All Fixed Up (3 page)

“Well, taking pictures is his job, isn't it? Of course he wants as many pictures as possible of your client—she's the rock star of the day.” There was a short pause, presumably him evaluating. “Maybe he meant ‘what kind of woman are you to do this.' He could be, I don't know, a ‘natural conception' fanatic or something.”

“No. The way he looked at me … it was creepy. He knew I wasn't Dr. Carson, I'd swear to it.”

“Could your client have spilled the beans herself? If this guy knows her, maybe she told him.”

“No, she wouldn't have. Her mission is too important to her. I'm certain she wouldn't risk it.”

“Okay, if you say so. I think you're probably overreacting, but it's obvious you're spooked. Speaking of which, have you talked to the boss spook yet? Maybe Mark knows something about the guy.”

I bit my—well, Phil's—lip. I didn't want to involve Mark if I didn't absolutely have to. How would it look if I couldn't make it through the first assignment he'd given me without his help?

“No,” I said. “I'm sure he's got his own job to worry about. Probably something of national importance. I don't want to bother him.”

“He's not on a job right now—he took a few days off.”

“
What?
I mean … good. Really good. He could use a break.” Geez, he
didn't
trust me. He probably left his schedule open in case I screwed up and he had to fix it.

Billy's amusement was palpable. “Afraid you're gonna flunk?”

Yes
. “Of course not. Shut up.”

His laughter filled my ears. “It's not a test, cuz. Mark wouldn't have asked you to do the job in the first place if he wasn't sure you could handle it. You won't blow it if you call him with some questions.”

Maybe. Maybe not. I didn't want to risk it. “Look, I already have
you
on the phone, and I don't have much time. Are you going to help me think of something or not?” I said, laying on the exasperation.

“Will you still sleep with me if I don't?”

“No. In fact, if you even approach me in a sexual manner, I will immediately project your mother's aura. Think your libido could handle
that
?”

“Harsh, sweetheart.”

“I have your father's aura, too.”

“Okay, okay. Look, all you have to do is get away from the guy and lie low until you hand off to your client, right? Where are you now?”

“In a bathroom. I figure I can hang out here five more minutes, tops, before someone comes looking for me.”

“Are you wearing the same NASA-issued jumpsuit as the ASCANs?”

“Yeah.”

“Any of them about the same size as your client?”

“Yeah … all right, I get it. I can probably get past the photographer, if I use the one with hair long enough to cover my name patch, and I'm careful to keep my ID badge flipped. But it's risky. What if I run into the ASCAN I'm impersonating?”

“What can I say? Risky”—I could almost see him giving one of his insouciant shrugs—“is how my mind operates. Anyway, you'll only be wearing the aura long enough to get to Phil's car. If you see the ASCAN, walk the other way. Call me back when you're clear. And next time use a breathy voice and moan a little. It makes phone sex way more fun.”

*   *   *

The aura I was projecting was a few inches shorter and ten or so pounds heavier than Dr. Phil, but that didn't matter in a flight suit. Long brown hair, pale complexion. The shoes had pinched at first, nothing a minor adjustment of my feet hadn't fixed. I hoped I didn't run into anyone I'd have to introduce myself to, because hell if I could remember her name. The important thing was, I'd automatically snatched some of her energy when I'd shaken her hand before the flight. You never know when an extra aura will be useful.

The hall outside the restroom was deserted except for my elderly handler, Steve. Darn. I'd thought he'd leave Phil alone once the reporters had been shown the door. Not that it mattered, since I wasn't Phil at the moment.

I nodded pleasantly, hoping to whiz by him without having to talk. No such luck.

“Excuse me, Major, but did you happen to notice if Dr. Carson was okay? I hate to bother her if she's, um, indisposed, but there's some paperwork we should take care of before she leaves today.”

“Gosh, I think she's already gone—she told me she had an appointment she had to get to. Maybe you can catch her if you call her cell phone?” I said.

Of course, the call would be routed to the voice mail of Dr. Phil's cell phone, which I was carrying. I'd deal with it later.

