The Whole Truth (The Supercharged Files Book 1)

by Jody Wallace

  Masks were not always especially eloquent.

  Outside the office, I heard a computer start bleeping like the one outside the conference room. The network here was falling apart. “Bet you’d like new computers,” I joked.

  “They upgraded us last year. Before that it had gotten pretty bad. Still on Windows 98.”

  Huh. They must have done a cruddy job, if the strident machines outside here and the big conference room were anything to go by. When you were used to the worst, the mediocre impressed you.

  Which meant the new management might make everyone here quite happy.

  “Do you have any advice for the incoming owners?”

  “Don’t fire me.” Fire the assholes!

  Such a relief to skip fading and ask the questions myself. This was so much easier. “Do you feel you’ve been able to work up to your potential at Wyse Money?”

  Gladys sighed and put her pen down. “Cleo, I’ve got a BS in Economics, and I spend my time filing, copying, writing things in a calendar, reminding people what I wrote in the calendar, answering phone calls, and putting up with...” She smiled. “What do you think?”

  Her mask thought she could be running this place better than those assholes.

  I wrote down that Gladys was underused and overqualified, so they were getting a great deal if she was willing to stay. “What is your biggest strength as an employee?”

  “Patience,” she said without hesitation or dishonesty. “Can I list more than one?”

  “Sure.” I poised to write them down but didn’t take my attention off her in case she tried to pad her image.

  She didn’t. “I’m never late, I don’t download viruses on my computer, I don’t conduct personal business during office hours, and I don’t gossip.”

  Wow. This woman was the Mary Poppins of the administrative world.

  “What about your biggest weakness? Be honest.” I kept a straight face, something I’d perfected over the years.

  “Nothing that affects my ability to work,” she said. Unless I come out of remission.

  Oh, dear. I’d joked about biopsies. Pain twinged between my eyebrows.

  “I’m sorry,” I blurted out.

  Gladys eyed me with interest, one thin, dark eyebrow arching. “For what? Are you going to recommend they let me go because I exhibited hostility and lack of team spirit?”

  “No, no.” Dag nab it! “I’m sorry I have to ask so many questions. What do you think other people would say your biggest strengths and weaknesses are?”

  “I don’t pay attention to what other people say.” The air around her face fuzzed.

  “I can’t write that down.”

  “All right.” Gladys glanced at the other chair as if checking for spies. She was leery of the wrong people if she wanted to keep things hidden. “People love the fact they can dump a project on me at the last minute and I get it done. People do not love the fact that sometimes I bring my dogs to work with me.”

  The truth was often stranger than the lies people dreamed up. I pictured German Shepherds running up and down the cubicle aisles. “Your dogs?”

  “I breed Poms.” She clasped her fingers on the edge of her leather notepad. “If I can’t get a pet sitter and one of my babies is on meds, I bring her to work with me. I have a deal with Mr. Turner but some people don’t appreciate it.”

  “Do they want to bring their dogs too?”

  “Most don’t have dogs.” Her lips tightened. “To each their own, I suppose.”

  “Most offices don’t allow animals. Do you feel no one has a valid reason to protest?”

  “The girls are no trouble,” she said emphatically. “They stay in my office. They don’t bark, they don’t have accidents, and I wipe them with anti-allergen cloths to cut down on dander. Anyone who has a problem just wants something to complain about.”

  “They sound sweet.” My interview with Gladys was fascinating, but I should finalize it. I already knew I was going to recommend the new employers keep her. They needed a kick in the pants like Gladys around. “How does the administrative staff feel about management?”

  “They have the same complaints you find anywhere. Lack of respect, menial tasks, coffee stains.” She grimaced. “Coffee fetching.”

  I nodded. “Been there, done that. Spilled it accidentally.”

  We both smiled.

  “I’ll drop by later and pick up the paperwork,” I said. “Tomorrow’s fine, too.” We rose in tandem. I clasped my clipboard and realized I couldn’t shake her hand. I started to fling it into the other chair, thought better of it, and set it down behind me. I wished I could tell her more. I wished I’d worked with more people like her in the past.

