Alien Diplomacy Page 3

  Jeff kept one arm around me and put his other hand out to Eugene, who was politely waiting nearby. “How’s it going?”

  Eugene shook Jeff’s hand. “It’s going as well as it ever does.”

  “That bad, huh?” Jeff shook his head again. “You two can’t be doing that poorly.”

  “We suck. We’re trying hard not to care, but it’s true. And Lockwood wants to disavow all knowledge of us at the President’s Ball. Do we have to go?”

  “Yes,” Jeff said firmly. “Both of you.” He gave Eugene a commiserating smile. “It could be worse.”

  “How?” Eugene asked. “I certainly don’t want to humiliate Lydia, but it seems as though that’s all I do. I’m not an outgoing person. She used to like that.”

  “I’m sure she still does. I mean, Jeff still likes me the way I am. Right?” I tried not to sound worried about his reply.

  Jeff laughed. “Yes, baby, I love you for exactly how you are.” He sighed. “Try not to worry about Saturday night, either one of you.”

  We exchanged some more meaningless chitchat, then Eugene went to his car. “So, why are you really here?” I asked as soon as Eugene waved and drove off.

  “Just wanted to see you. Like I said, suicide-level depression.” Of course, A-Cs couldn’t lie, at least, not most of them. Jeff was awful at it, though he tried hard. Like now. I had yet to share that looking at your shoes was a dead giveaway—I mean, why help them with it?

  “I’m willing to bet we give that off every class. So there has to be a reason other than that, or you’d pick me up every week. Or, better, refuse to let me go. So, what’s going on?”

  Jeff sighed. “I’ll explain in the car. Or, rather, he will.”

  “He who?” I asked as Jeff opened the door and helped me inside.

  “Me, who.”

  I knew the voice better than I knew Jeff’s, but only because I’d known it a lot longer. “Hey, Chuckie, what brings you by to watch my latest shame?”

  He shook his head as Jeff got in next to me and shut the door. “Nice to see you’re dealing well with it.”

  I snorted. Unlike Lockwood’s, it was neither dainty nor ladylike. “Dude, you’d hate it, too, trust me. Especially the people in class with us. You’d loathe them.”

  “So you’ve whined to me for weeks. I know most of their respective spouses, so I’m sure you’re right. However, I’m hoping I have at least a partial solution.”

  “I can take this class from someone else?”

  Chuckie laughed. “No, sorry, you’re stuck. But I think it’s your overall attitude that’s the problem.”

  “I’m doing just fine in the Diplomacy for Beginners class.”

  “Because it’s taught by someone you like,” Chuckie said patiently.

  “True.” My mother’s best friend, my Aunt Emily, had been a senator’s daughter. She still lived in the area and occasionally taught the diplomacy class. In honor of my ascension into the ranks of all things political, she’d enthusiastically taken it upon herself to train the entire new A-C Diplomatic Corps on the ins and outs of our new jobs. She wasn’t aware that half of the Corps were aliens, nor that the former Diplomatic Corps had been eaten. Some things I tried not to share with my mother’s oldest friend.

  Speaking of that which had eaten the Corps, a bundle of cuteness peeked out from Chuckie’s coat pocket. It saw me, purred, and leaped into my lap. “Hey, Fluffy. How’s a Poofy thing?” Fluffy purred loudly while I petted it and relaxed a little. The Poofs had been among the cool things we’d gotten during Operation Invasion, or, as others insisted on calling it, my wedding. Jeff was part of the Royal Family of Alpha Four, and, as such, the Poofs were a part of that whole deal.

  The Poofs looked a lot like tiny, fluffy kittens with no ears or tails, but with shiny black button eyes. They were fluffy balls on tiny legs and paws, and I loved them. I had one, but the Poofs, like my Glock, were off limits at the Washington Wife class, so Poofikins had to stay home. Which was a pity, because I found the Poofs very soothing. And since they could go Jeff-sized and quite toothy when danger threatened, they were wonderful personal protection bundles of cuteness.

  Despite being Alpha Four animals, in the Poofs’ world, if you named it, it was yours. Ergo, a lot of Poofs belonged to humans, Chuckie being one of the first, but certainly not the last, to get one.

