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  Speaking of looks, Chuckie looked slightly different than he had earlier today. His hair, for example, was shorter. Not a lot, but as if he’d had a haircut between my hitting my head at the stadium and now, which seemed unlikely.

  He was also dressed differently. The A-Cs were love slaves to black and white, formality, and Armani, and Chuckie, as the Head of the C.I.A.’s Extra-Terrestrial Division, had adapted and wore the same “uniform” as all the other men who were aliens or worked for Centaurion Division.

  However, I knew my designers, and Chuckie was not only not in a suit, but he wasn’t in Armani, either. He was in a Tommy Hilfiger ensemble that made me think we’d dragged him off of someone’s yacht. He was dressed more colorfully than I’d seen him, or anyone else I spent a lot of time with these days, in years.

  However, I’d spotted who Charlie looked like. He was the spitting image of Chuckie. I just hadn’t known Chuckie until we were thirteen, so I’d never seen him as a little kid, other than in some pictures. It was clear that how Charlie looked was exactly how Chuckie had looked. How Chuckie had a son who was this old that I didn’t know about, however, was a mystery I had no answer for.

  Before I could ponder all these mysteries anymore, Chuckie reached us and pulled me into his arms. “Kitty, baby, are you okay?” His voice shook and he hugged me tightly and kissed my head, very lovingly and possessively. I managed not to react one way or the other, mostly because my head really hurt and I had no idea what was going on.

  He let go with one arm and pulled the kids in. Not that he had to work to do this—all three of them, even Jamie, had clearly been waiting for this and flung themselves at him. Jamie seemed reasonably calm, but both of the boys were trying not to cry.

  “Chuckie, you need to stop calling me baby,” I said quietly. “Jeff is going to pop a vessel as it is.”

  He reared back and stared at me, eyes narrowed. “I ask again, who the hell is Jeff? And why, if you’re trying to tell me that you’re leaving me for whoever the hell he is, are you calling me Chuckie?” His voice was cold and he sounded hurt and angry.

  I blinked. “Um, I’ve called you Chuckie since ninth grade.”

  “Only in bed for the past seven years,” Chuckie replied. He still looked and sounded upset.

  “Mommy hit her head,” Charlie said urgently. “She doesn’t know me and Max, Daddy. No matter how she’s acting, I think she’s really hurt.”

  Chuckie’s expression softened. “Ah. Hang on, ba—, ah, Kitty.” He let go of me and hugged the kids tightly, doing the parental body check for broken bones and other injuries. “How badly are you three hurt?”

  “Not at all,” Charlie said. “Mommy got us all out.” He looked at me nervously. “She did it really fast, Daddy. And she pulled the car door off. And carried all of us, running so fast we couldn’t see.”

  “You know what we talked about,” Chuckie said.

  “I know, the adrenaline rush, like the Hulk,” Charlie said. “I think it was like that, but Mommy isn’t feeling . . . right.”

  “She’s not Mommy,” Max said emphatically. “I keep on saying it, and no one listens.”

  Realized that Max was speaking like I did. My head was starting to throb from all of this, and I rubbed my forehead.

  “It’s Mommy,” Jamie said calmly. “Charlie is right—she’s hurt her head.”

  Chuckie’s jaw dropped. “You’re sure, Jamie-Kat?” She nodded. “Okay. Kids, you three sit here and let me check on Mommy.” He turned fully back to me. “Let’s see your head,” he said gently, as he stroked my forehead.

  “It’s not my forehead; it’s the back of my head.” I turned, and Chuckie hissed.

  “Why didn’t anyone call a doctor or an ambulance?” he asked, of Hershel and Hymie more than me.

  The two other men shrugged. “She didn’t appear to need one,” Hershel replied. “She’s not bleeding anymore and I don’t know what they would do for her concussion.”

  “I don’t have a concussion.” Hopefully.

  Hymie snorted. “She asked us if the Vice President was an alien. A concussion your wife has. However, we thought getting her and your kids off the golf course and to safety was more important than calling nine-one-one.”

  “I’m not his wife.”

