No guns pointed at Liz Brass, at least none that the
ex-superheroine formerly known as Zazztra could see in the dim of the
streetlights. Heavy afternoon rush hour traffic still crowded the street, pestering
the air with stench and noise, but with business winding down, few pedestrians
wandered around the court district. Would the Mafia attempt a drive-by shooting
with automatic weapons? Act on the contract of a mob father? Revenge for the
son who ended up as a burned, comatose almost-corpse thanks to her. As a
precaution, she stayed far behind her four high school best friends forever, her
posse of besties, walking back to their cars.
How would the gangsters know where to find her? The five
women had spontaneously celebrated the premiere of Liz’s afternoon magic show.
Nobody had followed them. As far as she knew. The fall wind added its own
chill, sweeping along her bare legs below a cinched polka-dot dress meant for
an overheated casino, not the great Las Vegas outdoors.
What a great show, regardless. All the big resorts had
turned down the newbie entertainer. Their
loss, ha! She mentally gave the finger to the blaze of color on the Strip to
the south. As the entertainment director of her small venue put it: “I've never
seen anything like it.” Of course not. No
one else has Blacky. She caressed the belt buckle where she kept the black
ball that gave her superpowers. Worst or best day of her life when the
meteorite landed in her pool—she could not decide. Ambiguous, like today when her
Metro detective friend turned triumph into disaster with his revelations from
the secret FBI surveillance in New York City. She took another paranoid look
around the intersection.
A man in well-worn clothes from the last decade and his
salt-and-pepper schnauzer loitered at a row of the ubiquitous newspaper
dispensers. Typical for Las Vegas, instead of print for the brain, it held rags
with pretty pictures of scantily clad women, colorful stars covering parts of
their titillating bodies. With tongue lolling out of his gaping mouth, the voyeur
ogled the full load of young femininity approaching him on the sidewalk. Or was
he casing the scene to prepare a sneak attack? No weapons visible in his hands,
not even a leash. The dog stood at attention, checking out a poodle walking
with a woman on the other side of the street. A double-team of murderous,
flesh-ripping beasts?
“Horny, stop,” the girl watcher screamed.
Ignoring the approaching wall of rolling steel, the
schnauzer followed his hormones across the one-way street, his leash dangling
behind him. Tires screeched, but cars mercilessly slid toward the furry mass on
the asphalt.
Stupid dog. Her
brain said “no,” but her heart could not leave a defenseless creature to suffer
for the failings of his careless owner. Holding on to the belt clasp, Liz
swiped with her other hand.
An energy beam lifted the schnauzer in the air. He sailed
over the three lanes of skidding cars.
She lowered her arm and gently placed the dog next to the pooch
of his affection, leaving him to bark at the rolling vehicles.
“Oh my gosh, did you see that?” Her girlfriends gawked at
the poodle owner holding vigil over the two dogs sniffing each other while she
waited for the man without fashion sense to cross the street.
Liz pointed at her non-existent wristwatch. “Nothing to see.
Let’s move. I’m late for my date.” Her fingernails dug into her palm. Stupid, stupid, stupid. She relaxed her
painful fist. You're in enough trouble. She
had to quit advertising to evil people where to find the twenty-five-year-old girl
who had put them in their place. No more saving the world. Time for it to save
her. Starting with her ex. He owed her big time. And since he was old enough to
be her father, he better act like one.
After she said goodbye to her besties, a short drive brought
her to Robert James Earl Singleton III at Picasso, a five-diamond restaurant.
He had forgone the terrace and chosen a table inside next to the
floor-to-ceiling windows with a view of the Bellagio resort's famed dancing
fountains. Since their reunion at her show downtown, the suave Assistant Deputy
Director of National Intelligence had changed into a different British-style Brioni
suit. Her state of underdress hit her. Nothing she could do. Her limited
attention span had dealt with too many surprises today.
He rose and helped with her chair. Memories of their good
times together flooded back after months away from him.
In the soft light of the table lamp, Robert’s carefully
trimmed white mustache and graying sideburns accentuated his suntan. “My
apologies, I pulled some strings to order the Fountain Show Menu with some of
your favorites. Foie gras and lobster with Katy Perry and Madonna songs?”
