that? She was sure most whores had more experience than she did.

  “Call the cops if you want,” Peter said, moving forward and seizing Edward by the elbow. “But be ready to answer some questions if you do. And don’t worry about stopping payment on the checks—you aren’t authorized. Only Lori can do that, and I’m not letting you or the asshole you raised within five feet of her. Starting now.”

  Edward’s feet actually left the floor as Peter propelled him out the front door. “Get your hands off me, you Neanderthal!”

  “All in good time, Captain Psycho,” Peter soothed. “Also, come near Lori again and I’ll kick your ass up so high, people will think you have a second head. Which reminds me… about Lori’s mom…”

  Edward had time to fix Lori with a baleful look before the door slammed.

  Lori let out a shaky breath. “Wow.” Then she cocked her head. Very faintly, through the door, she could hear a muffled thud, and then… retching?

  “Gut punch,” Mama Chuck said.

  “I—I’m going to be a doctor, too,” Lori said.

  Mama Chuck smiled. “We have a lot in common.” She nodded toward the door, where they could hear Peter smacking Edward around. “More than you might think.”

  As soon as Mama Chuck left, Lori jumped into Peter’s arms. She couldn’t help it. She felt like a weight—a hundred-ninety-pound, six-foot-four weight—had been lifted from her shoulders.

  Peter kissed her, hard, then lifted her, cupping his hands beneath her thighs, pressing her to him.

  “It’s over, I can’t believe it,” she was saying into his mouth, pulling at his overcoat. When he shrugged it off, she started on his shirt.

  “One more time, then,” he muttered, “just to remember you by,” whatever the hell that meant, and then he was pulling at his clothes and yanking at her own, and in minutes they were nude and he was sitting down on the couch, holding her in his lap. She felt like a doll nestled against his big frame, and it was just fine.

  She rained kisses on his face, his mouth, his throat, and he stroked her back and buttocks. She reached for his cock, which was stiff and throbbing, its tip bright red.

  “Wait,” he gasped. “I need to get a—”

  “Not this time.” She got both hands around it and squeezed, and he groaned into her hair. She shifted her weight and slowly impaled herself on him.

  “Lori—too soon for you—”

  “Hush up.” It was tight, but the friction was delightful. The friction was unbelievable. Inch by inch he slipped up into her, until he was seated completely within and she could feel his thighs trembling.

  “Oh,” she sighed. “That’s… that’s really nice. I like that you’re so big. I didn’t think I would, you know.”

  He put a hand on the back of her neck and shifted his weight, and she felt a gush of wetness and had to swallow a gasp. Then he gripped her ass and began to pump while he sucked on the hollow of her throat. She thrust back, riding him, and the slippery sliding was exquisite, wasn’t to be believed, and she hoped it would never, never end.

  He reached down and rubbed a thumb across her clitoris and she bit his ear, hard. They writhed together and when she felt her uterus tighten in orgasm, she saw his eyes roll back in response to her body’s urging.

  They collapsed against each other, panting lightly. She shifted her weight and he slid out of her, and she curled up on the couch. She waited for him to come to her, but he remained sitting on the edge, his head in his hands.

  “You can stay as long as you like,” he said hollowly. “Just—give me a little notice when you decide to leave.”

  She yawned. “You have seen where I live, right? Why would I go back?”

  “Cut the shit, Lori. I know what’s going on.”

  “Doubtful. Tell the truth—that ugly cat that’s around here somewhere? It’s not a stray, is it? It’s your pet.”

  Long silence, followed by, “Yeah.”

  “That’s what I thought. I went looking for a tough guy, and I ended up with a pair of pussycats. It’s just as well.”

  “What’s your point, Lori?” Still he wouldn’t look at her. Very strange!

  “I’m in love with you,” she said simply. “I want to stay. I’m poor now, but you’ll have to overl
ook that and love me anyway.”

  He raised his head and stared at her with burning eyes. “You’re marrying Retch.”

  “Is that what this is about? Why you’ve been acting like a cold jackass?”

  “I have not. Hey, no big,” he added quickly. “I knew you were just a temporary stop and all.”

  “Oh, really?”

  “Yeah. Story of my life. Broads come, broads go.”

  “Well, you’re stuck with this broad, you big moron.” She crawled forward and nuzzled the crisp mat of hair between his nipples. “Peter, didn’t you know? I adore you. I want to stay with you forever.”

