by Gini Koch
“I guess so.”
“No, you do. I know you’re not as confident as everyone else thinks you are. Hell, I’m not, either. We both know how to pretend effectively. So does Jeff. You think you’d have said yes to Reynolds if he’d proposed before you met Jeff, but my money says you would have said no.”
“How so?” My money didn’t say no, but maybe Reader was right.
Reader shrugged. “He’s too laid back for you. That’s a great trait in a close friend, and for some a great trait in a mate. But you’re attracted to Jeff because he’s intense. That happy, jokey, ‘it’s all good’ attitude is a sham, and you know it. Reynolds never loses it—I’m sure he can, but I interacted with him when Reid was after you. He was as upset as the rest of us, more so, really, but he never lost his cool, never panicked. On the other hand, if Jeff had kept his cool you’d be dead.”
“I suppose.” It was something to think about, though I knew Chuckie better than anyone, and there was absolutely an intense side to him. I was just one of the few people who ever got to see it. Because Chuckie only let the people he really loved and trusted see that side, which was why Reader didn’t think it was there.
Chuckie was indeed laid back, but he’d learned how to be, how to keep his cool when bullies wanted him to lose it so they could pound on him. The drive that made him constantly successful came from the intense part of him. I knew the intensity was there—I’d seen it up close, personal, and naked, after all.
Guilt, of course, chose to share that my being with Martini in front of him was probably trampling Chuckie’s heart. Guilt also reminded me that, despite Reader’s thoughts to the contrary, if I’d been even remotely clued in, I’d have married Chuckie and never have met Martini. Stress suggested it was only a matter of time before Martini figured this out, too.
Because Guilt was an Equal Opportunity Emotion and didn’t like to pick sides, it shared that the moment Martini realized I might have even a shred of regret related to marrying him, his heart was going to be trampled, too. Stress also mentioned that there was no way Martini wasn’t going to pick up that I’d been thinking about having had sex with Chuckie, and that he’d be less than thrilled that my thoughts about sex with Chuckie were and remained extremely positive.
“James, I’m honestly not feeling any better about this.”
Reader hugged me yet again. “Someone always loses in a love triangle. That’s the way it works out. You just have to be honest with yourself—who do you love more? Who do you want to spend the rest of your life with? Whose children do you want to have?”
“What if I say Chuckie?”
Reader was quiet for a moment. “If that’s your real answer, I think my plan would be to get you and Reynolds as far away from Jeff as possible.”
“I don’t think Jeff would try to hurt either one of us.” Because he’d be too hurt to do anything other than walk away. “Christopher might, of course.”
“You trying to tell me I need to charter a jet? Or just grab the fastest car we can get our hands on?”
I looked down. No Unity Necklace. I’d gotten used to looking at it any time I’d felt romantically insecure in the past months. But it was now part of a metal ball of spying badness. I knew I’d never be putting it on again. I looked at my hands. No ring, either. Nothing that said who I belonged to, or who wanted me to belong to him.
I looked at the picture on my chest. Steven, Joe, and the rest of my boys stared back at me. What would the guys in Aerosmith suggest at a time like this? The first song of theirs that popped to mind was “Love in an Elevator.”
I laughed and looked up at Reader. “No. I do love Chuckie, and I always will. But . . . no one compares to Jeff.”
Reader grinned. “Good to hear, girlfriend. I wasn’t looking forward to that particular road trip. I’d have done it, mind you. Like I told you when we met, you’re my girl, and I’ll always be here to take care of you.”
I hugged him as tightly as I could. “I love you, James. I don’t know what I’d do without you, and I never want to find out.”
“No worries, I promise you’ll never have to.” He patted my butt. “Now, go try on the clothes. You’ll feel better, and then we can get out of this store and find your wedding dress.”
CHAPTER 18
I WENT INTO THE DRESSING ROOM as suggested. There had been plenty of times during the past year when I’d thanked God Reader was around, but none more than right now.