  At this everyone stared at me. Other than Jamie, who was rummaging through my purse. Or what was passing for my purse. My purse was big, black, and made of cheap yet extremely durable leather. The purse Jamie was digging into was a large pink and purple Coach bag. I didn’t own a Coach bag. I didn’t own a Coach anything.

  “Yes, you are,” Chuckie said, voice strained. “We’ve been married for eight years. We have three children . . . the three children here. You know, the ones that look like us? The ones calling you Mommy?”

  I was about to protest when Jamie handed me a wallet. Wasn’t a wallet I recognized, but it kept to the purse’s theme—it was multi-colored pastels and by Coach. “Here, Mommy. See?”

  Took the wallet and opened it up. There was my driver’s license. Two of them, actually. One was for the District of Columbia, and one had a yellow stripe on the top and some red flower in the middle, and shared that it was for the state of New South Wales, Australia. Both of them listed addresses I didn’t recognize.

  Both of them said the same thing. That I was Katherine Sarah Katt-Reynolds. And both of them had my picture on them.

  CHAPTER 11

  STARED AT THE DRIVERS’ LICENSES for a bit. Then I stared some more. Finally felt able to speak. “I’m so confused.”

  As I said this, Reader came running in. “Chuck, I came as fast as I could.”

  “Uncle James!” The boys threw themselves on him, and he hugged them. Head hurting or not, I’d gotten really good at catching when people around me were passing signs to each other. And Reader absolutely was passing signs back and forth with Chuckie. Reader gave an almost imperceptible nod, and Chuckie’s arm tightened around me.

  “How’s my girlfriend?” Reader asked. “Kitty, you okay?”

  “I think there’s been some sort of weird misunderstanding. I’m not his wife. I’m not these kids’ mother. Well, I tell a lie. I’m Jamie’s mother, but I’ve never seen your boys before about an hour ago or whenever we were attacked, shot at, and driven off the road.”

  “Kitty has at least a concussion,” Chuckie said, voice tight. “And she’s been talking about some guy named Jeff.”

  Reader shook his head, just slightly.

  “Look, it’s cool that James checked out the crash site while you came here to check on us, and it’s nice that he’s also confirming that he has no idea who my mysterious ‘Jeff’ is, but can we stop with the cloak-and-dagger stuff? Or, to put it another way, who have we pissed off that’s trying to kill me and these kids? And why are you all pretending we’re married? I need to know what’s going on so I know whose butt I have to go kick.”

  Both Reader and Chuckie stared at me. Their expressions were very similar—shock mixed with just a tiny bit of fear and suspicion. It wasn’t a look I was used to either one of them directing at me.

  A throat cleared. “Ah, are we safe to leave you all to the weirdest family reunion I’ve seen in all my born days, and that’s saying a lot, and get back to golf?” Hershel asked.

  “Ah, sure, yes,” Chuckie said. He let go of me and shook both men’s hands. “Thank you so much for your help.” He pulled out a couple of business cards. “If we can ever return the favor, please don’t hesitate to call.”

  “Boys, instead of haranguing her, why don’t you get her home, or to your doctor, or wherever?” Hymie suggested, as he shoved Chuckie’s card into his pocket without looking at it. “I don’t think this is the best place for . . . well, whatever your family has going on.”

  Hershel was staring at the card Chuckie had given him. “Trade Winds Financial.” He looked up and he no longer l
ooked amused. “I think you need to get your family out of here, son. Just in case they were followed.”

  Hymie nodded. “We’ll let you know if we see anything.” He smiled at me. “Good luck, honey.” Then the two of them wandered off.

  “Well, that was refreshingly vague and threatening all at once. Does anyone want to tell me what’s going on?”

  “Yes, but, as suggested, not here,” Chuckie said, as a couple of women came over. Both were in their late twenties and holding magazines in their hands. Clutching, really.

  They were hesitant, and they weren’t coming over to me, the kids, or Chuckie. They were heading for Reader. “Excuse me,” one asked, voice trembling. “But are you . . . ?”

  Reader flashed the cover boy grin. “I am.” He looked at the magazines. “Would you two like an autograph? And a picture?”

  Much squealing ensued. Reader did that almost imperceptible nod thing to Chuckie again, then focused on the women. As they squealed, more people came over.

