by Ruth Diaz
No one answered.
Dammit, she hated wrong numbers on her red phone. She hit the end button and glanced at her alarm clock. 2:13 in the morning and she was getting a goddamn wrong number. She closed her eyes, waiting for the inevitable call back from some idiot who had been too embarrassed to check the phone number when they had her the first time—and at two in the morning, whoever it was ought to be embarrassed.
The phone rang in her hand. She pressed the button without even opening her eyes. “Hello?” There was the dreaded silence again. “You have a wrong number. Please don’t call me again—some of us are trying to sleep, here.”
“Terry?” a voice asked hesitantly.
God, that sounded weirdly familiar, but TJ hadn’t been Terry in years. Even her father knew better by now. She tried to shake the sleep out of her brain. “Who?”
“Terry, this is you, isn’t it?” It was a man’s voice, distorted with the static of a bad connection.
A chill that had nothing to do with the air conditioning stole over TJ, collecting into an icy ball at the pit of her stomach.
“It’s me, Terry. Look, don’t hang up—just tell me, how are the kids? Are the kids okay?”
She couldn’t have answered if she’d wanted to, her voice frozen in her throat, and she had to try twice before her shaking fingers managed to hang up.
Jon.
Chapter Four
Annmarie blinked several times in the dim light, trying to remember where she was. A soft, bell-like clang drew her attention, and she rolled onto her side, pushing up on one elbow. It dawned on her that she was on the sofa bed in the middle of TJ’s living room the moment before she spotted the other woman’s silhouette in front of the range light—fussing with a pan, probably.
She wondered what time it was and found her attention automatically drawn to the unexpected weight of the watch on her left wrist.
No, she didn’t remotely want to risk trying to illuminate that dial.
She reached over the arm of the sofa to grab her glasses off the end table instead. The kitchen clock read 2:20, and TJ wore an expression not only abashed, but almost freaked out. There was a whole lot more worry in that expression than their mutual case of “I don’t know if it’s okay to kiss you” could begin to account for.
“What’s wrong?” Annmarie asked.
TJ shivered visibly, despite her blue terrycloth bathrobe. “Sorry, didn’t mean to wake you. I just thought…maybe some tea…” She looked back at her saucepan, her face drawn. “I didn’t use the kettle so it wouldn’t whistle…”
“TJ, what’s wrong?” Annmarie swung her feet over the edge of the mattress. The gray pile carpet wasn’t bad beneath her feet, but the off-white tile of the kitchen floor was decidedly cool. “You’re not making any sense.”
“You’re wearing glasses.”
The water in the pot wasn’t bubbling yet. Annmarie took in the mug and the box of chamomile tea beside it on the counter. “I take my contacts out at night. They last longer.” She wondered if a blanket would stop TJ’s shivering. She set her hands on TJ’s shoulders. “TJ, what happened?”
“He called,” TJ whispered.
Annmarie didn’t have to ask who “he” was. She drew the other woman in, holding her close. “Oh, hon.”
“On my red phone. They must’ve gotten the number when they tossed the union offices. He just…called. Asked how the kids were.” She sounded scared, her voice thin and dull.
Annmarie stroked her back, for once thankful for Dad’s endless lectures on union benefits, back when he still thought he could convince her to become a superhero’s assistant. “None of those phones map to an address. He can’t know where you are.”
“I hung up. It couldn’t have been more than fifteen seconds, maybe twenty. Not long enough for a dowser to get our location even if the building wasn’t shielded. I turned off the phone. I haven’t turned my red phone off except on an airplane since I joined the union when I turned eighteen.”
So it wasn’t just about the threat to the kids and to herself. For TJ, it was an identity thing.
“It’s okay, TJ. Just leave it off for tonight—you aren’t on-call anyway. In the morning, you can talk to whoever handles the phones and get the number changed. Singularity can’t track you from it. Just sit down, I’ll make the tea. It’ll be okay.”
She’d suggest a shot of whisky in it, but having not only tasted but aspirated what TJ had in the house for whisky, she couldn’t help thinking that might result in a hangover on top of the wine.
