through my closet for a good disguise. I picked out a power suit - a hand-me-down from my friend Celia - some hose and heels, and a briefcase.
Spyder drilled the refrain into my head: when out in public, alter your appearance; anonymity is a safety net. “Yes, sir,” I thought as I went to the bathroom to shower and use temporary coloring to tint my hair strawberry blond. I did my makeup with corals to accentuate the red in my hair, painting myself in a more sophisticated manner than usual. I popped in brown contacts and scrutinized my reflection in the mirror. I wouldn’t recognize myself in a photo. Good.
The slender cut of my skirt had some spandex for easy movement. The boxy jacket hid some of my curves as well as my shoulder holster. I carried a Ruger today. Low profile. I dropped an extra clip into my pocket. The gun served as a precaution and could help me make a point - more for show than action. Though I seriously doubted I would show it to anyone today. I’ve only shot one person in my life, Wilson, and that was really enough for me.
I drank down a breakfast shake, jumped into my car, and headed into the office.
I was idling in front of Missy’s house, where a moving van took up half the street, waiting for the men to negotiate a large, brown, over-stuffed sofa out the back. The sky glowed a soft pink and butter yellow. These guys got an early start.
I decided to take a minute to call up to the hospital and check on Spyder. I heard a woman’s voice. “Suburban Hospital how may I…” Holy cow. As the movers turned the sofa, I saw the white leopard rocked back on her haunches. Still. Glaring. Ready to pounce on her prey. I reflexively reached out my left hand and hit the lock button on my door — the blood drained from my cheeks. The movers must have heard the snap of the locks because they shot scowls in my direction.
Danger is moving in.
Ever since I was little, I had what I called “knowings” — thoughts flashed through my mind, unbidden. These words felt illuminated and special. They were usually silly little things like Johnny was about to fall; it was so-and-so’s anniversary; or my dad had a fever. These thoughts came to me of their own volition and sometimes acted as a heads-up that something of significance was happening, or soon to happen. Right now, the words weren’t just illuminated: they flashed a red warning light. Never have I felt a “knowing” so viscerally. Never did a warning come to me accompanied by a …what? Illusion? Vision? What in the hell was going on? My body convulsed, bringing me back to my senses. The men juggled the sofa’s weight up the new neighbor’s front steps, and I inched my way around the truck.
I sat in my puzzle room, doodling leopards on a pad of paper wondering what I should do with my “knowing.” I decided my best option would be to go over this with Spyder. I’d run by and check on him tonight after work. That thought seemed to settle my apprehensions; I smiled up at the men as they filed into my office.
Jack — dressed for Iniquus right down to his black, Vibram-soled, military-style boots — had deeply chiseled features, making him seem unapproachable, but that would be a wrong impression. Warm, fun, and incredibly loyal were much better descriptors. But if he gave off the impression that he was rugged and formidable? Well, yeah, that one was right.
Today, Deep and Striker were out of uniform and had dressed in impeccably tailored suits with silk ties and Italian leather shoes.
The men sat with me around the table. Striker passed each of us a file with pictures and layouts. Our assignment was to infiltrate Burdock and Associates. The V.P. for International Affairs, Joseph Richy (nicknamed Seph) and two targets had a meeting planned for this afternoon. They needed me to get to the contents of Richy’s briefcase, photograph the documents, and return everything without his knowledge. Meanwhile, Deep would hack into the computer
Spyder drilled the refrain into my head: when out in public, alter your appearance; anonymity is a safety net. “Yes, sir,” I thought as I went to the bathroom to shower and use temporary coloring to tint my hair strawberry blond. I did my makeup with corals to accentuate the red in my hair, painting myself in a more sophisticated manner than usual. I popped in brown contacts and scrutinized my reflection in the mirror. I wouldn’t recognize myself in a photo. Good.
The slender cut of my skirt had some spandex for easy movement. The boxy jacket hid some of my curves as well as my shoulder holster. I carried a Ruger today. Low profile. I dropped an extra clip into my pocket. The gun served as a precaution and could help me make a point - more for show than action. Though I seriously doubted I would show it to anyone today. I’ve only shot one person in my life, Wilson, and that was really enough for me.
I drank down a breakfast shake, jumped into my car, and headed into the office.
I was idling in front of Missy’s house, where a moving van took up half the street, waiting for the men to negotiate a large, brown, over-stuffed sofa out the back. The sky glowed a soft pink and butter yellow. These guys got an early start.
I decided to take a minute to call up to the hospital and check on Spyder. I heard a woman’s voice. “Suburban Hospital how may I…” Holy cow. As the movers turned the sofa, I saw the white leopard rocked back on her haunches. Still. Glaring. Ready to pounce on her prey. I reflexively reached out my left hand and hit the lock button on my door — the blood drained from my cheeks. The movers must have heard the snap of the locks because they shot scowls in my direction.
Danger is moving in.
Ever since I was little, I had what I called “knowings” — thoughts flashed through my mind, unbidden. These words felt illuminated and special. They were usually silly little things like Johnny was about to fall; it was so-and-so’s anniversary; or my dad had a fever. These thoughts came to me of their own volition and sometimes acted as a heads-up that something of significance was happening, or soon to happen. Right now, the words weren’t just illuminated: they flashed a red warning light. Never have I felt a “knowing” so viscerally. Never did a warning come to me accompanied by a …what? Illusion? Vision? What in the hell was going on? My body convulsed, bringing me back to my senses. The men juggled the sofa’s weight up the new neighbor’s front steps, and I inched my way around the truck.
I sat in my puzzle room, doodling leopards on a pad of paper wondering what I should do with my “knowing.” I decided my best option would be to go over this with Spyder. I’d run by and check on him tonight after work. That thought seemed to settle my apprehensions; I smiled up at the men as they filed into my office.
Jack — dressed for Iniquus right down to his black, Vibram-soled, military-style boots — had deeply chiseled features, making him seem unapproachable, but that would be a wrong impression. Warm, fun, and incredibly loyal were much better descriptors. But if he gave off the impression that he was rugged and formidable? Well, yeah, that one was right.
Today, Deep and Striker were out of uniform and had dressed in impeccably tailored suits with silk ties and Italian leather shoes.
The men sat with me around the table. Striker passed each of us a file with pictures and layouts. Our assignment was to infiltrate Burdock and Associates. The V.P. for International Affairs, Joseph Richy (nicknamed Seph) and two targets had a meeting planned for this afternoon. They needed me to get to the contents of Richy’s briefcase, photograph the documents, and return everything without his knowledge. Meanwhile, Deep would hack into the computer
Similar Books