  Chuckie picked up Jamie’s car seat, took the wallet from me, dropped it back into the purse, and took Jamie’s hand. “Boys, hold Mommy’s hands, will you?”

  Charlie took my hand eagerly, but Max didn’t. Chuckie shot him a very parental “do as I say” look and, with a sigh, Max complied. “I know you’re not our mommy,” he said quietly as the excited crowd around Reader grew and we headed out.

  “You and I are the only ones,” I replied in kind.

  “Stop it,” Charlie hissed at his brother. “She’s hurt and confused and you’re making it worse.” He squeezed my hand. “It’s okay, Mommy.”

  Was about to say that it really wasn’t, when we reached the vehicle Chuckie was heading for. “What is my car doing here?”

  He shot a worried look over his shoulder. “I took this car this morning, remember? You were in the LX. The big SUV?”

  “The one we crashed in,” Charlie added helpfully.

  “Oh. Right. But I meant what are you doing with my car?”

  “Like all the others, Kitty, it’s our car.” He put the car seat into the back while I contemplated what the heck was going on.

  Looked down. “Charlie . . . was I wearing these clothes when you left the house this morning?”

  “No,” Max answered. “It’s how I know you’re not our mommy.”

  Chuckie was done with the car seat and he looked at me. “You’re right,” he said slowly. “You weren’t dressed quite like this to go to the zoo.” His eyes narrowed. “Whatever you did with Jeff it was fast.”

  “Mommy didn’t go anywhere without us,” Charlie said, sounding stressed. “She doesn’t know anyone named Jeff, Daddy, I promise.”

  “I do, actually. He’s my husband. He’s the Vice President of the United States. And he’s an alien, from Alpha Four in the Alpha Centauri system, to be exact. And you were in our wedding, Chuckie.”

  Chuckie’s expression shifted. Relief was fighting with worry, but he no longer looked hurt or angry. “Ah,” he said gently. “Got it. Kids, it’s fine. Or, well, not really, but it’ll be okay. Let’s get home and take care of Mommy.” The kids climbed into the back of the car, Chuckie made sure they were all buckled in. “We’re going to drive slowly because you boys don’t have your car seats. No fighting or horsing around.”

  The boys nodded. Charlie still looked worried. Max looked truculent. Jamie, however, looked pleased.

  Chuckie shut the car doors and then came over to me. He pulled me gently into his arms. I kept my body stiff. “We’ll figure out what happened with your clothes. Maybe you decided to change before you all left because you were supposed to meet up with Caroline. But I get it, baby, and it’s okay.” He kissed my head.

  “Caro’s here?”

  “Yes. You and the kids were heading to meet up with her at the zoo. I’ll call her when we get home and let her know what’s going on.”

  “What is going on?”

  “You have what I’m figuring is a major concussion and that means memory loss, confusion, and many other things are possible. You’ve mixed up our Traveler game with real life.”

  “Huh?”

  “We roleplay a game called Traveler, Kitty. It’s like D and D but it’s set in outer space. In that game, I’m an alien, named Geffer, and you’re a human warrior. Our characters got married in the game. We have a monthly game when we’re in Australia. In fact, we played just a couple nights before we came back to the States. That’s what’s going on—you’ve confused the two in your mind.”

  “No. Look, there are aliens on Earth. You’re the freaking head of the C.I.A.’s E-T Division.”

  He hugged me tightly as he chuckled. “Kitty, you know I don’t believe there are aliens on the planet. I haven’t for years.”

  “Stryker knows the truth. Call him.”

  “Eddy? He’s on a book tour, Kitty. And he’s as aware that what he writes is fiction as I am.”

  “Where is Hoffa buried?”

  “What? I need to get you home. Or to a doctor. Both, really.”

  “There are both at the Embassy.”

  “Maybe, but we’re on American soil, so there is no embassy for us here, baby.”

  “I mean the American Centaurion Embassy.”

  “I have no idea what you’re talking about, Kitty. But I’m guessing it’s related to the game. Just like everything else.”

  “Conspiracies, which ones are active right now?”

