Universal Alien (21 page)

“Richard—an alien—insists that whoever the Mastermind is, we met him after we got to D.C. But he meant me and Jeff—he wasn't thinking of Chuckie.” Who winced. “Dude, I'm doing my best. Sorry about the sexytime slipup. But . . . Cliff's car blew up during Operation Sherlock. So maybe I'm wrong?”

“Was he in it?” Reader asked dryly.

“No. He'd just bought it. He was supposed to take me, Jeff, and Charles home and it was cold and wet and he was showing off the car's automatic start feature . . . Oh my God! He sacrificed an entire new car just to ensure none of us could possibly think he was the Mastermind, didn't he?”

“Sounds about right,” Chuckie said. “And that would be worth it if he's running a huge crime cartel. He's got more money than anyone realizes.”

“Yeah and this particular cartel would make the Corporation green with envy.” And he'd had Clarence put Pia Ryan's body in his car. Talk about planning. “But . . . we were going to take Cliff back with us and brainstorm what to do, but he said he didn't want to know so he wouldn't have to tell us we couldn't do something. He's the Head of Special Immigration Services reporting directly to the Secretary of Homeland Security in my world, so he can indeed tell us no and make us obey him. So, why not take the opportunities to know exactly what we're doing?”

Chuckie snorted. “I can tell you why, easily. Where's the fun in that?”

I
STARED AT MALCOLM
for a moment. “Huh? What do parrots have to do with anything?”

He gave a short laugh. “Long story, tell you later. I'm in very tenuous and complicated communication with the person who told us a Mastermind existed in the first place, and I've confirmed my suspicions with him, and he agrees with my conclusion. I haven't told anyone else because I have absolutely no proof. To bring the Mastermind down, we have to be able to prove that he
is
the Mastermind.”

“So, why would my reactions matter? I just got here, remember?”

“Oh, I do. But, based on your reactions, I'm pretty sure he's the Mastermind on your world, too. And right now, your reactions are the only thing I have to go on. So, why don't you like Clifford Goodman?”

“He's a bastard in my world. He's in constant competition with Charles. Charles doesn't hate a lot of people, but Goodman's absolutely at the top of his Enemies List.” Considered the implications. “We don't have the same kind of conspiracies going on in my world. I don't think we have an evil genius in charge of everything bad.”

“Maybe not. You don't have aliens on your world. They're the reason the majority of our conspiracies and control the world plans are in action—to try to control the most powerful beings on this planet. And make no mistake, they're worth controlling, if you're of that mindset. Stronger, faster, smarter, and far more resilient than humans, and yet they're here to protect and serve.”

“You think they're naïve.”

“They are. I don't say it's a bad thing. But they are. You can't afford to be. I can guarantee that Goodman's going to do his best to go along with the rest of us to Australia.”

“You said ‘us.' Are you going for sure?”

“Wither Missus Chief goes, so goest I. Both of your husbands approve of this by now and it's just assumed that I'll be along, whether they see me or not.”

“Okay, I'm great with that. But you think Goodman's going to try to sabotage the fix with Australia, don't you?”

“Yes. Missus Chief and I both firmly believe that the Mastermind wants to destroy Reynolds, and you've just confirmed that it's the same on your world.”

“But why are he and Charles friends here?”

“Chuckie. You call him Chuckie. It's important that you not slip up in front of Goodman. But why are they friends? You want my honest opinion?”

“Of course.”

“Reynolds has had one friend in his entire life—Missus Chief. He wanted to marry her, but she married Martini instead. I think Goodman took advantage of Reynolds feeling like he might lose his only friend by sneaking in and pretending to like him for himself. Reynolds fell for it, hard. Can't blame him, really. An assassin tried something similar with Missus Chief when she first got to D.C., when she was feeling lost and overwhelmed. Said assassin would have succeeded in killing her and kidnapping Jamie, but I was there and I saved her.”

“You mean you killed the assassin, right?”

“Right. It's my job.”

“Did I sound horrified? The term ‘assassin' isn't normally assigned to people I want to hang with.”

He laughed. “In this universe, Missus Chief's been ‘adopted' by the two top assassins in the world, and a third one joined Team Kitty recently. But they have a strict code and treat killing as business. These others? It was pleasure for them.”

“Wow, I hope there's not a quiz later. So, you think Goodman found Charles, sorry, Chuckie at a vulnerable time, and because of that Chuckie fully believes in this friendship?”

“Yes. And if Reynolds believes it, so does Missus Chief. He's pretty much never wrong.”

“He was wrong about where Hoffa's buried.”

“And he's wrong about Goodman. But he has an impeccable track record otherwise. Making the Hoffa thing seem like the only exception to the rule.”

“So, no one suspects Goodman because Chuckie trusts him?”

“No.
Missus Chief
doesn't suspect Goodman because Reynolds trusts him. The others are taking their cues from her. Meaning you. Until your alien husband finally caught the clue that Reynolds was no longer a romantic threat he was as likely to kill Reynolds as the Mastermind, by the way. They're friends now, which is good. Reynolds is going to need to lean on Martini when the truth about Goodman comes out. He's lost his wife—to discover the person he thought was his true friend is the
reason
his wife is dead?” Buchanan shook his head. “People have gone on a rampage or killed themselves for less. And Reynolds has been dealing with depression for over a year and a half now.”

“Is there anything you don't know?”

Buchanan sighed. “Sadly, yes. I don't know how to prove that Cliff Goodman is the Mastermind and have the people who need to believe it buy in. And I don't know how to do all that without getting some or all of us killed.” He gave me a weak grin. “That's normally Missus Chief's job.”

“But, you know, no pressure.”

He laughed. “From my experience, there's no pressure you can't handle.”