  “Thank you.” We shook hands and she exited with a little wave, leaving the door open. I picked up my clipboard so I could sit back down when a giant bang startled me.

  I dropped the clipboard and whirled, my hand to my throat. Beau slouched in the chair that was no longer empty, a look of utter disbelief on his face. His hand lay against the door he’d just slammed.

  “How the hell did you sneak in here?” I asked, my heart thudding.

  He narrowed his gaze. “You’re not a chameleon, are you, Cleo?”

  Chapter 14

  Cactus of Mass Destruction

  What did he know? What did he think he knew? Why was he here, and how had he managed to completely dupe me?

  “Holy crap, were you here this whole time?”

  “You’re busted.”

  “You spied on me?” My voice rose as hysteria mounted. How had I not noticed him? Was he the bad guy? Was he going to burn me out? “How did you sit there without me sensing it? What about pair cancellation?”

  “You know how,” he said with a mask. He must realize I had no clue.

  Or did I? I remembered with sudden clarity that John had admitted Beau had a second ability. What could the sneaky piece of shit do?

  “You told me invisibility wasn’t possible.” I hurled the clipboard at him, and he caught it with a surprised expression. “Are you spying on everyone at YuriCorp? Selling us out?”

  “Shut up, Cleo.” Beau stood. “Lower your voice.”

  “Lower my voice?” I yelled. “You lied to me, and you’re a spy!”

  Beau lunged; I stumbled and fell, straight into the chair with wheels. When he hit me, we rolled back, past the desk and into the filing cabinet with the potted plants on top.

  Cactus and rocks scattered like a grenade had hit. Dirt sprayed in all directions. Beau’s body pressed against mine too intimately for comfort, and I struggled like a maniac, pushing and punching.

  He’d given Pavarti and Adam Donning a stroke, and I was not going to be next.

  “Cut it out, Cleo!” He grabbed for my hands and missed. I landed a solid blow somewhere in the vicinity of his forehead.

  “Get off, get off!” His hips were wedged between my legs. My skirt had ridden up to my hoo-hah and one of my shoes flew across the room when I tried to kick him.

  Beau restrained my wrists. His mouth next to my ear, he growled softly, “Don’t make me hurt you.”

  Something flopped inside me like a cat rolling onto its belly in the sun. Beau had touched my arm in order to take blood or skin samples, but otherwise I’d never been within five feet of him. His fingers squeezed my wrists like iron bands, and his funky hair tickled my cheek.

  “Were you planning on hurting me?” I twisted my head until I could see his face and any masks it happened to have in the corner of my eye.

  “Not until five seconds ago.”

  True, but somehow not reassuring. Was he or wasn’t he the saboteur? Adrenalin cycloned through me in a dizzying torrent.

  I squirmed, but it only mashed us closer. His breath smelled like pineapple candy. His tie was askew, there was dirt on his back, and I could see my pale, exposed thighs on either side of him, one of my legs higher than the other. We looked like we were...

  What a day to wear a skirt.

  He sli
d down my body, forcing my leg down with him, until his knees hit the floor and his belly was level with my crotch. He still held my wrists.

  Now I could see his whole face. One of his eyes was starting to swell shut. The other glared at me so fiercely I would have been taken aback under normal circumstances.

  Under these, I was taken aback and unaccountably turned on.

  What the hell? That horrified me more than my fear Beau might be about to burn me out with a mutant vampire ability. I bent my body like a paper clip, bashing the chair into the filing cabinet again.

  The metal drawers rattled, and a cactus tumbled onto my head, needles pronging.

  “Shit!” We both snatched at the cactus piercing my scalp. Stupid! The spines jabbed my palms. “Owww!”

  “Dammit, hold still.” Beau carefully plucked the weapons-grade plant out of my hair. The pinpricks on my scalp burned and tears welled in my eyes. Embarrassment, fright, humiliation, stress, anger—all of it had to come out.

  “Don’t burn me,” I begged. I didn’t try to hit him or he’d pin me again. “We can work this out.”