She nodded. After a tense day full of surprises and little
food, she was ready to pig out on anything. The restaurant’s aromas, like its famed
sautéed quail or the balsamic vinaigrette, only deepened the hole in her
stomach.
Robert going all out on the date held promise for a
delectable evening. He wanted her back. Badly. Excellent prospects for safety
in his arms.
He adjusted his black-rimmed glasses. “Impressive magic
show. You never told me about your talent.”
“I hadn't planned on picking up my old hobby.” Liz spread
the napkin over her lap. “Didn't have a choice after your terrorist friends in Sana'a fried me out of my
job.” Although the casino had more reasons to fire her than her hospital stay
after the embassy attack in Yemen, she wanted to lay a guilt trip on him. Time
for him to pay her back. She was a marked woman.
The sommelier offered a taste of the wine when the waiter
arrived with the first course.
Liz shifted uneasily in the wood chair, her wool dress
rubbing against the black fabric of the backrest. While the water columns dancing
to “Starstrukk” fascinated the other patrons, she stared at the poached oysters
garnished with caviar in front of her. Did the menu have to include a Russian
dish to remind her of Viktor, the big love she lost during their assault on
Billy Boy’s fortress? Another secret she kept from Robert. How much could she
reveal to him? How much should she reveal to him?
Bang!
Liz dove for cover, but the tablecloth did not reach to the
floor. Her arm went up, ready to shield her with Blacky beams from the ugliness
somewhere out there. Incredible. A vulgar mob hit in possibly the classiest
restaurant in town.
“Sorry.” A female voice, mixed with giggling, came from the
balcony overlooking the water.
Leaning against the open door, a young couple in formal eveningwear
clung to each other. His laughter reached a hysterical pitch indistinguishable from
hers. Two waiters helped them totter to the front of the establishment.
While Liz took her seat again, hushed voices threw around
words like “drunk” and “disgusting.”
Robert remained his usual stoic, unreadable self. He stayed
silent until she tried the hors d'oeuvre. “Liz, I've been thinking about us,
about our future.”
Here it comes. Him
starting the conversation with her name did not bode well. “Really?”
“In Sana'a a woman in the same burqa that you were carrying drops
three terrorists at the embassy’s doorstep—coincidence.” Robert made a
dismissive gesture with his hand. “Second time there, a suicide bomber
crash-lands in front of you before he can reach the ambassador and me—I don't
think so. In the show, you levitated that bed as easily as that woman carried
those three men. The Pentagon doesn't have that kind of technology. The CIA
doesn't. I can't think of many countries that could pull that off. Japan?
China? Korea?” He folded his hands together, rested his chin on them, and
stared her down. “Who do you work for?”
Liz arched her brows. “You take me to one of the fanciest
restaurants in town to talk about this?”
“Don't get me wrong, I appreciate what you did. You saved
our lives. We can do so much more, if we work together. And, I…like you. I need to know. Is it Mossad,
Shin Bet? You can tell me. I have close contact with them.”
Even without a kiss, her lover in shining armor had turned
into a frog in business suit—more interested in her super-her-oism than her. Men. If a woman discovered Batman’s or Spidey’s
secrets, she would be all over them for a date.
The arrival of the foie gras gave her time to digest her
disappointment without answering.
With the waiters out of earshot, Robert continued his
recruitment. “We're on the same side, Liz.”
Smile if you don't
know something. A smile is surface sweetness. A lesson from her training as
casino host worth remembering. “My dear Mr. Singleton, you watch too many spy
movies. I'm a magician, not some…some exotic dancer prying secrets from
unsuspecting men like that Merry Harry.”
“You'd make a great honey trap, better than Mata Hari. And the
way you reacted to that inebriated couple slamming the door—incredible
reflexes.”
“Whatev'. I'm no spy chick. I puke when I see blood. I've
never held a gun. Nevah. Wouldn't
know what…” Still groping for a response to his sneak attack, she threw her
arms up.
“Please, Liz, I know you need to maintain cover, but you
know you can trust me.”
“Trust you? You're
a spook. You lie for a living.”
“That’s not fair. You've never been to my office.”
“Please, I've seen Spy
Games. Everybody lies to get ahead and cover their butt.”