“Sure. Thanks, I'll give it a try,” he said, pulling his phone out of his pocket as he hurried toward the door leading to the parking lot. Phil's phone vibrated in my pocket. I ignored it and hurried around the corner … and ran straight into Alec Loughlin.

Shit
.

“Um, sorry,” I said, not meeting his eye, and tried to keep moving. He wasn't looking for the ASCAN I was projecting.

He stepped sideways at the same time I did, and we found ourselves doing the awkward people-in-a-rush-trying-to-pass-each-other dance. I shrugged, and laughed in the sheepish way the situation called for, waiting for him to get out of my way.

He didn't.

“Excuse me,” I said. “I have someplace I need to be.”

His eyes sharpened as he grabbed me by the wrist. “I don't think so, ‘Phil.' You're coming with me.”

 

Chapter 3

Loughlin pulled me toward the nearest exit. Jesus. Kidnapping an astronaut? Did he really think he was going to get away with that? What kind of freak was he?

I rotated my wrist until the thumb side of my forearm was aligned with the spot where his finger and thumb joined—the weak point in anyone's grip—and yanked downward with all my might, freeing myself. Since the aura I was wearing was tall enough, and I was close enough, and—most importantly—there was no one else around, I followed up with a quick strike to his throat, leaving him sputtering for air while I ran.

The whole thing hadn't taken more than a second or two. It had been a pure reflex on my part, courtesy of my new sister-in-law, Laura, and the rigorous self-defense training she'd been giving me. Laura was one of Mark's fellow spooks, and had insisted if I wanted to learn to defend myself I'd better do it right. Loughlin was lucky I hadn't been at a good angle to bust his balls with a swift kick—another move I'd recently perfected. As it was, anyone who came across him in the next several seconds would assume he was choking, and maybe even Heimlich him, buying me more time.

I hit the parking lot at record speed. Hopped into Phil's dark green 1973 Triumph TR6. (Literally. The top was down.) Calmed myself, and headed out as quickly as I could without attracting undue attention for reckless driving. As soon as it was feasible, I took a small detour behind a strip mall, making sure no one was following me.

Crap
. He'd called me “Phil.” He knew I wasn't the ASCAN I'd been projecting. Jesus. Had I let Phil's aura leak through somehow? I twisted the rearview mirror and took a good look at myself. Long brown hair, check. Pale white-girl complexion, check. No leaking anywhere.

Maybe he'd seen the name patch? But even if he had, it would be more logical to assume we'd gotten our jumpsuits mixed up. Unless he knew about adaptors …

There was nothing I could do about that now, so I switched back to Dr. Phil's aura. It wouldn't do to show up at her house in the gated suburban community as a strange ASCAN.

Before I took off again, I dug out Phil's cell phone and gave Steve Richards a quick call. I told him I'd get to the paperwork the next day, so he wouldn't get worried and send out a search team.

Then I paused, took a deep breath, let it out slowly, and dialed Mark. I hated having to explain a cock-up on my first job for him, but there didn't seem to be a choice after what had happened.

He answered on the first ring. I wasn't sure if that was good or not. Did I happen to catch him at a slow time or had he been on standby, waiting to hear if he needed to come winging to the rescue of incompetent little me?

“Nice work at the press conference,” he said first thing. Of course he'd been watching. “You handled yourself in the piranha pool like an old pro.”

My cheeks heated at his praise. It was embarrassing how much his approval meant to me. “Thanks. Um, yeah, that part went really well, I thought.”

His brief pause carried a frisson of tension. “What happened?” Most people wouldn't have noticed a change in his voice, which he kept carefully neutral, but I knew him well enough to recognize the signs of him going into full alert mode.

“Everything is fine,” I said, and swallowed. “Now.” And then I explained, as efficiently as I could, what Loughlin had done. Sure, I
may
have downplayed the danger a tiny bit by insinuating Loughlin was a bumbling idiot, and
perhaps
up-played my own badassery in getting away from him, but only so as not to unduly worry Mark.

“Where are you now?” His voice was tight. “I can have somebody with you in five minutes, tops.” Which meant he had planted reinforcements nearby. Damn it, he
didn't
trust me.