  “Burn you?” He dropped his hands to my legs. My naked legs. “What are you talking about?”

  If he wasn’t here to sabotage YuriCorp via me, why had he been spying on me?

  I opened my eyes very wide and tried to ignore the tickle of salt water on my cheeks. “I’m going to scream.”

  “Cleo, I just... Why the hell are you crying?” In a familiar gesture, Beau raised a hand—off my thigh—and rubbed his forehead and hairline. When he encountered the bruise around his eye, he winced. “You weren’t even trying to fade when you asked Gladys Woo those questions. This is a real assignment, Cleo, not a training mission. These people paid us to assess the staff and make recommendations that are up to YuriCorp’s standard.”

  “Oh, that.” I stalled for time as I wiped tears with the back of my hand. Logic trickled through the panic. Beau had been in the lab when the other attacks had occurred. When Pavarti had been burned out, he’d been in the lab with me. Ditto with Donning. He’d been spying on me today because, shock shock, he didn’t trust me to do the job.

  Just to be certain, I asked, “Did you have anything to do with what happened to Pavarti Singh or Adam Donning?”

  “Of course not,” he said without a mask. “Why didn’t you try to fade with Gladys?”

  I couldn’t think of a good excuses so I gave him a bad one. “I didn’t think I needed to. John said admin would be retained.”

  “You should make the effort. Damn, you blacked my eye.” He prodded the area gingerly.

  “You lied to me about what chameleons can do.”

  “That’s not important. Why did you hit me?”

  “Well.” I glanced down, as did he. His hand splayed on my thigh, my pale flesh gleaming between each dark finger, only a couple inches from my bright green drawers. “Why don’t you get off me and we can discuss it?”

  For a minute, he didn’t answer. Didn’t move, either. But he did raise his eyebrows.

  “Dude,” I said, my face tingling with not-chameleon heat. “Back away from the underpants.”

  “Nice panties.” He smirked, his fingers wriggling. Wriggling! Close to there.

  I straightened and shoved. “You pervert, I’m going to—”

  John burst into the room like my knight in grey Brooks Brothers. “What’s going on in here? I heard yelling.”

  Beau landed on his butt at John’s feet. Unfortunately, not on a cactus. I shoved my skirt down.

  Behind John, seven or so employees of Wyse Money within earshot of the crash hovered in the closest cubicles. Beau glared at everyone. “Cleo tripped and knocked over the plants on the filing cabinet. She punched me in the face when I tried to get a cactus out of her hair.”

  John rushed past the desk and hauled me out of the chair. “Are you all right?” He brushed my hair back and peered deeply into my eyes. His fingers cupped the back of my head. “Are you hurt?”

  “I’m fine.” I touched the back of his hand and smiled.

  “Good, good.” He seemed to realize what he was doing and stepped away just as quickly.

  Was that tender concern on John’s face? Did he know Beau could sneak around like that? “I need to ask Beau a few questions.”

  I mugged suggestively, but John didn’t catch on. “Later. We should get this cleaned up. Walker, where did you disappear to? I needed you in that last session.”

  “Bathroom,” he lied. “I dropped by to see how Cleo was doing.”

  Here the whole time. She shouldn’t be alone, said his mask.

  John seemed convinced. “I’ll find a janitor. Cleo, use the small conference room for the rest of your interviews.”

  “She’s not ready,” Beau insisted, glowering at me. It’s too dangerous.

  I couldn’t tell if Beau was worried about my performance or something else, like the saboteur. “I’ll be ready as soon as I get the cactus spines out of my hand,” I said to everyone, conscious of our audience. “No need to check on me. You both have other work to do.”

  John glanced between us before he edged past Beau out the door. Pausing in the hallway, he said, “You coming, Walker?”

  “After I get some ice. We’re not done, Cleo,” Beau fingered his shiner. “We’ll finish this later.”

  Not sure which “this” he was talking about, but he was wrong. We weren’t going anywhere near anything he wanted to finish.