  He hugged me again. “Many, I’m sure. I don’t pay too much attention to all of that, now, Kitty. I have a wife and three kids who need my focus.”

  He was lying. I could tell only because I’d known him for over half my life. However, the only thing he was lying about was that he didn’t pay attention to conspiracies. Which begged any number of questions. All of which I wanted to voice and have answered, only my head started throbbing in earnest.

  “I hurt.” Hadn’t meant to say that aloud, but oh well.

  “I’m sure, baby.” Chuckie stroked my back and I leaned into him. “I know you think you’re being unfaithful to your husband right now, but, trust me, you’re not. I’m your husband, you’re my wife, and I love you and our kids more than anything in the world. Now, I’m going to get you some medical attention.”

  “Is Tito around?”

  “No idea who you’re talking about. Is that another ‘boyfriend’ I should be worried about?” He walked me to the passenger’s side, opened the door, helped me sit, buckled me in, then shut the door and went around to the driver’s side and got in.

  “No, he’s a doctor. And our friend. How do you fit in this car? You’re so tall.”

  Chuckie stroked my cheek. “This was your dream car. It’ll be hard to deal with when the kids are older, at least if we want all five of us in it, but for now, having the seat all the way back works just fine.”

  He pulled his phone out and made a call. “Peter, hi. Oh? Yeah, I’m glad he called you already, saves me time. Oh, you did? Thanks, I’m sure she’ll be worried. Have her come to the house, but tell her to be careful. Can you please call Doctor Zainal and have him meet us at Walter Reed? We should be there in fifteen minutes or less. Great, thank you. Yes, stay home, we need you there more than at the hospital. I’m hoping we won’t be there long. Yeah, thanks.” He hung up and put the car in gear.

  “Who were you talking to? And why are you having the Bahraini Embassy’s doctor meet with us?”

  “I was talking to Peter. He’s our, well, I’m not sure what we call him. Butler, I guess. Though he does a lot more than that. He’s part of our family.”

  “He’s our Mister Perfect, Mommy,” Charlie said. “That’s what you always call him.”

  “Or Mister Mary Poppins,” Max added.

  “Oh. Good.” Had no idea who this man was, but figured I’d find out. Or wake up from whatever freak dream I was having. On
ly I didn’t feel like I was asleep.

  “And I want Doctor Zainal because he’s the best physician in the D.C. area, and we only get the best, Kitty. He’s not associated with any embassy, though he did emigrate to the U.S. from Bahrain.”

  We left the golf course parking lot and Chuckie drove carefully back up the way I’d sort of come. He was watching the road, and all the streets around us, and he was also checking the side and rearview mirrors a lot. Couldn’t blame him—clearly someone was after us in some way.

  We got onto the Beltway. “Where are we going?”

  “Walter Reed, just like I told Peter. I was going to go home first, but I think I want you to see a doctor immediately and the kids should get checked out too.”

  “Okay, I guess. I don’t know why my head is still hurting. My regeneration should have fixed me up by now.”

  “You’re not Wolverine, Kitty,” he said with a chuckle that didn’t hide his concern.

  “Sure I am. I’m Wolverine with Boobs, remember?”

  “That was Halloween a few years ago, baby.” His voice was very gentle. “Kitty, you’ve had a traumatic experience and you were injured. Your mind is jumbled right now. But we’ll fix it, I promise.” He reached over, took my hand, and gave it a squeeze.

  Considered this. “My wedding ring.” Checked my hand. I was definitely wearing the wedding set Jeff had given me.

  Chuckie kissed the back of my hand. “This is the set I got you on our fifth anniversary, Kitty. When we went back to Vegas to celebrate.”

  “This is all wrong,” I said quietly.

  “Because you’re not our mommy,” Max said conversationally.

  “Stop it,” Chuckie said sternly. “You’re not helping things, Maxwell.”

  “Mommy never left us to change clothes,” Max said with more patience than I’d have had in his place. “She’s in different clothes. Explain that.”

  “Well . . .” Charlie said slowly, “Mommy forgot our music and went back into the house before we left, remember? She was gone a few minutes. Maybe she changed clothes then and we didn’t notice.”