  “Well, how the hell would I know that?” he said, sounding upset. “You never said!”

  “I’m sorry,” she soothed. “Of course. But I do, you know. That’s why I called Alan and turned him down.”

  He straightened up so suddenly, she nearly fell off the couch. He caught her by the elbow and steadied her. “When did you do that?”

  “While I was at AirLifeLine and you were sulking in the parking lot. After I wrote them a humongous check, they were happy enough to let me use the phone.”

  “Wasn’t sulking. I just didn’t think you should have dropped ninety grand so people can take free plane rides,” he grumbled. “But get back to what you were saying—so you told Retch to fuck off?”

  “I certainly did not. And his name is Gretch. I just turned him down nicely. I had no business equivocating in the first place,” she added frankly. “But I had a lot on my mind at the time.”

  “I’ll say,” he said cheerfully, his mood appearing to improve by a factor of a thousand percent. “So you’re not gonna marry the ambulance chaser?”

  “No,” she sighed. “Please don’t call him that.”

  “Yeah, yeah. Then you can marry me.”

  “Is that a proposal?”

  “No, it’s a dare. And a proposal. What do you want, me on my knees with a damn ring?”

  She said nothing. He groaned, and slid off the couch onto his knees. “Red, be my wife.”

  “It still sounds like an order. And it’s Lori, damn it, do I have to paint it on my goddamned forehead?”

  He laughed. “You are so cute when you swear! And paint it if you like. Besides, you think you got a choice? You were mine the second you conked out in the back of my car. And we’re both poor. Now that you pissed away all the money, I’m out of a job again. I can’t believe I’m marrying someone who gave her fortune away. I must be out of my fucking mind.”

  “So romantic,” she said, her lips curving into a smirk. Peter promptly grabbed her knees and kissed them. “Ah, and now the besotted groom-to-be gives way to passion.”

  “No, I did that twenty minutes ago. Hey, shit, I gotta tell Mama Chuck! She’s been on my ass to get married for ten years.”

  “Wait until she finds the check I slipped into her purse,” Lori giggled. “She’ll flip.”

  “You didn’t have to do that,” he said seriously. He picked her up and carried her back to the bedroom. “I take care of her.”

  “So? This way she can keep taking in stray children. Or she can retire to Maui. Whatever she wants. I owed her a big debt, anyway. For taking care of you. For saving you for me. But now you have to do something for me.”

  “What?”

  “Tell me the secret you wouldn’t tell me this afternoon. Why you know so much about what bulletproof vests cost.”

  “Well…” He placed her carefully in the center of the bed, then climbed in beside her. “It’s kind of—well, there’s this thing I always wanted to do for a living. Don’t laugh.”

  She promised.

  And he told her.

  And she didn’t laugh.

  Chapter Thirteen

  “You really play the lottery every week?”

  “Yup. Gotta fund the dream somehow, and you gave all your money away.”

  “Worth it,” she said fervently. She smiled as Mark, the bartender, refilled her glass. “We haven’t heard from Conrad and Edward… proof! Proof that it was worth it. Um, is that why you wanted to know my birthday?”

  “Well, playing Mama Chuck’s birthday hasn’t done shit,” he grumped. Then, to Mark, “Do not give me a damned ginger ale. Still in law school?”

  “I haven’t dropped out in the last week, if that’s what you’re asking. And before you bug me again, we’re still not hiring.”

  While Peter and Mark fell into an argument about why he should quit law school and open his own bar, she reached into his pocket and pulled out the lottery ticket.

  Ridiculous. This little piece of paper was conceivably worth eight-point-two million dollars. It was amazing anybody played the lottery. The odds were—

  She stared up at the television, then back down at the ticket.

  “—world’s got enough goddamned lawyers, but not nearly enough good bartenders—”

  “Oh, sure, my life’s goal is to pour booze for reprobates like you.”

  “Uh… Peter?”

  “I’m just saying.”

  “And I’m just blowing you off.”

  “Peter? Are you watching this?”

  “There are some good lawyers in the world.”

  “I’ve never met one.”

  “Well, after I pass the bar, you won’t be able to say that anymore.”

  She thumped him on the shoulder. “Peter!”

  “What?” He looked at her, took in her expression at a glance, then glanced up at the television. His jaw dropped. “Holy God!”