  ~ * ~

  Gladys brought one of her dogs to work the next day. She hadn’t been lying about her dogs’ behavior, but today the hairy beast was barking its head off. I was surprised nobody had made her take it home yet.

  The conference room was on the same floor as Gladys’s office. I was working with John while Beau had the small conference room for one on ones. The yapping stopped about midmorning, only to start again as we neared the lunch hour. The yaps intensified to tiny, yodeling howls I was sure the people on the floors around us could hear.

  “Damn dog,” one of the financial analysts in our session muttered.

  I had to agree. Today was a disaster of disorganization, noise, and three very grouchy consultants.

  If it wasn’t the dog barking, it was the door opening as people came and went from the conference room with no respect for the sanctity of our session. If it wasn’t the door, it was incessant warbling of the damn computer or cell phone or whatever it was right outside the conference room. Every time I wandered into the hall to smash the annoying device to pieces, it stopped.

  “God, what a morning,” John said when we were finally alone. He pinched the bridge of his stopped-up nose. “I feel like I haven’t had caffeine in a week.”

  “I thought you only had one caffeinated beverage a day.” I was on my third soda. “How hard could it be to go without that?”

  “Today, it would be impossible.”

  Beau staggered into the conference room, his dark skin ashy. His shiner from the day before had mostly faded, but he still looked like crap. He closed the door behind him and collapsed into one of the chairs.

  “Caffeine,” he groaned. “My head is killing me.”

  “You too?” I had a tweaker myself, but not the cerebral hemorrhage both of them seemed to have. “It’s the dog,” I guessed. “Or that broken computer.”

  “What computer?” John fished two more sodas from our personal cooler and dried the water with a napkin. Teams used to bring coffeemakers, but after Pavarti’s burnout, they’d been outlawed by Al as too easily tampered with.

  “The annoying piece of crap outside. Windows machine, no doubt.” As if on cue, the beeping started again. “There it is again. You don’t hear that?”

  Both men shook their heads.

  “How can you not? It’s not like I have, ah, unusually good hearing.” Although my lie sight did have auditory aspects, I’d never noticed my hearing was more acute than the average human. I was no Al.

  “Neither of us have unusually good hearing,
either,” John said, “but women typically have a greater sensitivity to high-pitched sounds than men.”

  “It’s not that high,” I said.

  Beau gulped cola and rubbed one temple like he could poke the pain out the other side. He hadn’t tried to “finish” anything with me last night, and I hadn’t had a chance to ask him any penetrating questions about being invisible and other hidden talents.

  “I need pain killers,” he said. “Does anybody have anything?”

  “We aren’t supposed to bring medicine on site. Security protocol blahdee blah,” I said.

  “Someone will need to go buy some—for all of us,” John said.

  “You really don’t hear that beeping,” I repeated. Then I whispered, “Can you hear me now?”

  “Yes,” Beau growled.

  “That’s crazy. It’s right outside.” I opened the door. Everyone was at lunch, so I couldn’t ask whose computer was on the fritz. The electronic trill increased until I wrinkled my nose.

  Or maybe that was the sight of Gladys striding down the corridor, her squirming, barking Pomeranian in her arms. Saliva dripped from the dog’s teeth, and its black eyes were glassy.

  “What’s wrong with your dog?” I yelled from the doorway. The twin commotion of dog and computer practically deafened me.

  “You don’t have to yell.” Gladys reached me. “Jojo and I are going home early, but I wanted to introduce you first.”

  I didn’t think the dog wanted to meet me. It writhed, snapped, and scrambled free of her arms.

  “Jojo, get back here, you naughty girl!” Gladys lunged for the dog and missed.

  The dog tore in a circle like a demented, long-haired footstool while Gladys swiped at her. I bent over to help, but the animal dashed into the conference room.

  “Yip, yip, yip, yip!”

  At the dog’s entrance, Beau glanced up, past Gladys and me. A frown creased his brow. The computer noise quit, thank God, and he straightened. “What the hell are you doing here?”

  Who was he talking to, an empty cubicle?

  Gladys stuck her hands on her hips. “Young man, I work here.”