Robert’s brow furrowed. “You're judging me based on one movie?”
“No. Many, many. Netflix and Hulu make it so easy. I've seen
Mission Incomprehensible three times.
Enemy of the State, Body of Lies, Syria'a. You guys will burn someone as cute as George Clooney or
Will Smith to save your sorry asses.”
“Is that really what you think of me? A movie cliché?”
“That Snowden guy said the same things.”
“Edward Snowden is a traitor who sold our secrets to the
Russians. Most of the NSA acts within the limits of the laws. We've had a few
outliers and we're dealing with them. The rest do their best to protect this
country.”
“Really?” Her voice rose. “Protect us? Like 9/11? Like that
dirty bomb here?” Liz covered her mouth. Ooops.
Careless words got her into trouble again. Robert had not mentioned her most
heroic deed, stopping terrorists from turning Las Vegas into a nuclear wasteland.
Perhaps he had known nothing. She had screamed so loud that everybody in the
restaurant now knew her secret, even if most feigned enough politeness to not stare.
His jaw dropped. Robert gawked at her with wide-open mouth.
His hand slowly rose to slap his cheek. “Of course. The golden costume in
Sana'a. The golden apparition here. That was no drone. That was you!”
She bit her lip. Every crime drama had that moment where the
perpetrator revealed himself with a thoughtless remark. Hers had arrived.
The intelligence director adjusted his tie. “When the FBI
figured out the truck tried to blow up a nuclear waste transport, all hell
broke loose. Nobody in DHS knew anything. Only the Air Force could have sent an
armed drone from the Creech base. They're investigating senior officers right
now {forbids the use of the United
States Army, and through it, its offspring, the United States Air Force as a
posse comitatus or for law enforcement purposes}, but…” He leaned back
in his chair and gave her an admiring smile. “…it was you all along. The
locals, police, news, suspected nothing. Only we, the terrorists, and whoever stopped
the attack know the truth. You saved
this city.”
“So what? I had
to. My mother, my besties all live here.”
Robert reached across the table. “Liz, it’s a big deal. You stopped a major terrorist attack. We were blindsided. Knew nothing. Don't
you see what we can accomplish together?”
She withdrew her hands from his. “You want me to work for you?”
“Not exactly. The NIC only gathers information. I can't hire
black ops.”
“Good. Black is so yesterday. My costume is gold and I like
it.”
“You're amazing. With what you've done, you put James Bond
to shame, yet you hide it so well. I've checked you out—birth certificate, report
cards, detention records, articles on the cheer leading squad and the prom
queen. Either you have the best deep cover I've ever seen, or you're a true-blooded
all-American girl. Why not fight for your country instead of some foreign
power?”
She could not tell him the truth. Not even the half-truth.
Beyond her fears, irrational or otherwise, her radical sister, valiant fighter against
global corporations, would certainly not approve. “Why should I help a
government that only helps the rich?”
Robert fell silent. The arrival of the roasted lobster added
to the awkwardness. He waited for the staff to leave the table. “I don't know
what to say. I'll admit we have problems, but compared to others… You think
communist China is better?”
She poked around in her lobster. He had her cornered. Unlike
her younger sister, Liz could not hold her own in a debate on international
politics. Avoiding eye contact, she mumbled toward the crustacean, “Never heard
of any Occupational Wall Street guys protesting over there.”
“If they had a Wall Street to protest at, an Occupy movement
in Shanghai wouldn't last a day. Rich people in China routinely buy politicians
and police.”
“Not any different here. As my bestie Mandy’s father likes
to say, ‘No peso, no say so’.”
“I understand you're frustrated with our government, but
think of your family and friends. These terrorists are still out there and we
have no leads on them. Liz, we need you. Your country needs you.” He dropped
his voice. “I need you.”
The usual story. Everybody needed something from her. What
about what she needed? She laid down her fork. Her appetite for lobster had
died when her hunger for romance went unsatisfied, a famine an Assistant Deputy
Director of National Intelligence was so obviously incapable of ending. “What
about me? What I got was burns, broken bones, and psychos shooting at me.”
