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All of Airborne was waiting for us. Tim, who was our official driver, my five Top Gun pilots—Jerry, Hughes, Walker, Joe Billings, and Randy Muir—and Claudia and Lorraine, our medical. Randy and Joe were their boyfriends, and the four of them looked particularly worried. I could understand that. Martini and I were pretty much going to be the test case for interspecies marriages. It was how White had gotten around the older A-Cs totally freaking out. If all went well for the two of us, then more couples would be allowed to do their counseling with the Pontifex and, of all people, my mother, then walk on down the aisle to wedded bliss.
Tim was the only one of our team not dating an A-C. He was dating Alicia, whom we’d met during the fun trip where we’d all almost died about ten times, good old Operation Drug Addict. She worked for the airlines and thought we were all part of the P.T.C.U. She was doing great with keeping that a secret, and we figured one day we might be able to tell her the truth. Jerry, Hughes, and Walker were playing the A-C field—there were so many Dazzlers to choose from, and my flyboys were the ultimate combo—all great looking by human standards and all really, really smart.
“Everyone ready?” Martini asked. “Wouldn’t want to keep Mister C.I.A. waiting.” The guys all grimaced. Claudia and Lorraine just rolled their eyes.
Something I hadn’t considered for a while occurred to me, but now wasn’t the time to ask the girls why Chuckie—who was tall, handsome, rich, human, and beyond brilliant—wasn’t right after Hawking on the Dazzler Wish List.
“We really have to take direction from Reynolds?” Tim asked.
“Presumably,” Martini growled, and I flipped my mind onto flowers while I tried to determine if he was growling because of the mere mention of Chuckie’s name or if Martini had picked up that I was thinking nice things about Chuckie. Then again, he was an empath, not a mind reader. I relaxed.
“Chuckie’s not that bad. And we need his help right now. So, yeah.”
“Kitty won’t,” Jerry said with a grin. “She’ll pretend to, but she’ll do what she wants.”
The entire team nodded. I felt a little embarrassed.
Martini laughed. “Too true.”
“Chuckie knows me pretty well,” I muttered.
“Yeah? Then how’d he let you shove him through the gate when Reid had you two cornered?”
He had a point. And Chuckie wasn’t empathic. Okay, we were good.
My cell phone rang, and I dug it out of my purse. “Hi, Christopher, what’s up?”
“Oh, we’re just wondering when Airborne’s going to grace us with their presence. And Jeff. The rest of Alpha’s sitting here, taking bets on when Reynolds loses his cool and starts screaming about how late you are.”
“Chuckie doesn’t lose his cool.” This was true. He’d had a lot of reasons to in high school, when he’d been short, ravaged by acne, and a total geek-nerd combo. He’d never lost it when people had picked on him, though I had. He’d always told me success was the best revenge. Becoming a multimillionaire twice over before he was twenty-five and now ru
“I hate it when you think about him,” Martini muttered to me.
Focused on the stupid flowers again. They didn’t seem to be working. Maybe I should try trees. “Be there as soon as we get through the gate. By the way, where is ‘there,’ exactly?”
Christopher sighed. “You don’t know?”
“No. See, if I knew, I wouldn’t have asked. It’s my crazy little way.”
“Crazy is the accurate description for you. And, apparently, Reynolds. We’re not in any of our bases.”
“Um, why not?” I looked around. All of Airborne seemed confused. I looked up at Martini. “They’re not at a base.”
He raised his eyebrow. “Oh? Where the hell are we going, then?”
“Jeff has no clue either. Want to share, or do you secretly like hanging with Chuckie waiting for the rest of us?”
Christopher sighed. “We’re in Las Vegas.”
“Come again?”
“Vegas. We’re in freaking Las Vegas. Reynolds is cracking up, by the way.”
I was sure he was. Chuckie had a wicked sense of humor. And he and I had spent a wild week in Vegas when Circle-K had bought out his chain of convenience stores for the first of those multimillions. That was when he’d suggested we get married, the first time, but I’d thought he was kidding. He hadn’t been, as I’d discovered six months ago, when he suggested it the second time. Before my week with Martini in Cabo, Vegas with Chuckie had been the best vacation, and sex, of my life. And Chuckie would enjoy tormenting Martini, and apparently Christopher, with this knowledge.
“Let me guess . . . you’re in the Mandalay Bay somewhere.”
“Oh, you’re good. Yeah, top floor of THEhotel.”
“Not the Four Seasons?” Which didn’t surprise me at all that much. Chuckie preferred sleek to grandiose.
“Reynolds says he knows you’ll like THEhotel better.” I could hear how a
“He’s right. We’ll be there as soon as the gate’s calibrated. At least the Vegas bathrooms are clean.”
“Yeah, wouldn’t want anything to keep you from spending your money quicker.”
“You don’t like gambling?” I loved it.
“We gamble our lives every day. Gambling money seems anticlimactic.” Christopher had a point.
“Well, whatever, be there shortly.” I hung up. I looked around at the team. I couldn’t help it—I was sort of excited.
“Well?” Martini asked. “Are we heading where it sounded like we’re heading?”
“Oh, yeah. We’re going to Vegas, baby!”
CHAPTER 8
MY TEAM HAD THE MOST HUMANS ON IT, and all of them looked pleased. Claudia and Lorraine looked confused. And Martini looked beyond a
“Oh, come on, Jeff. It’ll be fun.”
“Right. We aren’t going to be having fun. We’re going to be figuring out how to stop my relatives from ruining our lives.”
“True, but . . . it’s so cheap and tawdry and glittery and loud. And it never sleeps!” I loved Vegas, when you got right down to it.
Martini sighed. “Can’t wait. Truly.”
We walked to a gate and calibrated for the McCarran International Airport. Martini sent Tim first, then the rest of our team. He recalibrated quickly, his hand a blur. Then he swung me up into his arms.
I hated going through the gates. They still looked more like airport metal detectors than anything else to me, but they also brought new meaning to the term “sick to your stomach.” About the only way I could get through one without wanting to barf my guts out was in Martini’s arms, with my face buried in his neck. He stepped us through, and in a second we’d gone from the middle of the New Mexico desert to the middle of the Nevada desert.
McCarran was one of the few airports where a bunch of people coming out of a stall, three of them women, didn’t cause too much notice. Anything went in Vegas. We lucked out in that there weren’t any men in the bathroom, and our little parade coming out of the men’s room didn’t attract any looks—there were slot machines all over the airport, and people were paying a lot more attention to them than to us.
However, once we were in the area to get to a taxi stand, I noticed someone watching us. He was hard to miss—he had a camera the size of his head. And it was aimed at us.
I nudged Martini. “Why are we getting our pictures taken?”
He looked over and shrugged. “Guy likes to take pictures of pretty women.”
“Um, Jeff, really? That’s what you’re picking up?”
He sighed. “Baby, we’re in an airport. Loaded with people with their emotions going off the charts.”