If anything, TJ clung to her more tightly, resting her forehead on Annmarie’s shoulder. “I checked on the kids. It was stupid, but I had to see that they were okay…”
“It’s not stupid,” Annmarie said firmly. “It’s the middle of the night, and you’re worried, and they’re what you’re worried about. It’s not stupid at all.”
TJ’s gaze fastened on Annmarie’s like she was seeking truth there.
Bending her head, Annmarie kissed TJ’s lips. It was supposed to be reassurance, or that’s what she’d tell herself later, but the way TJ kissed back, fear sublimating itself beneath raw need, that thought didn’t last long.
Neither did any other, as the desire Annmarie had felt for the other woman from the moment TJ had first opened the door flared low in her belly and swept over her in a heated rush. Kiss followed kiss, each deeper and fiercer than the last, punctuated by little nibbles. Eventually Annmarie tore herself away long enough to turn off the stove, and when she looked back TJ was wearing a hesitant expression. Annmarie slipped her hands carefully around the other woman’s waist. “Is this okay?” She kept her voice low, mindful of the kids sleeping in the other room.
TJ’s giggle was almost hysterical. “Shouldn’t I be asking you that? I’m putting you in an awkward position—I’m kind of your boss.”
“I like this position, I started this, and you’re thinking too much.” Annmarie kissed her again, willing TJ to forget for a while. Forget who employed whom, Singularity and anything else beyond lips and touch and lust.
Annmarie wasn’t sure how they made it into the bedroom. She pushed TJ up against the door, getting it closed, and something went thunk. “Oh no, I didn’t hit your head on the door, did I?”
“Less talking, more kissing.” TJ’s hands were firm at Annmarie’s hips as she walked her backward across the room in the dark. The bedside lamp came on apparently unassisted, providing a warm glow just as the backs of Annmarie’s knees hit the side of the bed. She fell onto it, bringing TJ with her.
“Convenient,” Annmarie murmured during those moments where they dragged themselves all the way onto the mattress.
“Hands full,” TJ complained. Or maybe it wasn’t really a complaint, since she had one seated firmly on Annmarie’s butt while the other squeezed her right breast.
Annmarie moaned, working open the terrycloth belt around TJ’s waist. The front of the robe parted, exposing a broad swath of flawless skin between her breasts. Annmarie rolled onto her side, pulling TJ along with her. She ducked her head so she could lick her way around the inner curve of TJ’s breast and up her throat. It drew a gasp from the other woman, and Annmarie smiled.
Searching fingers scrabbled at the hem of Annmarie’s camisole, inadvertently tickling. A breathy laugh escaped her as she clutched reflexively at her stomach. She leaned in to capture another kiss, warm and wet and wanting, and pulled the camisole off over her head.
A long line of kisses made Annmarie shiver as TJ worked her way down her chin, the tip of her tongue lingering in the hollow of Annmarie’s throat before TJ’s lips continued their path down to her breast. Dark, curling hair hung loose around TJ’s head, flowing across Annmarie’s skin with a featherlight touch and obscuring her sight as a mouth latched on to her nipple. Annmarie took a sharp breath, squirming
with pleasure while her hands pushed awkwardly at the robe as TJ sucked and nibbled gently.
Annmarie gave up on the robe, slipping her hand inside it instead to explore the curve of TJ’s hip and the wonderfully smooth skin of her belly.
TJ moaned into her flesh, the vibrations seeming to penetrate all the way to her backbone, making her buck up against the other woman. Who must have approved, because she moaned again, turning it into more of an extended hum while squeezing her other breast gently.
“TJ!” Annmarie gasped.
Like that was a cue, TJ rolled her onto her back again. Annmarie found herself at a loss for what to do with her hands while TJ played her body like an instrument, investigating each new gasp and sigh as if trying to understand it so she could top it. She moved her attention to the other breast, her hands stroking down Annmarie’s ribs and around the ticklish expanse of her stomach before tugging yoga pants and panties down, leaving her both exposed and trapped, the fabric binding around her knees. After a long moment, TJ began stroking lightly between her legs.