“Intelligence is a difficult, dangerous business. Nothing is
as it seems. We deal with state actors with the means to confuse, obfuscate,
assassinate. You've seen that. We need to work as a team.” Robert persisted on
the wrong path. “Join us, please.”
She shook her head.
“Why? After all you have already done for us, why not?”
“I didn't do it for our country.” Liz slid off her chair. “I
did it for you.”
“Who are you?”
While heading to the exit, she raised her arm and gave him
the finger without looking back. “I'm the girl who used to love you.”
2. Family Affair
Ding-dang-dong.
Liz opened the door and greeted Ellen with a hug. “Thanks for hustling up from
LA. Mama's already here.”
Her younger sister—although the boyish looks and clothing
gave her more the appearance of a brother—looked at her as if she had announced
the end of the world.
“Don't worry,” Liz whispered. “This isn’t about you.”
“And I thought you had read my mind, like a psychic connection.”
Liz’s answered with a surprised expression.
“The wackos are at it again. This time they want to steal
enriched uranium and blow up the city.”
And the hits keep
coming. Under the relentless pounding by familiar bearers of bad news, the
triumphant high from her successful magic premiere had yielded to the blues.
“Why is everyone from my past coming back to haunt me today?” When her sister
lost her smile, Liz hugged her again. “Sorry, Ellie, it’s not you. Just one of
those days.”
“It’s okay. Where can you and I talk?”
“No more secrets in the family.” She responded to Ellen’s
stone face by taking her hand. “You know what I mean. I'm not telling. You come
out when you are ready.” Liz’s high heels click-clacked across the tile as she
led the way into the living room, pulling along her sister in silent sneakers.
The two exchanged cheek kisses with their mother, Dana. The
middle-aged copy of Liz, in fashionable black slacks and a cream sweater with a
golden brooch pinned to the neckline, shook back her blonde ponytail, then
faced her eldest. “Tell me! What’s this all about? The waiting’s killing me.”
Ellen responded instead. “The waiting’s nothing, Mama. These
jihadists are trying to kill you for real.”
“What jihadists?” Dana’s makeup could not hide the color
draining from her face.
“These wackos think they're waging jihad. Holy war or their version of it. Islam has this concept of struggle
against those who don't believe in Allah, and some mean with the sword to—”
“Ellie, please, no sermons.” Liz butted in. “They want a nuculear bomb.”
“The way you pronounce ‘nuclear’, you could become president
someday.”
“Whatev', Miss Assistant Deputy Professor.”
“Stop!” Dana raised her hands and shook her head. “Kill.
Bomb. Who? Why?”
“Terrorists. This time they're going for an actual atom
bomb. If it’s big enough, whoosh, Vegas gone.” Ellen held her mother’s arms to
stop their frantic movements.
“This time? This happened before?”
The two sisters exchanged glances, then red-faced Ellen took
the lead. “That week I asked you to come to LA, that wasn't because I was sick,
Mama. Some loco terrorists were going to blow up a nuclear transport to rain
their version of fire and brimstone on Sin City. A dirty bomb.”
“Dirty bomb.” Dana sank onto the sofa, her eyes staring
straight at nothing.
Liz had seen that expression before, at New York Fashion
Week, when terrified designers experienced the awesome aura of the super-powerful
Vogue editor-in-chief Anna Wintour. “I've had it with these psychos threatening
us. I'll tell Robert to bomb them away
and end this nonsense.”
“Bomb whom?” Now Ellen emulated her mother talking with her
arms. “These guys are mere handles in a chat room. E-phantoms. Besides, that is
illogical. If you want this to end, you have to get at the masterminds.”
“Lovely. Why does everything have to be so complicated?” Liz
searched her favorite place for elusive answers, the ceiling.
“I feel for you, Sis. Robert has mucho resources to find
theses wackos. They'll lead us to the top.”
Dana’s shock thawed from her face. “How…how do you know
these things?”
“Word-of-keyboard.”
“Mama, Ellie’s tracked these psychos on the Internet for
months.” She handed her mother the glass of Pinot Noir from the coffee table.
“Here. Calm your nerves. Don't worry. Once Ellie gives me the 4-1-1 on these
turds, Robert will deal with them one way or another. Wine, Sis?”
Ellen waved off. “You know me and alcohol. Orange juice with
soda water. Please.”
