One Handsome Devil (29 page)

"You aren't getting paranoid, are you?” Jack looked as cool as dry ice under the glaring studio lights.

"Of course I'm not getting paranoid. They put us in a dump of a hotel, paint us up to look like we should be bit players in
The Best Little Whorehouse in Texas
, send a team of ringers from their local college in to beat us, and my boyfriend possessed me. What possible reason for paranoia would I have?"

"I think—"

She cut him off. “In this case, they really are out to get me."

Jack's smile barely reached his lips. “I have a strategy."

"Does it involve sending some of your pet imps to scurry around and destroy some of these New Yorkers? If so, I like it. I said ‘hey’ to one of the women doing my makeup and she just sniffed like I was a bad odor."

"It doesn't exactly involve the imps."

"Talk to me about the ‘exactly.’”

"It would be easy to distract them. That would let us give our answers first."

"What sort of distraction do you have in mind?” Maybe she could persuade Katra to unbutton another button on her blouse. That and her friend's short skirt could distract any male within miles.

"I was thinking maybe a few whiffs of brimstone and maybe a minor heart attack.” He looked completely serious.

"Oh, Jack.” Sara didn't know whether to laugh or cry. He was doing this for her but his complete lack of moral sense just pointed to the vast gulf between them. “I think we had better just rely on beating them fair and square. Besides, a little distraction wouldn't help. We have plenty of time to guess the right answer."

"While you were in the dressing room getting made up, I was talking to one of the production assistants. The television rules are a different today than in a normal game."

Sara narrowed her eyes. “Different in what way?"

"If you're not fast, you lose points."

"So we'd better get the answers quickly."

"And have quick reactions too.” Jack's eyes gleamed. “That's one of the areas where distraction could come in real handy."

"No cheating.” She thought about the rule change and it didn't make sense. As a small team, she and Jack would have an advantage over a group that had to discuss everything. “Did your little friend tell you why they're changing the rules? Everyone watching the show probably plays trivia in bars."

"Things have to move faster on T.V. In bars, they want people to stay and drink. On T.V. they want to make sure they don't flip to another channel. At least that's what Tiffany tells me."

A gorgeous, if heavily bleached blonde smiled at Jack giving him a prom queen wave. “Is your team ready to go? The Beavers are here. We'll be on as soon as the commercial break is over."

"That reminds me, the Devil did invent commercial breaks, didn't he?” She'd admit it, Sara was in a snippy mood.

Jack shook his head. “It was the indoor plumbing lobby. Timing is everything."

"You're so funny.” She intended the words to be sarcastic, but Sara couldn't help noticing that she had smiled more in the little time she'd had to share with Jack than she had in years.

Sara had to keep reminding herself that Jack was a demon, not the sexy man he appeared to be. In his suit and tie, he could have passed for a rich business executive, except few executives had the build that Jack displayed.

Tiffany prodded them to their seats barely giving Sara time to whisper to Katra that if she wanted to hike up her skirt once or twice while the New York City University team was looking her direction, that wouldn't really be cheating.

The M.C. bounded onto the set. His spray-on tan and glue-on hair probably looked great over the tube but Sara couldn't help comparing this supposed television heart-throb to the real thing sitting next to her.

Jack radiated animal sex appeal and confident personality, which Sara didn't think was very fair since he was neither an animal nor a person, but there she had it. He joined in the host's banter, joking about their day in New York and their lives in Texas.

"So, is it true that a lot of you Texans have a bumper sticker that says
drive fast and freeze a Yankee
?” the M.C. asked.

"I'm going to let my partner answer that one, George,” Jack answered. “She is the oil and gas engineer, after all."

Sara opened her mouth and for a painful five seconds, nothing came out. No man, and few women, would just back off and give up on his fifteen minutes of fame. Yet, as Jack said, this was something she did know something about. He'd also put her completely on the spot.