I took a deep breath, then undressed. This was a no-bra outfit, but we’d managed to find an almost-as-sheer spaghetti tank to go under the main top. I was still basically naked with fabric, but it was a tad more subtle. The skirt was tight, short, and silky. I would need the right pair of hooker-heels, but I had to admit I looked hot in this outfit.
I wandered out of the dressing room to find Reader, since I wasn’t buying a thing without his okay, but I didn’t have to go far. He was waiting for me, about three steps away. “James, what do you think?”
He grinned, grabbed me, shoved me back into the dressing room, and kissed me. With tongue.
The mind can move fast, and while this was happening, mine was whirring at its version of hyperspeed. Two things screamed at me—Reader was gay, and he had to kiss better than this. He was really strong. I couldn’t get away, so I slammed my knee into his groin. He pulled away, laughed, and kissed me again.
Kung fu time. I’d studied the art in my younger years and had taken it up again in earnest once I realized my life was going to involve a lot of scary things trying to kill me on a regular basis.
I dropped into a horse-stance, did an arrow point with one hand and slammed that into his throat and another arrow point into his side into a pressure point. He released a bit, and I grabbed his inner thigh and gave it a vicious pinch, while I did a palm-heel strike to his chin. Knocked him against the wall, and, happily, his head hit, hard.
I forced myself to focus on terror and Martini. I knew I needed backup.
Reader shook his head, and as he did, the image shifted. It wasn’t Reader, but then I’d already figured that. It also wasn’t a guy.
I’d also figured that, but it was still kind of icky. I had no issue with lesbians, but I didn’t swing the bat that way, and I kind of resented getting molested. Willing experimentation was one thing, but attempted rape I had an issue with regardless of the sex of the attacker. “Listen, space bitch, keep your mitts and your lips off.” I was in a squat on the ground and sent up a rising kick to her stomach, just in case she wasn’t clear.
She took it like a champ, grinned again, and lunged at me.
And slammed back into the wall. Her nose looked broken, and she was out. I looked up to see Martini standing there, fist still out. “Good emotional signal. Potentially your best yet.”
“Thanks, I’ve been practicing.”
He put his hand down, I grabbed it, and he pulled me into his arms. “Did she hurt you?”
“She kissed me. I feel like I just went on stage with Madonna.” I gagged a little but kept it together.
“How’d she get to you?”
“Oh, hell.” I pulled out of his arms. “Stay here and keep her out. Call for backup. Pay them for whatever it is I’m wearing. She impersonated James.” I grabbed my purse and took off.
“Kitty!” Martini was calling after me, but I didn’t stop. Reader was nowhere in the shop.
“My boyfriend’ll pay for this!” I shouted to the clerk.
“But he left,” she said.
I stopped. “No, the guy in the dressing room is my boyfriend. The other guy is my friend. Where did he go?”
She gave me a look that said this wasn’t the first time someone had said something as odd as this to her. It was Vegas, after all. “Some black guy came in and he left with him.”
“Big, bald, and totally hot?”
“Yeah.”
“Oh, God. Look, the guy in the dressing room is my boyfriend. I was just attacked by some lunatic. Help him, and he’ll pay for what
ever it is I’m wearing.” I ran out of the door. The store alarms went off immediately. Oh, yeah, I was wearing the antitheft tags. Well, hopefully I’d get them off legally later.
I didn’t see anyone who looked like Reader or Gower. So I had to think, not just run. I assumed my attacker was here alone, because the other one was off causing havoc elsewhere. She was an A-C, based on strength and imageering ability. She was also rare, because I knew females didn’t normally get empathic, imageering, or troubadour skills. So she was strong and fast and really well trained. But she’d had to get back in time for me to walk out of the dressing room and see her impersonating Reader there.
I started praying Reader was still alive and only knocked out somewhere. So if I were disposing of a body, please, God, an unconscious body, where would I stash it?
I looked around for the refuse. Saw a young, pretty cute, Hispanic maintenance guy pushing a trash cart and ran to him. “You got a body in there?”
