by Beverly Rae
I would have kept on screaming if the lamp on the dresser behind Blake hadn’t lit up in a flashing iridescent green. In a split second, my scream changed from pleasure to annoyed surprise.
“Oh, crap!” Pushing away from Blake, I scrambled to the other side of the bed and did a somersault off the edge to land on my feet. Who knew my little acrobatic trick from childhood would come in handy one day?
“What’s wrong? Come back here!”
Blake lunged across the bed, flying over tangled sheets and nearly missing me. I threw the comforter on top of his head to buy more time. He thought I was playing, but I actually wanted to cover his eyes so I could dash to the lamp and shut off the signal. Before Blake managed to get the comforter off, I’d pushed the switch at the base of the lamp and turned off the green alert signal from the Society’s headquarters. Whirling around to face him, I plastered on a fake grin and fought the anxiety churning in my stomach. I started gathering my clothes and brainstorming excuses. Fortunately, I’m good at coming up with excuses.
“I’m sorry, sweet man, but I just remembered Swindle’s having a meeting this morning. He’ll go ballistic if I miss another one.”
Blake, however, didn’t care. Hooking me around my knees, he brought me down, thankfully catching me before I hit the floor. “You’re kidding me. You get me going and then you remember the meeting? Nice to know my fantastic sexual allure didn’t distract you from thinking about work.” He latched his mouth on to my tit, muffling his words, making him sound like a buff Elmer Fudd. “No fwair.”
I stopped the words, “You wrascally wrabbit, you,” before I let them escape my mouth. Something told me he wouldn’t appreciate the comparison.
He was right, of course. It wasn’t fair. I’d gotten my jollies off, but his shaft was still primed and aimed for action like Elmer’s shotgun. I grimaced at my own cartoon comparison and, again, kept my trap shut. (By the way, I can keep my trap shut a lot more than people give me credit for.)
Still, my trusting hubby didn’t know the half of it. Blake, the love of my life, the man who shared my home and my life, didn’t know my secret identity. He had no clue I was a Protector and, according to the Society’s edicts, I couldn’t tell him. Of course, I’d broken that same rule by telling my friend Myra, but something held me back when it came to confessing all to Blake. Which begged the question─did I really trust him or not?
“Blake, you don’t understand. If I don’t make this meeting, Swindle will make my life a living hell.” A soft mewing sound escaped me. Couldn’t he tell I’d rather stay with him than sit through a boring meeting with my boss? I struggled to gain control of my libido and tried to fib convincingly.
“You really want me to let you go?” The low growl he rumbled between my breasts almost convinced me to spread wide for Blake and screw my boss at the Society.
“I don’t want you to, but I have to go.”
His throaty groan of desire morphed into a loud growl of displeasure and defeat. Releasing me, he fell against the side of the bed and watched me hurriedly dress. “Fine, go on. Run off leaving your poor hubby tied up in a sexual knot. But I deserve a reward for being such an understanding husband.”
I leaned over and gave him a quick kiss. If I lingered too long with the kiss, his other head would change his mind. “I promise I’ll give you extra special treatment tonight.”
Sending him a loving look, I turned and headed out of the bedroom. He struck out again, narrowly missing my leg. “I’m going to hold you to your word, you know.”
“I hope you do.” I hopped toward the front door, trying to shove my boring-yet-practical flats on my feet. I’d never catch a were-animal if I wore heels on the job. Granted, six-inch heels made great impromptu weapons, but I’d rather have the option of a speedy escape. No, sir, no Manolo Blahniks for this gal on the go. “Gotta run. I’ll see you tonight.”
I reached the door but, sensing eyes on me, quickly turned around and caught my husband checking me out. The gleam in his eye told me my gym membership was well worth the money.
“See ya tonight, babe, and don’t forget.”
“I won’t.” With a kiss thrown over my shoulder, I scurried out to hop into my biggest indulgence: my Jaguar convertible with custom silver finish and red leather interior. I figured since I spent my life protecting the world I ought to drive a cool car. After all, you never saw James Bond driving a family sedan.
