by Janet Leigh
He frowned and said, “Whenever you’re ready, let me know.”
I laughed, and we walked back toward the gate.
“It’s not like that with Caiyan?” he asked.
I thought about this for a moment. Yes and no. The fire burned and it certainly had a fantastic ending, but the speed of the heat that engulfed me when I was with Marco was different. Finally, I said, “It’s different.”
As we walked back through the garden, his cell phone buzzed. He read the screen and then pocketed the phone back in his jeans. “Looks like I got to go.” He didn’t make any comments about who had texted him, and we returned to the table where Gertie sat staring at two large brown balls placed side by side on her paper plate.
“I gotta bounce, Gert,” Marco said.
“Already?” she asked. “You haven’t had anything to eat.”
He glanced at her plate. “If that’s what they’re serving, I’ll grab something on the road.” He laughed, and his glorious smile appeared, making me wish I hadn’t run from the tree cave. He caught my look, and his eyes went from laughter to smolder. I shook my head no. He leaned in, kissed my cheek, then bent down and did the same to Gertie, and he turned and walked away.
“I swear,” Gertie said. “If you two would just get the nasty over with, all that pent-up tension wouldn’t float around like a humid Texas summer.”
“What are you talking about?” I asked, sitting down at the table.
“You know what I’m talking about.” She took a sip of a green shake she had in a plastic cup. “Every time you two are together, the static electricity goes up so high my hair starts to frizz.”
“I’m with Caiyan,” I said.
“And when was the last time you heard from Caiyan?” she asked. I shrugged. “That’s what I thought. Jen, I don’t think Caiyan knows you’re with him. So I don’t see what the hurt is if you have some fun with Marco.” She picked up a knife and sliced through one of the giant brown balls on her plate. “He obviously wants to hook up with you. He’s rich, gorgeous, and he has that travel thing you two have in common.”
I decided it was best to change the subject. “What are you eating?”
Gertie looked at her plate and nudged a brown ball around with her fork. “This here’s fried Thanksgiving dinner. It’s everything—turkey, dressing, gravy, and cranberry sauce, all rolled up into a ball and fried to perfection.”
“And that is low calorie?”
“It’s gluten free.” She took a bite and made a face.
“Are you sure it’s going to help you with your diet?”
“Yep, I am going gluten free, and with my healthy fruit and veggie shakes, I should be able to get in that little red dress of yours by Christmas.”
Gertie wanted to borrow my red Valentino gown Ace and I had picked up super clearance at one of his shopping spots in Paris. Gertie had been eying it since the day I brought it home, and there was a big New Year’s Eve party at her stepdad’s house in the Hamptons every year. I wondered if Marco would be there, and the thought was quickly pushed aside when the twins returned with their plates loaded with food that made my stomach growl with desire.
Chapter 9
I had been training at Gitmo every weekend for three weeks. Jake bought me a gym membership at a local gym and had me scheduled with a personal trainer three nights a week doing a cross-fit workout. Every morning I had to drag myself out of bed because of all the aches and pains. My muscles felt like they were getting stronger, but boy, they hurt in the process. Caiyan was MIA. My heart ached as much as my legs. I didn’t understand how a man could act like he was all about the girl and then not call her for three friggin’ weeks. I stumbled down the stairs and stood at the open refrigerator, drinking milk out of the jug. One more week, and then it would be time for the full moon. All the travelers meet at the WTF for their itinerary. If Caiyan didn’t show, I would know there was a problem. I guess if he did show up, there was still a problem. Gertie came in dressed in her librarian outfit—a brown sweater and skirt—and reached around me to get a carton of yogurt.
“That’s a good look for you,” she said as she grabbed a spoon from the drawer.
I was so tired last night I crawled into bed wearing my camouflage socks from Gitmo. I vaguely remembered pulling my pink Victoria’s Secret nightshirt on over my head. My hair was piled in a bun on the top of my head, and I’m sure I had raccoon eyes from the forgotten mascara.
“I’m just really tired.”