“Um, no?” He looked at me like I was from another planet. If he only knew.
I looked in, no, no body. “Where are the big cans?”
He started to point, and I dug into my purse. My mother had given me a P.T.C.U. badge. I wasn’t an agent, but as Reader and Christopher both said, if the head of the agency gives you one to have and to hold, feel free to use it. I opened it in front of him. “Federal officer. My partner’s been kidnapped. I think they took him out and dumped him somewhere, and it has to be close. Take me to the closest dumpsters to that store,” I pointed to where I’d just come from. “And make it fast, because if he’s dead when we get there I’ve got the potential to take it out on you.”
The maintenance guy nodded, and we took off at a dead run. Fortunately, he was in decent shape. “Why’re you in those clothes if you’re an officer?” he asked as we raced along.
“Undercover.”
“Not really.”
He had a point. “Look, can we just try to save my partner’s life?”
“Sure, sure.” We were behind the stores. Once you were away from the glitter, the backside of any mall was the same, apparently. He led me to a set of double doors, and we smashed through them. To see a lot of garbage cans and a big garbage truck.
“Oh, great.” The truck had a can on its forklift. I knew how our team’s luck ran. “STOP!” They didn’t.
“They can’t hear you!” the maintenance guy called. He ran toward the can and leaped. It was amazing—he was about my height but damn if he didn’t catch the can and get up there. The drivers saw him and stopped.
I ran around to the side. “Federal officer! Stop and put that can down!”
The driver looked at me. “Are you kidding?”
I waved the badge. “Can down now! I’ve got an officer missing.”
“He’s in here!” the maintenance guy shouted.
“Put the damn thing down now, or I’ll shoot you in the head!” I pulled out the Glock and aimed. I never remembered to set the safety, so that saved a step.
The driver lowered the can and put his hands up. “Don’t shoot, lady. I got no money.”
“What part of the term ‘Federal officer’ do you not understand? Get out of the damn truck.” The maintenance guy jumped into the garbage. I saw him struggling. “Get in there and help him. Now!” I pointed the gun at the other guy in the garbage truck. “You, too.” They both got out slowly. I could tell they wanted to run. “You run, I shoot you. It’s that damn simple.”
The maintenance guy started shouting to them in Spanish. They both started moving now and crawled up.
“Holy Jesus!” the driver shouted. “There’s a man in here.”
“No, duh. Get him out!”
They lifted the body up—it was Reader. My chest felt tight, and I was having trouble breathing. The maintenance guy looked at me. “He’s hurt bad, but he’s alive.”
I burst into tears. “Get him out of there.” I dropped the Glock back into my purse and found my cell phone. “Jeff, are you okay?”
“Yeah, baby. We’ve got the agent tied up, literally. Where are you?”
“James is hurt.” I was sobbing.
“Hang on.” He hung up, and I went to help them get Reader’s body down without hurting him more.
The maintenance man took a look. “Head trauma.” Even I could have called that one—there was blood on Reader’s forehead. He opened Reader’s eyes and took his pulse. “I think he’ll be okay.”
“Um, don’t take this the wrong way, but—”
“I’m a med student. This is my third job. I’m a bartender at night and I deal blackjack swing shift. Tito Hernandez, by the way.”
“Kitty Katt. I’m not a stripper.”
“Yeah, can’t tell in that outfit, of course.” Tito was checking Reader’s neck and limbs. “You have a phone. Call an ambulance.”
“How? I’m not from around here.”
Tito rattled something off in Spanish. One of the trash men pulled out a cell phone and dialed.
I realized the trash truck guys were staring at my chest. “Um, I wasn’t planning to wear this out in the day.”
“Don’t plan to wear it out without armed guards.” He looked up at the trash guys and rattled something off in Spanish again. They nodded and backed away.
“What’d you tell them?”
“That you’re a crazy hooker and this guy’s your pimp.”
“Seriously?”
“Yeah. It’s more believable than you being a Federal officer.” He took my arm and placed me. “Want you blocking the sun from him.” My shadow fell across Reader’s face.