Glancing longingly at my home, I threw the car in reverse and screeched out of the driveway just in time to catch my nosy neighbor, Mrs. Hardgrave, scowling her displeasure at me. I waved even though I knew it was useless to try and get on the old biddy’s good side. She hated sports cars and the people who drove them, which of course meant she hated me.
But I didn’t care. People who don’t own a fast car simply don’t get it. I understood why men loved fast cars because I loved them, too, although I never checked to see what was under the hood. I never cared about how many cylinders or spark plugs there were. Instead, I silently gave thanks for whatever made my silver bullet race down the highways. I loved the way the wind blew apart my hairstyle. I loved the roar of the engine and the glances both men and women gave me as I zipped past them. Forget the bulky minivans and square four-door SUVs the other wives in my neighborhood drove. My silver speed demon was the only demon I truly loved.
Or so I thought.
Whizzing out of the suburbs of Pleasant Hill and into the outskirts of Tulsa, I wondered what calamity was about to befall the world. Had some ghoul decided to go on a brain-eating rampage? Perhaps gargoyles had kidnapped a baby? Or maybe a gigantic mutant alligator was terrorizing sewer workers? Various possibilities ran through my mind, but I finally gave up trying to guess. My next assignment could be anything. Keeping my attention on the road, I maneuvered my way in between vehicles filled with unsuspecting people. The poor slobs occupying those cars had no idea of the dangers lurking in graveyards, dark alleyways or their own closets.
I braked at the next traffic light and smiled at a middle-aged balding man seated in the Buick next to me. He probably thought he had everything in his life under control. He had the wife, the two kids, the dog who slept at his feet and a nice pension plan for retirement. Little did he know a vampire could lie in wait for him and suck him dry. But as long as I was around, he wouldn’t have to know. I waved at him and he plastered a surprised yet pleased grin on his face. The light turned green and I gunned my Jag across the intersection, leaving the man behind, probably feeling flattered at the unexpected attention from a pretty woman. Yep, that’s my motto─to protect and serve in any way I can.
Minutes later, I merged onto the expressway leading to downtown Tulsa. I could already pick out the nondescript building in the midst of all the other buildings. None of the daily commuters on their way to work would have guessed that it held the offices of the first-line defenders against evil and supernatural criminals. Forget the national government, the Protectors of the Society were the real caretakers of homeland security.
I slowed down, pulled into the underground parking garage and flashed my security card at the ancient man guarding the gate. Snooker, as he was known to Protectors, was nearly one hundred thirty years old, but he could still take down a demon. I returned his grumble with a friendly wave and drove down the first row of parking spaces. Pulling into a good spot, I left my briefcase filled with real estate files on the front seat and headed for the elevator.
“Hey, girlfriend, wassup?” Benita Johnson wiggled her fingers in greeting and I returned the gesture.
Dumping the contents of my pockets into the small plastic tub she held, I passed through what looked like a metal detector. Oh, sure, it could detect weapons, dirty bombs and other devices of mass destruction, but the machine also incorporated a special technology to scan a human for any signs of supernatural hitchhikers. No unwanted or unseen visitors were allowed into headquarters. At the same time, the tub scanned my items for anything out of the ordinary.
> “Hey, Benny. Not much. Though I got a call from the big guy. Have you heard any scuttlebutt?”
“A lamp call from him?” She pointed upward, but I knew she meant the boss and not The Boss. “Girl, are you going around attacking innocent people again?”
I tried to keep the wince inside from showing on my face. How long would it take to live down my mistakes? “No. I’ve been away on vacation. Remember?”
“Uh-huh. I remember.” A quick frown skittered across her features. “I ain’t heard nothing about nothing. Maybe he wants you to check in, is all.”
To quote my friend—uh-huh. I could see it now. Mac and I exchanging vacation photos and talking about all the fun in the sun. The detector’s bells went off and I reversed direction out of the scan area, gritting my teeth against the obnoxious sound. “Shit. When are they going to get this thing to recognize keys? I mean, come on. It can find a microscopic succubus hiding in a person’s lung, but it can’t figure out keys are just keys?”