Liz headed to the open kitchen.
“Organic and fair trade, if you have—”
“Sorry, Ellie. All I have is regular OJ and Perrier. If I’d
known—”
“I’ll live.”
The song “The Spy Who Loved Me” played.
“Call for you, dear.” Dana held up a smartphone.
“It’s okay. Just Robert.”
Her sister sat down on the love seat while studying the dining
section across the half wall separating it from the living room. “Love your
pictures. Nice touch. You know, what would make it even better? Some greenery.”
“You can have a cat or
plants. I chose Tux.” Taking all the time she could possibly waste, Liz
prepared her sister a drink.
“You, a cat? Where? I
never saw one here.”
“He's hiding. He doesn't know you yet.” Like she used to do
before confession, she slow-walked to her congregation. Anything to postpone
the admission of her disloyalty, keeping secret from her family the most
momentous happening in her life. While handing her sister the glass, she took one
last look around for Tuxedo, but her coward cat had robbed her of the pretext of
taking care of him.
Showtime. She bent her knee and scooped with her hand. A pillow
lying next to Ellen on the love seat rose and stayed aloft while Liz juggled the
air.
“See, El'?” Dana clapped. “You gotta go to Liz’s magic
show.”
Thunderous applause from her sister. “This is rad.”
Liz flicked a finger sideways.
A small Blacky beam sent the pillow and Ellen tumbling to
the side. “What was that?” She
straightened up and looked around as if searching for an invisible wire.
“It’s not a magic trick, Ellie. The meteorite that blew up
my pool…” She fiddled with the clasp of her belt and retrieved the pea-sized black
ball hidden there. “See, my little friend Blacky gives me superpowers. With
him, I can leap tall buildings and move small mountains, for real.”
“What? Have you been hitting the cooking sherry?” Ellen
raised a brow, then reached out. “May I…”
“If you can pick him up.” Liz laid the pebble on the floor.
“He weighs like fifty pounds.”
“No way!” With her mother gawking at the spectacle, Ellen
tried in vain to lift the tiny ball. “That’s so illogical. You carry this thing
around as if it’s a green pea. How?”
“I don't know. Maybe all the radiation I got from it. Mama,
give it a try.”
Dana begged off.
“C'mon. He doesn't bite. For science. For humanity.”
“Don't be such a drama queen.” Pursing her lips, Dana leaned
forward on the sofa, carefully pulled at the object from space with her
fingertips, then shook her head. “Your cat doesn't let me pick him up either,
dear, and I know Tux much longer than…than that thing.”
“Bummer. It doesn't run in the family.” With two fingers, Liz
lifted Blacky and stuffed him back into her belt clasp. “I’d hoped to share the
burden.”
“What do you mean ‘burden’?” Ellen jumped to her feet while
words poured out like a waterfall. Her euphoria had no bounds. “You can boldly
go where no woman’s gone before. Do good with your gift, like…like…” Her arms
went every which way while she searched the white ceiling for inspiration.
“Stop the burning of the rain forests. Save elephants from ivory poachers.
Prevent—”
“I knew it!” A pout settled on Liz’s face when she crossed
her arms. “Bad enough ungallant men want me to do their dirty work and save the
world. Not at all ladylike. You’d have me running around the planet for your
nonsense. That’s why I didn't tell you.”
“You? What have you
done to save the world?”
“I fight terrorists that kill people. Who cares about some critters in Africa?” Liz underscored
the point with a frantic flick of her wrist, sending an energy beam askew. Two
candleholders flew from the entertainment center and crashed on the tile floor.
Ignoring the mishap, Ellen’s arms reached out, like a
frustrated parent wanting to shake some sense into a child. “Elephants are
people, too.”
“SAYS WHO?”
“Genetically, we are closely related to them. In fact, we
use the same aerobic energy metabolism to supply our big brains with—”
“Stop! I already have Professor Neil blowing my mind. I
don't need you blinding me with science too.”
“So you, quoting a
dance-pop philosopher like Thomas Dolby.”
“WHO?”
“Who’s Neil?” Their mother’s calming voice cut through the
thick air between the two sisters, their eyes shooting darts at each other.