She finally caught her breath. “A large part of the Texas economy is centered on exploring for and developing energy resources, George.” She took a deep breath, then plunged ahead. “What Jack and I intend to do with our million dollar winnings is to fully fund our oil and gas exploration business."

The M.C. took half a step back. Apparently he'd been expecting something a little more hick from the woman in the cowboy hat. Well, tough. Sara put up with enough crap from the males in her work without having to put up with more from an obnoxious television personality.

"Right. Well let's see how the team from New York City University is shaping up."

Two of their opponents, a young woman from Afghanistan and a middle-aged man from the Bronx, were music professors. Jack had lost track with music sometime between Bach and Brahms with only the occasional interlude for the Rolling Stones.

"Be ready for questions about music,” he whispered to Sara while George the M.C. was trying to discover some personality amongst the NYCU professors.

"I saw that too. They researched us and then tried to stack the deck against us."

Paranoia felt very comfortable to Jack.

"Right,” George announced. “Well, you all know the rules and you all know we're playing for some serious money, so let's get started."

The first question was an easy one. What year did the Mongols seize Kiev? Jack's hand was pressing the correct button before the phosphorus in the display screen had been fully excited. 1240 was the obvious answer and none of the other choices were close enough to allow argument about whether calendar changes might result in a different date.

"If you know it, push the button,” Sara urged.

"I did."

She sighed, then pressed the button herself. The light on their stand lit up, but the score showed that they had lost two hundred points by the delay.

"Why don't you let me handle this?” Sara yanked the control unit toward her side of the desk.

Cheers and jeers from the studio audience greeted the obvious conflict within the team from Texas.

"There's a problem with it,” he explained.

"Yeah sure. A problem named Jack."

He extended his senses through the circuitry that linked their control unit to the computer that controlled questions and answers. A delay circuit had been inserted, ensuring that they would never be able to achieve full credit. The producers were hedging their bets.

Jack glared at the M.C. who was slapping hands with the NYCU team now in the lead nine hundred to six hundred. Sara was right, though. Neither cheating nor punishing these others would lead to a good solution. He wanted Sara to win, to get her money and pursue her happiness. Then, of course, he would move on. If Katra was right about his career needs, maybe he'd come back to New York and get a job at the New York City University, protected from avenging angels by the aura of millions of angry New Yorkers.

He took a small part of his energy and fused the delay circuit into a lump of copper and silicon. “Fixed it."

Sara gave him a sour look. “Whatever."

"You know I don't lie."

Her face contorted. “I'm sorry. I let them push me into panic mode. It's probably just what they wanted."

Sara knew the next question, the name of the first Beatles drummer and smacked the button instantly. Both teams received full credit for knowing that Colin Hanton had preceded Tommy Moore, Norman Chapman, Pete Best and, of course, Ringo Starr as Beatles drummer.

Jack and Sara managed to keep the pace with the larger NYCU team, each of which, Jack saw, had been given their own control. If multiple answers were received, the system was automatically set up to accept the correct one.

"We can't win,” he whispered to Sara during a commercial break.

"We've got to. I'm out of money."

"Maybe if I gave them all a little indigestion."

Sara shook her head. “They didn't do anything."

"They've got to know they're cheating."

"Still."

By the final question, they were still down by three hundred points. While neither side was going to get their million, whoever won would score better than half a million dollars. The losers would get their free flight home.

The final question flashed on the screen and Katra slipped off her chair, falling on her butt and somehow managing to land with her legs up in the air and her Texas flag-decorated thong underwear exposed to the world.

Jack's hand lashed out at the control unit, the female professor glared at the monitor, and the male professors goggled over Katra's thong as their clock ticked away the points.

"Well, I'll be a son of a bi—uh, I mean, howdy partner, we have a winner,” the M.C. announced. “Unfortunately, the Texas team won't be able to return, but they'll take half a million Yankee dollars back to the Lone Star State.

"We're getting robbed,” Sara told him.

"If we get out of here alive, we'll be ahead of the game.” The woman professor was heading toward Katra with an expression that would make any man guard his private parts. “I think we'd better grab the check and head for the airport."