“How’d you do that jump?”
“Training. I also cage fight.”
“Jesus.”
“I like to think of him as my copilot, yeah.” He looked up at me. “You guys have some serious enemies here?”
“I think my boyfriend took out the enemy.”
“He’s not your boyfriend?”
“No . . . but she thought he was. Interesting.”
“You want to explain that?”
I took a good long look at Tito. “Maybe so.” I dug into my purse. “Mister White?”
“Yes, Miss Katt. Christopher called me somewhat hysterically. What’s going on?”
“I want to hire someone.”
CHAPTER 19
“COME AGAIN?” WHITE SOUNDED CONFUSED. “I want to hire someone onto the team. What’s the standard procedure?”
Tito raised his eyebrow at me. Reader groaned, and Tito turned back to his patient. I took Reader’s hand. Groaning meant coming back, I hoped.
“Normally they kill a superbeing.”
“How about if they know how to react in a crisis, don’t argue about things being dire, can leap twice their height to save one of our agents from being smooshed in a trash compactor, and are fluent in Spanish? And if they’re,” I let go of Reader’s hand to feel Tito’s bicep, “pretty damned buff, in med school, holding down three jobs, and also a cage fighter?”
“Who was almost smooshed?”
“James. He’s alive, thanks to Tito much more than me.” I took Reader’s hand again. Tito had a great bicep, I had to admit.
“Tito is our new recruit?”
“If I get to ask him, yeah.” The adrenaline was starting to wear off, and I was starting to shake.
“If Paul and Jeffrey approve.”
“Paul’s not going to be in any condition. James is hurt.” My voice was moving up to the dog-only register.
“Ah. And this Tito is taking care of James?”
“Yes. Look, yes or no?”
“I’ll trust your judgment. Please go ahead. Remember, however, most people don’t believe in aliens without seeing the proof.”
“Chuckie did.”
“Fine. Carry on, and please keep me posted on James’ status.”
“Will do.” I hung up and wondered where Martini was. “Tito, got a proposition for you.”
“Want to be a doctor, thanks. What the hell did they hit him
with?”
“Want to train with doctors better than you’re ever going to meet at med school? And, she hit him with, I’m guessing, her fist.”
He looked at me. “There’s a lot more to this, isn’t there?”
“Yeah.” I took a deep breath. “Look, they just tried to kill my best friend. You saved his life. And you did it by doing the things we have to do every day to stay alive.”
“Who’s we?”
“Centaurion Division.” A man’s shadow covered mine. “World government agency, United States based.”
Tito looked up at Martini. “You her boyfriend?”
“Yeah.”
“Good. Give her your jacket before the hombres decide they don’t care if they get deported back across the border.”
Martini did as requested. “We have her locked down. And I do mean down.” His voice was a growl. “If James dies, I’m killing her.”
“Let me.”
“Okay.”
Tito looked back. “Um, not really sure I’m for cold-blooded murder.”
“The person who attacked your patient is an alien from the Alpha Centauri system. She’s here to kill or at least severely bother the Alpha Centaurions who live here peacefully with us and help us protect the Earth.” I heard sirens in the distance. They were getting closer.
“This a Men in Black joke?”
“No. Jeff, they called for an ambulance.”
“Don’t want one, but we’ll take the gurney.” He pulled out his phone. “Alpha Team has a man down. Need a floater, on my mark. Needs to take four and a gurney to human medical. I want that gate active in less than thirty seconds.” He dialed again. “Christopher, you and Tim take the bitch to lockdown. I want her miserable. James is down, and he looks bad. Yeah, I’ll have the girls get Paul. You take Reynolds with you, too, have Melanie and Emily stay with the flyboys and do guard duty. Right.”
Martini looked at me. “You want to bring this guy on why?”
I reiterated Tito’s skills.
“I want to be a doctor. I don’t want to get involved with a bunch of crazies, no insult intended.”
“Oh, none freaking taken. Jeff, call the girls.”