  I noted something while I petted Fluffy and enjoyed its purrs. The limo wasn’t moving, and Jeff wasn’t arguing with Chuckie, glaring at him, or giving off any kind of “go away you bother me” vibes. This was rare when they were together, especially if they were together with me. Jeff still wasn’t quite over the fact that Chuckie had proposed, and I’d considered it, while Jeff and I were sort of broken up. Operation Drug Addict had some good memories attached to it, but not nearly enough to make me reminisce often.

  “Why aren’t we moving?” I looked forward, at the driver. There were two men up there, but they were facing front. No one I recognized from the back, but I knew for sure that whoever was driving hadn’t been the one who’d brought me to class.

  The driver looked fairly tall, big, and built along Jeff’s lines. The guy who had shotgun was bigger. They were both in suits.

  Chuckie grinned. “I don’t know. Why don’t you tell your driver where you want to go?”

  I didn’t get it, but I knew that look. When you’ve been best friends with a guy since ninth grade, you know his looks. And this one was saying “I know you’re gonna like it” quite clearly.

  I leaned forward. “Excuse me, but can you take us back to the Embassy?”

  The driver turned around and flashed me a grin. “Of course. Trojan football always here to help.”

  CHAPTER 4

  I COULDN’T HELP IT, I squealed. “Len!” The bigger guy turned around and grinned, too. “Kyle! What are you guys doing here?” Len and Kyle had been on the USC football team and, thankfully, in Vegas when Jeff and I were doing the pre-show entertainment of saving the world before we got married. They’d helped us, me in particular, in a big way.

  Len laughed. “We’re out of college and working for the C.I.A.”

  “Just like we told you we’d do,” Kyle added. “I’ve been completely clean, too. No drinking, no carousing, no threatening women, just studying and prepping.”

  “True enough,” Chuckie said. “He’s not only been clean, he spent the last year running USC’s Take Back the Night program, volunteering for their escort service and teaching girls what to look for to avoid a date rape situation and also what to do to get out of it safely.”

  “Excuse me—escort service? Kyle became a pimp or a gigolo, and you’re all okay with that?”

  Jeff coughed, Chuckie started laughing his head off, and Len leaned his head on the steering wheel he was laughing so hard, while Kyle turned bright red.

  “No,” Chuckie gasped out. “It’s the program where someone can get Security or similar to walk them back to their dorm, apartment, sorority house, and so on. It’s a protective service. We had it at ASU.”

  “Oh. Maybe we did. I never needed it—I used CPS.”

  Chuckie started laughing again, though Len got himself under control. Kyle was still blushing.

  “What are you talking about?” Jeff asked.

  “My campus escort was always handled by Chuckie Protective Services.”

  “I don’t want to hear about it,” Jeff said, with a half-groan and half-growl.

  “Also,” Len said quickly, “Kyle was one of the main representatives for our sports program’s preventive counseling service that works with athletes to keep them from becoming the kind of bastards who think they can do anything to any woman at any time.”

  “Really? Wow.”

  “Really,” Len said. “You don’t want to know what he did to anyone on any of our teams who even looked at a girl slightly funny.” Len sounded proud of Kyle. Considering he’d been more than fed up with him when we’d met, this, more than the listing of Kyle’s protective resume, impres
sed me.

  “You’d appreciate it, however,” Chuckie added.

  Kyle’s blush was still on full. “I just wanted you to be sure you could trust me,” he mumbled.

  “Nicely done.” I figured saying that I’d already trusted him would sort of diminish all his achievements, so I kept it to myself. I congratulated myself on the fact that I could be diplomatic, at least sometimes and with certain people.

  “So, meet your driver and bodyguard,” Chuckie said. “If you want them, of course.”

  “Totally! But, um, why them, why two, and why C.I.A. operatives and not Centaurion agents?”

  Jeff sighed. “I know why you haven’t liked the other drivers we’ve tried—you didn’t recruit them or go through a danger situation with them. They’re just random men to you. Human agents help us blend in more easily, and you’re away from me far too often these days—in addition to someone who can drive, I want someone with you I know will break necks if you’re threatened. I also want someone smart enough to recognize danger before it blows up in your faces.”