“Behind a strip mall. But don't worry, I wasn't followed. No need to send in the cavalry.”

“Get back to the house. Now. The package”—by which he meant Dr. Phil—“will be delivered on schedule.”

“Wait—don't hang up. What do you think is going on?”

“Your paycheck will be in your bank account by the time you're home. If you need anything else, call.” By which he meant we weren't going to discuss what happened with Loughlin.

I sighed. Someday, I swore to myself, Mark was going to trust me with work-related stuff as much as he did Billy. But at least he didn't seem to think I'd done anything to precipitate Loughlin's weirdness. That was something, anyway.

Next, I called Billy and explained what had happened with Loughlin. I reassured him I'd already talked to Mark, and told him I was on my way back to Dr. Phil's place. Once
he
was satisfied I didn't need immediate protection he sounded genuinely impressed with my escape from Loughlin, which made me so happy I breathed heavily and moaned for him. My giggling may have detracted from any erotic effect, but, hey, it's the thought that counts, right? He hung up after a promise to squeeze some real moans out of me when he got his hands on me again.

*   *   *

The real Dr. Phil looked to be the picture of health when I finally saw her two days later. Apparently the crisis had passed (so to speak) uneventfully. Her private doctor had given her the go-ahead to resume her refresher astronaut training. She'd been genuinely disappointed to miss the ride on the Vomit Comet.

I was back to being myself again, feeling short, freckly, and generally awkward next to her gorgeous, graceful self.

“So, about this photographer…” I said as we were finishing the snack of popcorn and white wine we'd been sharing during our informal debriefing. I felt free to indulge in a second glass, because I wouldn't be driving anywhere. The agent who'd delivered her was waiting around the corner to drive me to the airport.

“… what can you tell me about Alec Loughlin?” Mark wanted the kidnapping attempt kept under wraps for now, as was his usual practice with anything adaptor related—which was possible, since no one had seen it—but I figured a tiny fishing expedition couldn't hurt. It showed initiative on my part, right?

“Alec? Like I told Mark, apparently he's working for NASA again,” she said smoothly, and glanced out the window at her husband.

Mikhail (Misha to his friends), a dark-haired Russian hunk of wiry muscle, was in the backyard, a two-acre lot surrounded by a tall, beautifully structured stone security fence and even taller trees. Privacy was not an issue for the couple. He was playing with his latest “toy,” as Phil called it.

Misha had explained to me earlier that it was the latest in drone technology, a large, lightweight quadcopter capable of some amazingly intricate maneuvers. It was his “basement project,” the thing he'd been working on for fun at home. Once it was perfected, he had high hopes of using it for payload deliveries to remote areas of the planet that might otherwise take days or weeks for relief supplies to reach if hit by disaster. He felt if Spaceward Ho was going to remain economically viable into the future, he had to set his sights on the ground as well as the stars. Diversification—and a big fat government contract for his special drones—would go a long way toward guaranteeing the financial stability of his fledgling company.

Then he'd grinned and admitted that was his official pitch to his investors, anyway. Really he was developing it because it was so damn much fun to play with.

When Phil turned back to me there was a between-us-girls twinkle in her eyes. She shrugged. “Alec and I dated for a while before I met Misha. I might not have told that part to Mark. It was over so long ago, I didn't think it mattered.”

“Might have been a good thing to mention in the forms you filled out for
me
,” I admonished, but gently. One does not alienate clients if one wishes to encourage repeat business.

She looked abashed. “It didn't occur to me—I honestly never expected to see Alec again. I didn't know NASA had jobbed him in for the video until after I filled out your questionnaire. As far as I knew, he moved back to Australia. I was under the impression he only leaves the country to go on shoots for National Geographic in remote areas of the globe. For him, it was always the more adrenaline, the better.”

Easy to believe, looking at her. She'd give any man an adrenaline rush.

I waved a hand breezily, going for the nonchalant response. No reason to worry her now. I'd leave it to Mark, aka Captain Need-to-Know, to decide how much to tell her. I could be discreet, too. “Don't worry about it. Um … by the way, is the security guard at the community gate armed?”