Chapter 31
Those who fear the wolf only see their own reflection in his fierce gaze. ~The Big Bad Wolf
Gwen
Lucky and Axel drive off in the police cruiser, the effects of the RF wear off, and Callie races to my side. “C’mon girl. We need to move if we’re going to catch up.”
“And you are?” I turn toward the clean-cut, dark-suited man who appears out of nowhere to trot beside us.
“Secret Service Agent Arbuckle.”
“Of course you are.” While I let this sink in, Calliope drags me to the street and shoves me in the back seat of an innocuous sedan.
Another men-in-black-type glances in the rear view mirror, and inches into traffic. “Hello, ladies, buckle up.”
Have I fallen into an alternate reality? Perhaps I’m dreaming. I pinch myself, and it hurts, so I turn to the out-of-breath woman. “What the ever-lovin’ fuck is going on?”
Grinning, she opens her purse and reapplies her lipstick. “It’s simple. The summer is running out. You and Wulf need to get on with your lives. I also may have pushed the envelope by telling my boss you were about ready to take a job at MIT.”
“Excuse me?” As my mind spins, her blond brows raise.
“Honey, you think I didn’t know what you and Henry were up to?”
The temperature in the back rises a few hundred degrees. “You knew we were uploading classified documents?”
Full of herself, she nods. “Ah, yeah, like duh.”
I clunk my head on the back of the seat. “Who else knows?”
“The FBI director and the president. I’m not privy to any others they read in.”
Holy shit. This night keeps getting weirder and weirder. “Does Lucky know too?”
“Nun-uh, which was the hardest part. We’ve never had secrets between us, but our Commander-in-Chief insisted.”
“Jesus, I feel like such an idiot. I’m so sorry I didn’t tell you.” When I glance up, she hugs me so tight I can’t breathe.
“Don’t be. You did it to protect me and my kids.” She glances out the window. “We’ll be there soon.”
While I gather my thoughts, we leave the tightly packed beach houses. Instead of the throughway, we drive past well-kept, substantial green lawns and ancient fir trees. These expensive properties have an air of exclusivity reserved for the rich and famous.
Oh, no. She wouldn’t, would she?“Where exactly, did you say we’re going?”
“The president’s home in Rehoboth.” From her nonchalant tone, one might suspect we were going to the movies or the mall.
“No way. The Secret Service will never let us in.” At least, I hope not. My cotton sundress and sandals will never pass for designer-wear.
While I press my nose to the glass, and worry about my attire, she chuckles and taps our driver on the shoulder. “Hey, Bill. Are we on the A-list?”
“Yes, ma’am.” His wink reminds me of my fiancé, who ran off with Lucky.
“Do the guys know where we are?”
“They will in a few minutes.” At her lighthearted laugh, my mind whirrs.
Shouldn’t she be worried, too? “Did you know our restaurant was going to be targeted tonight?”
Callie waits while Bill slows at an all-way stop and waves to a jogger. As we proceed forward, she directs her attention back to me. “No, but we were prepared. From what we’ve heard, Iran has put the screws to Congressman Rhinesmith and he’s getting desperate.”
I can’t believe they didn’t include the project manager in their plans. “I assume the government will provide a reasonable explanation for everyone getting sick.”
“Propane gas leak. Faulty valve.” Now, I know she’s lost her mind.
“Callie, they’re totally different symptoms.” Smoothing out my not-presidential attire, I sigh.
My former supervisor, impeccable in whatever she wears, shoots me a smile. “Money will exchange hands, deals will be made, and a panic will be averted. Any other commentary, the government will cover up and downgrade to a conspiracy theory.”
“Too bad we don’t have a memory zapper thingy like in Men in Black.”
“Who says we don’t?” Her smirk is so convincing, I can’t tell if she’s kidding. While I try to decide, our chauffeur halts because there’s a guy standing in the middle of the road. It can’t be, and yet, it is. Farid’s evil grimace appears behind an AK. Screaming, I tug Calliope James to the floor.
Our windshield must be bulletproof because after a round of bullets, we’re still alive.
Cursing, my ex runs in the opposite direction. As our driver returns fire, Callie snatches our latest prototype from our purse and aims it at our assailant. After she presses the trigger, the man who would see us murdered, crumples to the pavement.
Bill cuffs him, hands him off to another agent, then slides under the wheel. “Wicked shot, ma’am. Can I ask what kind of weapon you used?”
“Well, I could tell you, but then I’d have to kill you.” After studying the genius inventor’s deadpan face, the chauffeur nods, nonplussed.
“Copy that. UFO. Unidentified Firing Object.”