Gertie left for work and school, and I crawled back upstairs to get ready for work. After I showered and made myself presentable, I headed to the clinic.
The week progressed as normal. No creepy Mr. Crane lurking about. Su Le still hadn’t returned from China, so I basically followed Eli around and helped the other employees when needed. Paulina and I went shopping Wednesday after work, and I skipped my workout. Screw Jake, screw Caiyan, screw them all! My inner voice shook her head in dismay and pulled up the contact in my cell phone for Marco. Paulina and I drowned my pity party with margaritas at the local Mexican restaurant, and I might have drunk dialed him. I couldn’t remember. Thursday morning I woke up and my inner voice had an ice pack across her forehead and reminded me I needed to clean the bathtub because I threw up in it last night. I struggled to overcome my hangover and get to work on time, almost.
After work, I was sitting at the table trying to stab the remnants of my lingering hangover by eating a peanut butter and Craisin sandwich, waiting on Gertie to get home from school. My dad encouraged the Craisins instead of jelly.
“More nutritious, less sugar than jelly,” he told us as kids, and it stuck with me. I was licking the peanut butter off my fingers when Gertie entered through the sliding glass door.
“Hey,” she said, hanging up her jacket and tossing her book bag on the floor by the door.
“Hey, how was school?”
“Good, but the best part is I’m on break for two weeks.” She walked over and put water in her teakettle, then set it on the stove to heat. “What’s wrong?”
“Why do you ask that?”
“Because the peanut butter jar is out and you have that look like you might stick your finger in it any second.”
“Nothing, I’m fine.” I shrugged. “I just made a PB and C sandwich.”
“Still haven’t heard from Caiyan?”
“No, and Ace is in England having family time. I’m spending all my free time with Jake on the weekends, and his ‘treating me like a victim’ attitude is starting to grate on my nerves.”
“I wouldn’t mind being stuck with Jake all weekend.”
“No, you don’t understand.” I tossed my hair behind my shoulder, avoiding my sticky fingers. “He trains me like I’m some kind of animal. I’m so sore afterward I can’t even get off the toilet. We usually grab something to eat afterward, where he avoids all my questions about the upcoming moon cycle and where he thinks the defenders will be traveling, and then he drops me off at the apartment with not so much as a pat on the ass, and I don’t see him again until the next afternoon. Then the whole thing starts over.”
“So are you mad he’s not making a play for you?”
“No, I’m sort of relieved, but I would like to know where he disappears to in the evening. I bet he’s with that secretary.”
“So you’re mad he might be dating someone?” Gertie stirred some honey in her tea and eyed me like an old wise woman.
“I don’t know what I feel. Maybe I am a little jealous that Jake might be having a life and mine is in limbo.”
“Last month you had three hot guys fighting over you, and this month nothing.” She quirked her mouth. “I can see where this has left a hole in your ego and you’re feeling depressed.”
“Thanks for your insight, Gertie, but I thought you were a history major, not a psychology major.” I stood to put the peanut butter away, then recon
sidered and grabbed a long-handled teaspoon instead.
“I watch a lot of Dr. Phil.” She laughed. “Why don’t you call Brodie? I bet he knows how to locate Caiyan.”
“I would feel dumb. Anyway, the moon cycle is next week, and Caiyan will probably just show up for duty. And if not, I’ll most likely see Brodie.”
“Really?” Gertie perked up.
“Maybe.” I opened the peanut butter and stuck my spoon inside, scooping up a glob of anxiety relief.
“Are you going to travel this time?”
“Jake tells me he is not releasing me yet. The full moon is on Monday. I figured if I call in with strep throat, that will give me three days off work, and I can be at Gitmo when the travelers arrive.” I hated lying to my brother, but if I told him I couldn’t come to work because I might be needed to travel through time and capture a bad guy, he would have me committed. “If my brother calls, just say I’m asleep.”
“No problem,” Gertie replied, flipping through a Vogue magazine I had left on the table. She looked up and smiled. “Telling tall tales is my specialty.”