Annmarie gave up, lacing her fingers into the other woman’s hair so she could see TJ’s eyes. She found a joyful wickedness in their depths as fingertips investigated her wetness. Then those fingers plunged inside her and her eyes closed as she groaned.
She rode the sensations, lances of pleasure so sharp they were almost pain shooting through her. She hung there helplessly, adrift on a sea of need and subject to TJ’s whim, for some unknown amount of time before finally gasping, “It’s not enough. It’s not enough. I can’t—I can’t come like this.”
“What do you need?” TJ’s voice was low and dark with desire.
Oh God, she was going to make her say it. Annmarie’s cheeks burned. “My clit. Please, TJ. Please.”
TJ chuckled against her skin, and Annmarie begged and whimpered until TJ’s thumb slipped up between her folds, drawing small circles around her clit. Annmarie heard a whine from the back of her own throat, but there was nothing she could do to stop it. She could feel all that need curled tight and low in her belly, and the touch wasn’t quite enough to let it out. She pressed up against TJ’s hand. “Please,” she whispered, trying desperately to get that pressure where she needed it.
Finally TJ brushed the pad of her thumb across Annmarie’s clit and set her off. Annmarie pushed frantically into her thumb and fingers as the orgasm rolled over her, waves of bliss crashing through her and then slowly, slowly ebbing.
When she could open her eyes, she found TJ gazing down at her, her face glowing with quiet delight. “I’d make you go down on me,” she said, “but I don’t have any dental dams.”
Annmarie laughed breathlessly. “TJ, I can’t get sick. I can’t even carry anything. Super immune system, remember?”
TJ blinked, nonplussed.
Annmarie took her glasses off, aiming them at the nightstand in a short arc. They clattered and came to a stop against the base of the lamp. “So come up here already. And take off that robe. It keeps getting in my way.”
* * *
TJ woke to Janis Joplin singing about Bobby McGee. She groaned and reached automatically for her alarm clock, only to hear a disgruntled “Ngh?” as her arm thudded against flesh.
Annmarie. Oh God.
“I’ll get it,” Annmarie mumbled. “Which button?”
I wasn’t even supposed to think about her this way. I really wasn’t supposed to sleep with her.
“To the right of the big one.” TJ rubbed sleep from her eyes. She sat up while Annmarie stretched over to the nightstand, cutting Janis’s voice off in mid-word. “This is going to sound stupid,” she said blearily, “but did last night count as sexual harassment?”
Annmarie turned her head, squinting a little at TJ. She reached back to the nightstand, grabbing her glasses and placing them on her nose. They gave her a sort of geeky sexiness that was almost irresistible, regardless of who had morning breath or whether TJ needed to pee. With her vision securely in focus, Annmarie’s gaze fastened on TJ’s face as she said, “Come closer, and I’ll show you just how harassed I don’t feel.” Sure enough, the dimple in her cheek showed first, before the smile crept onto her lips.
That sounded amazing, but… “Wish I could, but if I jump in the shower now, I should be out before the twins are up. You can use their shower, if you want, or we can share.”
“I share very well.” Annmarie leaned forward for a bespectacled kiss, and yeah, sweat and bed head and morning breath just didn’t matter sometimes.
Despite a little playful groping in the shower and another attack of nerves on TJ’s part, they beat the twins out into the living room. TJ had a box of biscuit mix in her hand and Annmarie was just folding up the sofa bed when Esteban appeared in his Transformers pajamas.
“G’morning, Annmarie,” he said, visibly confused at finding her already in the condo when he woke up.
“Good morning, Esteban,” Annmarie said, contacts in and not a hair out of place. It was as baffling as it was sexy, TJ thought, running a hand through her own already-tousled hair. “Where’s your sister?”
Esteban jerked his head back toward their bedroom.
“Marisol never wakes up till I go in and pester her,” TJ said cheerfully. “What do you want for breakfast, Esteban? I was thinking pancakes, or maybe biscuits and eggs.”
Esteban perked up, walking into the dining area and perching in his chair. “Pancakes, please.”
“I’ll wake Marisol,” Annmarie offered.