  “Makes sense.”

  “Thanks,” Jeff said dryly. “Because we need to use humans here in D.C. as much as possible, Reynolds, James, and I discussed it, and two makes more sense because while they can’t do all we can, they can double the protection if needed. These two know who we are, what we do, and why we’re here. You’ve hated every Centaurion agent we’ve given you, and Reynolds insisted these were the two who would make you happy.”

  “Aw, you got that out without growling. I’m so proud. And, yeah, Chuckie, you’re right, great choices! So which C.I.A. division are they part of?”

  “They work for me. Directly, I might add. I wanted someone I felt I could trust near you. Under the circumstances, Reader and your husband agreed.”

  “Awesome. Home, please.”

  Len winked at me, then he and Kyle turned around, and we drove off. While I basked in the glow of finally having people who were more likely to actually want to discuss sports and music while driving, I ran this event over in my mind. Something didn’t add up. What circumstances was Chuckie referring to, and why was Jeff suddenly so concerned for my safety, when he’d told me only this morning to go to class and stop whining like a baby?

  I looked up at Jeff. “What’s coming that has you two so worried that you’re working together like actual adults?”

  Bingo. His eyes started shifting. “Nothing.”

  “Nothing my ass.” I looked at Chuckie. He had a poker face on, but I still knew him too well. “Spill it.”

  Chuckie sighed. “I told you she’d figure something was off.”

  “She doesn’t need to worry,” Jeff growled.

  “Worried now. I did mention that I liked you acting like adults, though, right?”

  “Right.” Chuckie looked at Jeff, who heaved a sigh and nodded. Chuckie looked back to me. “My sources have determined there’s going to be an assassination attempt, quite soon, most likely at the President’s Ball.”

  CHAPTER 5

  WE DROVE ON WHILE I let that one sit on the air for a bit. Many questions were banging around in my head. I went with the obvious first. “The President?”

  “Possibly, but he doesn’t sound like the actual target. Your mother has her team on full alert, of course, and they’ll be working with the Secret Service.”

  “So my mom will be at the party Saturday night, too?”

  “And your father,” Jeff said. “We have a team assigned to him, since he’ll be more in the background.”

  “A-C team or human team?”

  “Combination,” Chuckie replied. “C.I.A. and Centaurion.”

  “Which C.I.A.? Your team that wants to keep us alive, or the other C.I.A. that wants to turn us into the War Division?”

  “Both.” Chuckie didn’t sound happy about it. “I can’t keep Agency personnel out, not with this threat level. Especially since we have no clear idea who the target is. Or targets.”

  “Who do you think?” Chuckie’s nickname in high school had been Conspiracy Chuck and, insulting though it was, it was also accurate. He was the smartest guy in any and every room, and pretty much if he had a solid theory, he was right. Of course, if he didn’t know, we were flying blind.

  He shook his head. “I have no idea.”

  “We’re so screwed.”

  Jeff sighed. “I see you’re really getting a lot out of that Washington Wife class.”

  “Can I drop it?”

  “No.” Chuckie and Jeff said this in unison. I hated the unison thing. I never won against it.

  I pondered other options. “Does it have anything to do with the various conspiracies we discovered during Operation Confusion?”

  Chuckie shrugged. “It might. But we’re still tracking people down.” He grimaced. “As you know, I had most of my team working on following those leads. However, I’ve had to pull them in because of this threat. How much this will delay us, I have no guess, but I’m not happy about it. Then again, averting an assassination is probably in everyone’s best interests.”

  We’d discovered that the former Diplomatic Corps had been working with several divisions of the C.I.A. on a variety of nasty plans, all of them aimed at turning Centaurion Division into the War Division in some way, shape, or form. Chuckie was having to work slowly and carefully, because his investigation was pitting him against the people who wanted to destroy us and kill him. He also hadn’t been able to confirm who higher up in the C.I.A. and the various world governments was in on which plan or plans, and who wasn’t a lying sack of excrement. So far, this had meant a lot of strategic maneuvering I’d been too busy being indoctrinated into the D.C. lifestyle to be a part of.