The next morning was Friday. I was due at Gitmo that evening for training, and I was going to be at Gitmo when the travelers arrived, come hell or high water. I went into work complaining of a scratchy throat. Eli felt my forehead and neck, looked down my throat with a lighted scope, and claimed all to be well. I had to be very careful because if my dad, the health food nut, and my mom, the recipe fanatic, got wind of my illness, they would be at my house immediately with homemade chicken soup and vitamin concoctions to restore me back to health. My plan was to make a few noises around the staff and look tired, which wouldn’t be that big of a jump because between the training at Gitmo and my personal trainer, I was sore and tired all the time. On Monday, I would call in early before Eli arrived at the office and tell Mary I went to a doc in the box and had a positive strep test. I should probably send Eli a text as well and let him know I was fine and not to worry Mom and Dad.
My plan was going as premeditated. I coughed a little in front of Mary and complained to Paulina about my throat. She took two steps away, grabbed a bottle of hand sanitizer, and said I should go have it checked. I was about to tell Elvira of my woes when the bell on the front door sounded and in walked my stalker. Mr. Crane dragged his bulk up to the window and eyed me like a rib roast. I stood frozen in the center of the office. Mary scowled at me and took the window. “May I help you?”
“I received a call I need to reschedule my acupuncture appointment because Su Le is out of town.” He was looking at Mary, but I still felt his beady eyes on me. His body odor crept around the room, and Elvira stopped what she was doing to locate the foul smell.
Mary explained Su Le was on extended leave for family reasons and gave Mr. Crane a referral to another acupuncturist.
“Why can’t she do it?” He pointed a stubby finger at me. Mary and Elvira looked at each other and broke into a fit of laughter.
“Jennifer is only allowed to remove the needles. You have to be licensed to put them in,” Mary explained.
Mr. Crane slammed his fist on the counter and left the office.
“That man really needs a bath,” Elvira said.
“I think he has serious gout,” Mary explained. “My uncle had it, smelled real bad.”
“I saw him coming out of the new plastic surgery place that’s going in next door.”
Both Mary and Elvira looked alarmed at this information. “Do you think he’s doing the gastric bypass?” Elvira asked.
“The place isn’t even open yet, but Dr. Cloud never recommends bypass.” Mary removed the pencil from behind her ear and used it like a conductor’s wand to emphasize her point. “He says without the proper psychological counseling, most gastric operations fail within a year.” She swung her chair back around to her computer to grab the phone that had begun ringing.
Elvira looked at me and made a face. “That man creeps me out.”
My brother is six feet tall and Elvira towers over him. She has shoulder-length brown hair that gets washed about once a week, and she ties it back in a ponytail to avoid the greasy look. In her days of driving a semitruck, she whooped ass on more studded-leather-jacket-wearing bikers than I have digits. If Mr. Crane gave her the creeps, I was sure staying away from him was a good idea.
“Are your legs broken?” I heard Mary’s voice behind me, and I realized I was still standing like a statue in the middle of the office.
“Nope, just feeling a little under the weather today.” My lie was back in action.
Eli entered the office. His dark hair was perfectly groomed, and his wire-rimmed glasses reflected the light from the incandescent fixture in the ceiling. “Jen, I need a favor. Su Le is having problems getting back into the United States. Her work visa expired, and it may take a couple of months before she can return.” Everyone in the office looked privy to this information except me. Eli pushed a piece of paper he had in his hand in my direction. I took it and saw a list of names and addresses printed neatly in Eli’s handwriting.
“These are massage therapists,” he explained. “I want you to book yourself a massage at each of these offices and give me some feedback on their ability. If they’re good, I want to offer them a few days to come work here using Su Le’s room.”
“Let me get this straight. You want to pay me to get a massage?”
“That’s right. It would be easier to rent her room for massage therapy while she gets her visa than to find a temporary acupuncturist.”
“If she won’t do it, I will,” Elvira said.
“Me too,” said Mary.