Heard voices and footsteps. “What are the odds they're looking for us?”

“High. Let's go. Do your best to hide what you think of Goodman—if he thinks Missus Chief has caught on to him, he'll accelerate his plans, and I'm not sure we're ready for that.”

We headed upstairs. Once we were on the first floor I was aware of two things—I could hear music again, “Here Come Cowboys” by the Psych Furs, and, sure enough, Singh and Peter were looking about. “Ah, there you are,” Peter said, sounding relieved and shooting Malcolm a suspicious look.

“We weren't downstairs making out. Malcolm just wanted to be sure I was really okay.”

Singh nodded. “That makes sense.” Figured he'd realized that Buchanan couldn't verify my alrightness in front of those not in the know, and applauded myself for a good one. “But we have some ideas, and I have the results of the house search. The answer is a firm no—there's nothing like what you described anywhere in the PM couple's homes, nor in their children's.”

“Awesome. Then I know exactly what to get. If we can find it. Or find someone who can make it.” After all, I'd found this item a good eight years ago now.

“I had a team search for it online,” Singh said. “We've found nothing like it anywhere. And by anywhere I mean worldwide.”

Thought about it. “The shop I found it in was small and the owner was older.” Made up my mind. “Can those gate things go anywhere?”

Peter stared at me. “Why are you even asking that question?”

Saw both Malcolm and Singh passing me the “shut up, shut up” sign. “I don't know.” I rubbed my head. “I'm feeling kind of . . . addled.”

Peter went to solicitous in a heartbeat. “Of course you are, increased healing or not. And that bruise on your forehead is still visible, meaning you were hurt far worse than anyone wants to share with me.” He put his arm around my waist. “However, enough's enough. You're getting that nap, and you're getting it now.”

Malcolm and Singh looked relieved. “That makes sense, Pierre,” Singh said. “I'll keep the others moving and tell them Kitty needs to rest.”

Peter led me to the elevators as “Sleep” by My Chemical Romance hit the airwaves. Malcolm came with us. Peter shot him a warning look. “I'm sure you don't need to guard her in her bedroom.”

Malcolm laughed. “Nice to see that Mister Vice President has you around to cover the jealousy crap when he's busy.” He nodded to me. “I'll be nearby if you need me.” He wandered off down the hall.

Peter fussed over me the entire way upstairs, but I was used to this. When we got to my rooms I hugged him. “Thank you for always being you.”

He hugged me back. “Always, Kitty, darling. Now, you rest. The world will continue to turn if you take a nap.”

“Let's hope, right?”

Went into the bedroom—still no animals around, despite the evidence that they were here. Took off the clothes and went to the closet to hang them up. However, there were several sets, shoes included, waiting there. Chose to take the hint and dropped my slightly used clothing into the hamper.

“Thanks, whoever you are. Really appreciate it.”

The music was still playing, albeit not too loudly. So I heard both the song changing to “Lessons in Love” by the Neon Trees and the front door opening at the same time.

Looked around wildly for a robe. One was hanging there. Only, I could swear it hadn't been there a second prior. “Uh, thanks again.” Chose not to add that I hoped whoever was doing this wasn't getting a lot of cheap looks. Then again, there was a lot to be said for perfectly cleaned and pressed clothes being there for you at any moment you needed them.

Flung the robe on as Martini came into the bedroom. “Hey, Pierre told me you were lying down after all. He wanted you to take your pills that the doctor gave you before you did.”

“Thanks. Where are they?”

He grinned. “I put them in the kitchen. My Kitty hates taking pills. I figured you might be the same way.”

“Yeah, I kind of am.” I was also really aware that I was naked under this robe, and that I was, therefore, basically nude in a bedroom with a man I wasn't actually married to.

Martini shook his head with a chuckle. “While Kitty and I take every opportunity, you don't need to worry.” He took my hand and led me out of the bedroom and to the kitchen. “As I keep on mentioning, I'm not going to force myself on you, and we're doing nothing untoward.”

“Sorry. Not trying to insinuate you're a rapist or anything. It's just . . .”

“Just what?” he asked gently as he helped me onto a barstool at the counter, then sat down on a stool next to me.

“What if she doesn't remember?” Hadn't meant to blurt this out, but I was uncomfortable, and that was partly because I honestly found Martini very attractive. There was no way she wasn't going to find Charles attractive—she was me and I'd always thought he was handsome since senior year in high school. “What if she thinks she's me, his wife? What if they're sleeping together and they don't know?”

Martini sighed as he handed me a ton of pills, some big, some small, and a large glass of water. Clearly he'd prepped this before he got me. “Why are you so worried about this? In our relationship, I'm the jealous one. Kitty is occasionally, but she doesn't spend a lot of time worrying about me straying.”

“I don't know,” I said in between downing pills. “I guess . . . I've spent so long wondering if Charles was cheating on me when he was gone and I couldn't reach him. He always had such lame excuses.”

“Because he was off on covert operations and he couldn't tell you the truth.” Martini ran his hand through his hair. “Look, for what it's worth, it took him a long time to get over the fact that Kitty married me. He was able to let it go because they're still close friends. And because he fell in love with my cousin.”

“And then she was killed.” By the man Charles thought was his best friend.

Martini jerked as “Trust” by the Neon Trees came on. “What?”

“Uh, you know she was killed, right?”

“No, that's not what I'm asking you about. You broadcast your emotions—it's just something some people do. They tend to be the more honest out there, the ones who don't hide. Chuck's emotions are strong when he's around or thinking about Kitty. But otherwise, he's not that easy to read.”

“Okay, nice to know. Not clear on what you're asking me.”

“When you mentioned that Naomi was killed . . . you think you know who did it. And I want to know how you know, and who it is. And I want to know now.”