  “Can’t argue with the ‘let’s not let anyone get murdered’ logic.”

  “If only we knew who the anyone was,” Jeff said. Chuckie grunted. I got the impression they’d been stressing about this the entire time I’d been gone.

  We pulled into the garage for the American Centaurion Embassy. It was underground, but that didn’t mean it wasn’t spacious. Like everything else the A-Cs did, the Embassy was big and had a lot going on underground.

  The Embassy was a full city block, long and wide, and it went up seven floors and down one. Well, it went down more than one, since we’d discovered a hidden elevator and a really hidden secret lab during what I referred to as Operation Confusion. Chuckie and I had destroyed the lab with the help of Richard White, in his last days as the Pontifex of the A-Cs, or, as I thought of it, their Pope With Benefits.

  White had retired to the active lifestyle and, on the rare occasions when we got to do something other than smile at politicians, was now my partner in the butt-kicking. Which, sadly, meant he was getting a good chance to catch up on his reading.

  The parking garage was under the basement level, meaning it was two stories down. That it only took up three-quarters of the block should have been a clue to someone that there was something going on at the far side, but apparently these things only occurred to me. Then again, my specialty was thinking like psychos and megalomaniacs. A skill that should have made fitting into Washington a breeze, when I thought about it.

  Of course, the A-Cs didn’t care about cars like humans did, and the former, now eaten, Diplomatic Corps had been deeply involved in that secret lab and all the horror therein, so that had undoubtedly had a lot to do with everyone else’s dimness.

  We got out of the car and a new bundle of cuteness appeared out of nowhere. “Poofikins!” And then another. “Harlie!” Poofikins was mine and Harlie was the head Poof and belonged to Jeff, though the Poofs all seemed to prefer females to males. They both seemed to know I needed the extra Poofiness when I got back from class.

  The Poofs had their little purrfest, then Fluffy went back into Chuckie’s pocket, job, presumably, done. Poofikins and Harlie stayed on my shoulders. Poof adornments were not an issue.

  Of course, there was one bundle of cuteness severely lacking. Even if I hadn’t been thin
king about her, my breasts were sharing that it was time to feed my baby. As per usual, I didn’t actually have breasts at the moment, I had torpedoes. “Jeff? Can we let Chuckie and the boys get upstairs by themselves?”

  “Sure, I know the way,” Chuckie said with a grin. “Go take care of Jamie.”

  Jeff grunted, grabbed my hand, and we took off at hyperspeed. I could do the hyperspeed now all on my own, but I was having some issues with control, so it was wiser to have an A-C holding onto me, preferably Jeff.

  For whatever reason, there was no elevator to the parking area—stairs only. I’d run track in high school and college under the most dedicated, and sadistic, coaches in history, so stair charges had been a part of my life for a long time. Having hyperspeed was better, but I’d spent the last three months discovering that the effort was the same even with the cool A-C powers.

  However, going up the nine flights to get up to the top floor was only about a quarter of what I used to run routinely, so we zipped upstairs. We’d discovered it was bad and embarrassing to take the elevator when I was ready to feed Jamie. The milk stains were gone, and the smell hadn’t really lingered, but the ribbing from everyone was still going strong. That Jeff and I were basically incapable of being in an elevator alone together and not making out was, in my opinion, a good thing.

  I could hear Jamie crying as we reached the top floor of the Embassy. Half of this floor was our living quarters. The other half belonged to Christopher White and Amy Gaultier. Amy had been one of my best girlfriends in high school and had gotten pulled into the fun and frolic of my new life only three months ago. They’d made the Action Love Connection during Operation Confusion and were officially engaged.

  We entered our rooms or, rather, our palatial suite of rooms tons bigger than the house I’d grown up in. Though the Embassy was one of the A-C showcases, where they most easily pretended they were “just folks,” I still wasn’t fully comfortable in it. However, having a huge nursery connected to the master bedroom was a big plus that came with living in a place large enough to house a small country.