  “Just when I got rid of all that money,” she said faintly, and would have slid off the bar stool if he hadn’t caught her. “Now I’m rich again, damn it.”

  Epilogue

  NEW LOCAL COMPANY HAS BULLETPROOF IDEALS

  St. Paul, Minnesota—Most lottery winners retire and live on their earnings for the rest of their lives. Not so for Peter and Lori Random of St. Paul, Minnesota. The newlyweds have opened a nonprofit agency, Random Acts, which makes, tests, and distributes bulletproof vests. Random Acts, which began with an inflow of lottery winnings, also accepts donations and counts among its sponsors Toro, Northwest Airlines, and US Bank.

  “It was a little tricky in the beginning,” explains Lori Random, who is expecting the couple’s first child in July, and who manages day-to-day operations for Random Acts. “But Peter was determined to make it happen. We had a lot of help from the neighborhood kids, too. They’re always volunteering their time.”

  When asked where he got the idea to start such a business, Peter Random replied, “What, you kidding? I get to shoot guns all day for a living and test grown-up toys. What’s not to love?”

  Random Acts has already distributed close to a thousand bulletproof vests to local police precincts. Plans to expand to the East Coast are currently under way.

  DELIGHTFUL DECEPTION

  Chapter One

  Thea Foster, MD, PhD, MBBS, and—this one had been for fun—PharmD, was a woman with a mission. Specifically, her mission was twofold: a) avoid termination, and b) avoid boredom. She was very much afraid that if she accomplished the first, the second was inevitable.

  She pressed her thumb to the ID plate, waited a moment to be scanned, then stood by as the door to BioSecurity slid open. “Good morning, Dr. Foster,” the computer husked, and she nearly grinned. Those fools in IT had been fooling around with Central’s voice programming again. How else to explain why she had just been greeted by Marilyn Monroe’s breathy contralto?

  “Good morning, Central. Any schedule changes I should be aware of?” Probably not; as head of BioSecurity, there were precious few changes that were not immediately brought to her attention.

  “No, Dr. Foster. I downloaded the new CEO’s presentation into your Palm last night; nothing has changed.”

  Thea felt her mouth turn down in a grimace. The new CEO. Right. Not that she had forgotten—she had a photographic memory and it was, unfortunately, impossible for her to forget anything—but she’d shoved it to the back of he
r brain for awhile.

  After last quarter’s debacle with the theft—OK, the donation—of PaceIC, the company’s bottom line had gone well over into red, with no hope in sight.

  There were other eggs in Anodyne’s basket, of course, but nothing near completion. PaceIC had been their shot, and now it was gone. Well, not entirely gone, but now there was market competition, and their profit margin had been considerably narrowed.

  Thanks to me.

  Well, yes. Thea hadn’t liked the idea of making the suffering pay through the nose for her invention, thanks very much. She had expressed this thought to Nicholas Jekell, aka the Jackal. The Jackal had told her that as an employee of Anodyne, anything she invented was the company’s property, what they did with it was none of her damned business, and if she didn’t like it, she could shove it up her frozen ass.

  Forty-eight hours later, the head of security had left for the day, completely unaware that she was carrying a vial worth billions. Dr. Jekell never pieced it together—not all of it. For once her IQ, rep had been the saving of her. No one had considered for even a nanosecond that Dr. Foster had jettisoned PaceIC… to be nice.

  Motivated partly by altruism, but mostly by vengeance, Thea had been shocked at how much she had enjoyed the great good fun that had resulted. The ensuing chaos had been the most interesting thing to happen in years, and if Renee had had a rough time of it at first, things had turned out all right for her in the end. Thea soothed her mildly guilty conscience—pricked by the memory of gunshots and police intervention—by recalling the proof in her briefcase: The wedding invitation had come yesterday. She had no idea why Renee and what’s-his-name had invited her, but she meant to go. She was so rarely invited anywhere.

  Now the fun was done, unfortunately, and it was time to, as her metaphor-mixing grandmother would say, face the piper. Anodyne had been bought ought by wunderkind Jimmy Scrye, who was coming this morning, doubtless to lay waste to personnel.

  Well, it would be interesting, if nothing else.

  Thea strode down the hallway, paused to deposit her briefcase in her office, and then headed for the lab. The door’s electric eye scanned her and, reading the correct biosignature, obligingly opened.