Katra brushed off her butt, straightened her skirt, and grabbed Maura's hand. “Let's get out of here."

"But we're on television. They'll probably want to interview the family members."

"They want to kill us."

"Why?"

"Because I cheated."

"But you weren't playing."

Katra laughed. “Oh, yes I was. Come on, let's go."

She tugged Maura toward the studio exit.

A black-haired witch of a woman descended on her, her umbrella raised like a club. “I saw what you did. If you think you can get away with that kind of disgraceful behavior, you're wrong."

"I think our exit is over here.” Katra ignored the irate loser.

"It's sluts like you who give all women a bad name,” the professor continued. “Well I'm going to fix that."

Katra tugged on Maura again, but the older woman didn't budge. “I think you owe Katra an apology,” Maura said. “I want to hear it now, on national T.V."

"You want an apology and I want my million dollars. Guess which one of us is going to get what we want?” The woman swung the umbrella at Maura's head.

Katra reached for it. Instead of hitting Maura, it smacked into her wrist with a solid thunk. The thing had to weigh five pounds.

Katra reeled back, her wrist a solid ache of pain. “Ow."

The woman stepped forward pressing her advantage. “Your turn now, old witch."

"All right, that does it.” Maura reached into her handbag, pulled out an aerosol can, and sprayed the woman in the face.

"Argh. She dropped to the floor, tears streaming from her eyes. “You can't do that in New York. Concealed weapons are illegal. I've got you now."

"Maybe I should kick her when she's down?” Maura suggested.

"We'd better go and rescue Sara and Jack. Keep that hairspray handy. You never know when someone else will be having a bad hair day."

"I would have used my mace, but you wouldn't let me bring it on the airplane."

"Trust me,” Katra told her, “it's better this way."

Tiffany the makeup girl rushed over to Jack just as Katra and Maura reached him and Sara.

"You were wonderful,” she gushed. “If you're in New York again, give me a call.” She thrust a slip of paper in his direction.

He shook his head. “I don't think so."

"But—well, I know. I'll just take this to remember you by.” She snatched his hat.

For an instant, Jack's bare head was exposed on national television, horns and all.

His hand blurred as he reclaimed his hat and set it on his head. “We'd better move along."

"Think they'll stop the check?” Sara asked Katra as they followed Jack toward an exit.

Katra shook her head. “It was too public. There's nothing in the rules about results being nullified if an audience member just happened to slip."

"When I suggested you distract them, I was thinking about a little thigh, not the whole bird."

Katra nodded. “When they cheated, I figured we needed something a little extra."

Sara looked puzzled. “Jack thought they were cheating too."

"I saw Jack smack the button on the first question. A couple of seconds later I saw a puff of white smoke go up right where all those electricians are standing. It was pretty obvious."

An angry audience member, this one a man who looked like he lifted weights and wanted to prove it, stepped into Jack's zone and shoved at his chest. “You think you're pretty smart, don't you?"

"I don't think about it.” Jack's voice was icy calm.

"Yeah? After I get done with you, you won't think you're so smart any more."

"Oh, good. Then I guess we're finished?” Jack stepped around his antagonist keeping his body, Katra noticed, between the heckler and the women.

"Hey. I said I'm not done with you yet."

Jack removed his jacket and extended his wings ripping through the back of his shirt. The man took a step toward him, got a confused look on his face, and stopped. “Hey."

"It was nice to talk to you,” Sara said. She gave him one of those innocent smiles that only Sara could pull off. If Katra tried a smile like that, she'd probably get arrested.

The heckler slowly unclasped his fists. “What happened?"

"The bathroom is through that door,” Katra told him.

"Oh, thanks.” He wandered off with a dazed look.

"What the heck did you do to him?” Sara demanded.

"My wings are created by a power grid—similar to the electrical impulses that control the synapses within the brain. Get too close and” he clicked his fingers, “zap, no memory."