Liz took a deep breath, letting the rose aroma from the air
fresheners calm her nerves. Mama still knew how to pacify her unruly brood.
After giving her mother a rueful glance, the younger sister
took her place on the love seat again.
“Neil’s from UNLV,” Liz said.
Ellen looked up. “Neil Foster? I had to take physics from
him. Cool guy.”
“Aha. He’s helped me with Blacky.” Liz managed a contorted
smile while seeking eye contact with her. “That dirty bomb, I destroyed it, not some Air Force
drone-thingy guy. I stopped those
terrorists.”
“You? Really?” Ellen scowled.”
“Really.”
Three pairs of eyes did the silent talking for a long while.
Blacky may have separated Liz from one boyfriend after another, but he had
brought her family closer together.
Dana broke the silence. “Liz, you broke your hand that
week.”
“Yes, Mama, it’s a dangerous business.”
A coy smile spread across her mother’s face. “I'm so proud
of you.” She stood and took Liz in a deep embrace.
“Thanks, Mama.” A shudder rippled through her—a tingling
sensation she had been waiting for, hoping for all her life—spreading warmth
from her heart to her fingertips and toes. Tears welled. Finally. Those six words washed away years of playing second fiddle
in the eyes of her mother to the second born. Liz basked in her moment of
glory, but the storm clouds closing in from everywhere brought her back to
reality. “Also…” Piling on to her mother’s worries bothered Liz more than she
had expected, but she wanted to, had
to honor the honesty pervading the room. “Fighting bad guys makes them mad.
There's a contract out on me. I don't want you in the crossfire. You're going
to Los Angeles with Ellen. Tonight.”
“No!” Dana wiped away any possible doubt with her hand. “I'm
not leaving you to the clutches of evil. Your grandpa fled Czechoslovakia
without his family. He never got over it.”
“I’m not going either!” Ellen underscored her resolution by
taking a stand.
“What about your friend in Los Angeles?” Liz raised feeble
objections to protect her family.
“She…Dan will manage without me for a while. You need me
here. I can install cameras, booby-traps.”
“I don't think we…have stores for that. This is Vegas.”
“Please. All on the Internet.”
“I can't afford that stuff.”
“Made in China.”
“Okay. Fine.” She took her sister in a long embrace, joined
soon after by her mother.
Ellen interrupted the harmony. “You have to quit your show.
I can protect you here, but not—”
“No way! If the show doesn't run for a month at least, I'll
never get another chance in this town.”
“But—”
Liz’s turn to take a stand. “You think you know surveillance? No one’s stupid enough to try a hit in a
casino. There're cameras everywhere.”
“What about the parking garage? You're all alone there.”
“No problem. I valet park. I'm their fave.” Her looks and a few dollars settled that matter.
“Still—”
Ding-dang-dong.
The doorbell ended any further argument.
“This late at night?” Liz headed for the front door, but her
sister’s iron grip held her back.
“Are you loco?”
“Relax, I'm just going to look through the peephole.”
“So he can shoot you in the eye?”
Her sister had a point. The present situation demanded more Ellen-type
caution than Liz-type carefree, but old habits die hard, even with a killer on
the loose. Liz looked to her security consultant for advice.
“Do you have a window out to the door?”
“In the master bedroom.” She directed her to a door.
Imposing silence with a finger to her lips, Ellen led the
way.
Liz peeked past the bedroom drapes with one eye, hiding off
to the side as much as possible. “Robert!”
He stood at the front door fiddling with a light in his
hand. The ringtone “The Spy Who Loved Me” erupted from her phone in the living
room again.
“Good.” Ellen headed for the foyer. “Maybe he can get you a
bodyguard.”
“I have one al…” Not the first time matters of the heart
messed with matters of the mob. Las Vegas Metro detective Richard Rogan had
offered her protection after telling her about the contracted hit. If she moved
in with him. What a Dick. Of course, Mafioso
Billy Boy Russo got her into this predicament to begin with by forcing his dick
into her. A gang war between him and her last love, Russian mobster Viktor Sverkoff,
left both on the verge of death. Now Billy’s father, don of an Italian crime
family, wanted her dead, while her sort-of-still-or-maybe-not boyfriend outside
wanted her back. “Yeah, Ellie, you can have my gift alright. See if you like
being superchick,” she mumbled as she trotted past her King-sized bed protected
by a menagerie of cuddly stuffed animals.