By the time they’d all finished breakfast, the alternating euphoria from waking up beside Annmarie and terror at the idea of really trying to date again while the kids were still so young had begun to give way to the memory of that middle-of-the-night phone call. This morning, though, instead of scaring her, it made TJ mad. How dare Jon try to shove his way back into the kids’ lives? How dare he try to intimidate her by calling in the wee hours of the morning? Singularity had abandoned them all when he’d decided changing the world was more important than his kids.
Nothing was more important than the kids.
After breakfast, Esteban turned on Channel 7 for the news. TJ tried to remember if they’d watched the news last night, and started guiltily when she realized she hadn’t been out of her bedroom for the kids’ supper yesterday, let alone the news. Well, no more of that. Sean wouldn’t be in until nine o’clock, and Malika wasn’t supposed to do red phone changes without his approval. Not that that would stop TJ from trying as soon as the union’s telcom coordinator came on shift.
News must have been slow overnight, because the morning report was an unseasonal Oklahoma tornado, the situation in the Middle East, some local fishermen rescued by the Coast Guard, and the obligatory heartwarming story about a dog. TJ answered questions about Iran and Egypt for Esteban and went yet another round explaining to Marisol why they couldn’t get a dog, not while they lived in an apartment.
Promptly at 8:30, she closed her bedroom door and logged in to her computer to call Malika. By the time she spotted the blinking light bulb that meant Control had sent new information to her attention, Malika had already picked up. The telcom coordinator was just sitting down at her desk with her coffee, and when TJ requested a new red phone, Malika immediately began telling her about the necessary paperwork and approvals.
TJ cut her off. “That handful of the Iron Fist’s bright boys and girls who escaped the other day have my number. As long as that’s true, they can track me and my kids by it sooner or later as long as the phone is live. So either the number changes, or my red phone stays off.”
Malika hesitated, the frown lines between her deep brown eyes growing more intense. She put her coffee down and keyed something into her computer. “If you ever tell anyone I initiated a phone change without getting the paperwork from Sean first, I’ll deny everything. I like my job. I plan to keep it.”
TJ breathed a sigh. “Thanks, Malika.”
Half the city away from her, on the other side of layers of encryption and protective software, Malika chuckled weakly. “I’ve got kids too, Heidi. But I’m going to put you through to Sean right now. You still have to explain this to him. And get him to send me those forms!”
“No problem.” TJ let her smile show more than a few teeth. “I didn’t think he’d be in until nine. Great, send me over—I’ve been looking forward to it.”
Malika’s mouse hand moved a little. “Sean?” Her eyes shifted away from TJ, presumably going to another window. TJ couldn’t hear the reply, since she wasn’t looped into that call, but a moment later, Malika went on, “I have the Hidden Hand on the line for you. It’s about Singularity.”
Shortly afterward, the screen suddenly revealed Sean, his crisp blue suit marred by a few crumbs. She’d probably interrupted his breakfast, but it was gratifying to be taken seriously this time.
“Sean, I need you to file for a change of red phone for me. Singularity called mine in the middle of the night.”
Sean shook his head, visibly baffled. “How could he have gotten your number? They didn’t get anywhere near the computers.”
He wasn’t really arguing that it had happened, TJ could tell, just trying to wrap his head around it. She blamed the hour and a corresponding lack of coffee. Fortunately, she had an answer for him—or at least, a really good question. “I don’t know—what are the odds they had a technopath with them?”
His face stilled, his gaze drifting off into space. “If he has your red phone number, pretty good. There were four of them, including two I didn’t recognize.” He focused on her again. “Okay, we’ll consider your own phone dead and courier a new one out to you today. In fact, I’ll take it out to you. We have a couple of new couriers on. College kids. They both checked out okay, but the way things are going, I don’t want to risk one of them having been planted by the Iron Fist. The damn villains might protest they could care less about seniority and stipends, but after the break-ins, I don’t trust them to be as disinterested in the union as they always say.” His voice went indignant on that last part—Sean might not be a meta, but he knew his business when it came to the importance and running of unions, thank you very much.