Benny caught the keychain I threw to her and motioned me through the scanner for another try. “Girl, don’t you know it? But what’s got your panties in a wad? The boss’s call? Or ain’t your new hubby taking care of you?”
I passed through the machine with no problems this time and picked up the keys from the table where she’d tossed them. “No. I mean, I don’t know. Blake’s treating me quite well, thank you.” I remembered my hubby’s head between my legs and couldn’t help but grin. “Really well, if you know what I mean.”
“Oh, ho, ho. Looks like someone got a little sumthin’-sumthin’ this morning. Tell me, hot stuff. How was he? Come on, girlfriend, dish. I want all the deets.”
Her delighted cackle made my grin spread wider and rushed the heat to my face. I still get embarrassed talking about sex. At my age, go figure. “Sorry. I don’t kiss and tell.”
“Do you screw and squeal?” She let loose with another guffaw.
Her laugh echoed around the garage and I checked for any onlookers. I liked the gregarious woman, but sometimes she made me want to hide inside a hole. “Uh, I’ll see you in a bit, Benny. Take it easy.”
“Hell, girlfriend, I’ll take it any way I can get it. Easy or hard, it don’t matter to me.”
I entered the elevator, turned to face the row of buttons and found Benny still shaking her head, enjoying her own joke. She was one of those lucky people who lived life to the fullest and I had to envy her. Maybe since I’d found Blake I’d end up a happy-go-lucky person like her. Yet as the elevator whisked me upward to the penthouse, I knew the answer to my musing. Not a chance. Or as my dear old dad always said, “Girl, if sour was money, you’d be richer than Trump.”
Don’t misunderstand me. I am a happy person, especially since falling in love with Blake. But when one of your jobs deals with tracking down and eliminating—usually in some gruesome way—demons, ghouls, ghosts and otherworldly creatures, it’s difficult to find the brighter side of life.
The doors opened to reveal the foyer to the penthouse. Lush navy carpet trimmed in gold welcomed me. Taking a deep breath, I stepped out of the elevator and into the watchful eyes of Security. It was security unseen by the naked eye, but security nonetheless. A dozen hidden cameras, continually monitored by six of the Society’s biggest and toughest guards, were hidden around the small interior—within the large silk flower arrangement, in the one-way glass passing as a beveled mirror, and even in the walls. No one entered the penthouse and MacNamara’s office without the Society knowing about it.
The intricate mahogany double doors to the suite opened wide and I stepped closer. Knowing not to wait for more of an invitation, I entered the huge room. I suddenly wished I’d checked my shoes to make sure they were clean, but it was too late. I gathered my confidence and crossed to the enormous desk where Mac sat with his back to me.
“Good morning, Randall.”
Aw, crap. I hate it when he calls me Randall. I knew something was up whenever Mac used my last name instead of calling me the more familiar Jennifer—and I doubted he wanted a report about my nuptials. “Good morning, Mr. MacNamara.” Hopefully, using the more respectful surname instead of the less informal name of Mac would help appease his dark mood. “How are you doing? Uh, and by the way, the name’s Randall-Barrington now.”
“Let’s cut the chitchat, Randall.”
Shit. I knew I shouldn’t have added the part about my new name. Something was definitely up. “You summoned me, sir?” I took a deep breath in an attempt to steady my nerves. Why was I worried? I’d been on vacation so how could I have screwed up?
He swiveled his chair around and didn’t offer me a seat in one of the two leather chairs facing his desk. I accepted this as yet another bad sign, took another deep breath and got ready for anything.
“Have you ever heard of the Bracelet of Invincibility?”
At least he hadn’t mentioned the word fired. I mentally regrouped and wracked my brain before shaking my head. “Can’t say I have. What is it? A bracelet to protect a girl’s virginity? Sort of like a chastity belt she can wear around her wrist? Which would explain why I haven’t heard of it in this day and age.” Personally, I thought my joke was pretty funny. Mac didn’t.