Robert, holding a bouquet of freshly doused red roses,
looked like he had been left out in the rain—quite a feat in a town where it almost
never rains. The sagging ends of his white moustache and his tired eyes ringed
by black-rimmed glasses added to his sullen air. He greeted the two sisters
with a teensy wave. “Can I talk to you in private, Liz?”
“Don't stand out front in view of any cars.” Newly self-appointed
Chief Security Officer Ellen discharged her duties without asking.
“Why?” Robert, Worrier in Chief by virtue of his position in
the Department of Homeland Security, had found his match.
“You know how neighbors talk.” Liz pulled him inside. Too
early for a definite decision on making her still boyfriend and maybe future
boss her Lord Protector. As she had learned from cable television, English
ladies, particularly those married to Henry VIII, often lost their heads over
their sovereign. She needed time to think this through, and his sad eyes
begging her would not make things any easier. “We'll go into the backyard.”
After introducing Robert to her mother and handing Ellen the roses to arrange in
a vase, Liz dragged him out through one of the patio doors.
Befitting a Throwback Thursday, he hemmed and hawed the way
he used to during his infatuation period.
After a long day, Liz had no patience left for a case of hesititis,
so decided to end his indecision. “You confused me at dinner. I thought we're
talking about us, then you turn all work, work, work.”
“I…I'm sorry.”
“I can't go back to Virginia until my show is done.”
“I understand. When's your Friday?”
At least he had learned the Las Vegas lingo. In a town where
the weekends brought in much of the money, dating depended on coordinating both
parties' days off. “My show is dark Monday through Wednesday.”
Despite not owning a dog, Robert had mastered the art of
silent begging even a cat-person could not resist.
“You can book flights for Sunday evening and Thursday
morning. And don't forget a ticket for Tux.” Until her new show made money, he
would have to play sugar daddy again. Never mind her mortgage. Liz needed the
cash stash she took from Billy Boy for a rainy day, rare as they were here in
the desert. Plus her secret project. Too many people had already witnessed her
in action, putting her and her family at risk. Ladyhawk, her flying motorcycle,
needed a cloaking device, but Neil’s research drained more of her precious
funds.
Robert’s mood failed to lighten. Time to up the heat. Her
fingers gently played with his hair.
After months nursing one broken hand and two broken hearts,
she deserved a delicious thrill. Barefoot, Liz rose on her toes while pulling
his towering frame down. Time stood still as she let herself drown in the taste
of him. More tickling than from clean-shaven Viktor, but wonderful nevertheless.
When they parted, a hint of a smile showed on Robert’s face.
She caressed his face. “Who knows, maybe I can play Jane to
your James Bond.”
“You would?”
“The psychos are going for an atom bomb.”
“What?” Robert’s eyes sprang into action. “Who told you?”
“I have to protect my sources, but I need your help. You
gotta find the masterminds. End this craziness for good. I can't go chasing
bombs every few months.”
“Whatever I can do, but officially I can't know about your
alter ego. In your words, it’d be like the movie Nikita.”
“It’s actually Zazztra. Either way, I guess if the police
get me, I'm on my own.”
“Not if I can help it.” He leaned down and worked his magic
on her lips.
They engaged in mutual bonding a while longer, until she
used her family in the house as an excuse to say goodbye to him for the night.
Robert headed to the door while Liz hung back in the living
room. “Where’s Mama?”
Ellen, sitting cross-legged on the sofa with a laptop
computer, was her usual busy self. “Mama’s getting stuff from home to spend the
nights here. Hopefully all the cars out front will deter any hit men until I
can install defenses. Move your faux furry friends to a back bedroom. I'm
taking the master. It’s too exposed.”
Little big boss.
After five years of separation, her sister was back with a vengeance. Liz sat
down on the couch. “I'm kinda glad for family.”
Their fingers intertwined. “Me too.”
“You really believe I can save the elephants?”
“I cannot think of anyone better than my big sister.”
I can. She left
the thought unspoken. The kudos from her super-smart sister felt too good.