“Count me in.” Paulina poked her head in through the front desk window.
“Thanks, girls, but Jen is the only one I can give the time off to right now.”
This will work out great, I thought. There were about six names on the list, which would take about three days to complete. Maybe I wouldn’t have to lie about being sick, and I could get free massages.
“You can count on me,” I said. “Can I get started after lunch today?”
“Sure, thanks. I really appreciate you doing this for me,” he said, giving me a brotherly hug.
This would work out great. I would do my calling this afternoon and book some massages on Saturday morning. I would tell Jake I needed to come in late Saturday and be there when the travelers came in for their assignments Saturday and Sunday. Then I would have the first part of the week free in case they needed me to travel. My inner voice gave me a high five for the perfect plan.
I texted Jake and told him something came up, and I needed to report in Saturday afternoon at one. I scheduled the first massage on Saturday morning at nine, the second one at ten thirty, and the third at noon. I would get the first few out of the way and then report to Gitmo. If I persuaded Jake to let me stay until the travelers got there sometime on Sunday, I could either see Caiyan, if the ratbastard showed up, or find Brodie and get the down low on Caiyan’s whereabouts. Jake responded with a firm, “FINE.”
Gertie was having a book club meeting at school, so I took a long bath and mentally planned my outfit for Gitmo. I decided to wear my Rock Revival skinny stretch jeans with the blingy rhinestones embroidered on the pockets. All the jostling around during travel made pants my smartest choice. When I first started to travel, my outhouse would repel me three feet upon landing. I usually ended up facedown on the ground with scraped knees and elbows. Ace told me, “The vessel feels what you feel, love—just chillax.” I tried some deep breathing, and sure enough, the travel was still bumpy but not damaging. I finally figured out if I relaxed, the travel was much smoother. It was almost as if the outhouse was part of me. Like somehow my thoughts connected to the container of potties past. I had a funky new Risto miniskirt I was dying to wear, but I didn’t want to land with a skirt over my head if my outhouse decided to get cranky. I added my Tory Burch V-ne
ck bright-orange belted tunic top, and my high-heeled Naughty Monkey gray leather boots trimmed up the outfit nicely. Too bad I couldn’t take my new Brahmin cross-body bag I had bought as a pick-me-up gift to myself. It would complete the outfit. Everyone at Gitmo was dressed in either three-piece suits, military uniforms, or orange jumpsuits. Only the travelers and the occasional visitor stood out when on the base.
The next morning I showered, dressed in a pair of sweats, and flat ironed my wavy hair stick straight. I was rockin’ Keisha on my iPhone as I skipped the makeup and glossed my lips. I could hear Gertie snoring behind her door, so I left her a note on the kitchen table, saying that I had dropped my plan for strep throat. I explained about my research for a massage therapist and asked her to inform any callers that I was out getting a massage. Sometimes having Gertie as a roommate held certain advantages. She could lie without looking down and to the left. She was a walking history book and my main go-to for information before I traveled. She wasn’t extremely messy, and she paid her rent on time.
After I put on my gray Michael Kors trench coat my mom had given me for Christmas last year, I pulled open the sliding door and locked it behind me. I didn’t want any intruders to grab Gertie. After last month when Gertie was kidnapped, I learned that locking a few doors was mandatory in my new profession. Snatching attack cat was another matter, but I figured the chances of that were slim.
The wind whipped my straightened hair. I pulled my coat around me and walked head down to my car.
I hopped in the car and entered the address to my first massage appointment into the mapping app of my iPhone. The massage therapist was in the next town over from Coffee Creek. Growing up, we referred to the town as Trashy Terrell because of the town’s locals, not the roadside waste. Apparently, the therapist rented a room in the back of a boutique named the Salon. I sang along with Rihanna as I drove the short distance to Terrell, looking forward to a relaxing massage. I found the place and grabbed a parking spot near the door. A flashing neon sign hanging in the window indicated they were open, so I went in and was greeted by a receptionist with purple-and-green-streaked hair.