“Knock off the comedy routine.” He reached for the remote to operate the television built into the wall to his right, started to point and click, then dropped his hand. “The Bracelet of Invincibility is a fairly new weapon, considering no one had heard of its existence before the Big War.”
“The Big War? Do you mean the Gulf War? Or Iraq?” Granted, I’d never been a student of history, but Mac didn’t have to snarl at me for my ignorant question.
“Damn, your generation needs a good history education. No, not the Gulf War. The Big War. World War Two.”
“Oh, yeah. World War. That Big War. Hence the term world used in its title.” I grinned for a split second and quickly tucked my chin down at his second snarl. Note to self: Do not make jokes around Mac.
Mac snarled yet a third time and leaned against the rich leather of his chair. “Let me give you a lesson, Randall.”
Aw, hell. He called me Randall again. Things are not looking up.
“Legend has it Satan created the Bracelet of Invincibility for Hitler. The Bracelet was said to give great power to the wearer. With the Bracelet a man, woman, or worse, a demon could rule the world.”
“Great. Exactly what this messed-up world needs. Nuclear bombs aren’t enough. Let’s have a super weapon made by the Big Bastard himself.”
Mac nodded. “Agreed. However, the legend states the Bracelet, although containing great power, has to recharge after big expenditures of its energy before it can be used again. In fact, if someone depletes all the power of the Bracelet at one time, the Bracelet is empty. No one knows if it can be refueled. The few historians who dare to acknowledge its existence have spoken with witnesses who remember seeing Hitler wear it.”
“I guess when you’re the boss man you can get away with wearing jewelry and not have the troops make fun of you. Or is invincibility from ridicule part of its power?”
Mac glared, silencing me with one look. “These same historians credit the Bracelet for causing Hitler to commit suicide at the end of his reign when the Allied Forces were kicking his butt. They say the Bracelet disappeared and Hitler went insane when he couldn’t find it. Of course, most historians agree he was off his rocker to begin with, so it wouldn’t have taken much to push him over the edge.”
Mac laced his fingers in front of him, pressing the tips to his chin. “However, the Bracelet recently surfaced again and then, uh, disappeared. According to the rumors, a high demon lord—we don’t know which one yet—is hot to possess it.”
“We can’t let that happen.” I was all business now. No more jokes. Not when a high demon lord was on the prowl.
“Right.”
“What’s this Bracelet look like?” By the way Mac referred to the thing, the word bracelet seemed like a proper name with a capital B.
I glanced at the blank monitor, expecting a photo of the Bracelet to brighten the darkened screen.
“The people who’ve seen it describe a solid gold bracelet with intricate detail on it, but they couldn’t give enough specifics for anyone to draw a decent picture. In fact, many of them claim the Bracelet caused their memory loss.”
“If no one can remember what it looks like, maybe Old Blood and Guts Adolf simply forgot what it looked like and misplaced it.” A memory loss caused by a piece of jewelry? I’d heard of memory losses caused by trauma to the head, or from drinking alcohol to excess, or by overdosing with drugs, but never caused by wearing a bracelet. “But come on, sir. You’re saying no one knows what this Bracelet looks like? First it appears out of nowhere and then it disappears? Are you sure you’re not getting punked?”
Mac jerked out of his chair and hiked up his bushy eyebrows. “Trust me, Randall. Everything I’m telling you is true, including the memory loss.” His demeanor shifted from one of irritated leader to one of slightly embarrassed mentor. “Once the Bracelet is gone, the owner can’t remember what it looked like.”
“Where did the Bracelet reappear?”
He cleared his throat and put his back to me to stare out the row of windows behind him. “For a short time, the Society had the Bracelet in its protection.”
“Here? The Bracelet of Invincibility was here? In Tulsa?” His silence was my answer. “And it’s disappeared again?”
This time he nodded and turned around to face me with his former blustery countenance restored. “Right from under our noses.”
“Holy shit.” Nothing had ever been stolen from the Society. The idea was preposterous. Yet judging from my supervisor’s face this, too, was no joke.
“I’m counting on you to find it and bring it back, Jenn.”