I examined the entire run of security footage in silence. She wrapped herself all over Jake in some devious minx-y ploy to get him to leave his cell phone behind. I watched again as he opened the door to his Chevy, watched as my doppelganger kissed him, watched as he helped her up to her seat then climbed behind the wheel and drove out of view of the cameras. My hands might’ve been clenched as I stood, but I was not mad. No, this was only concern for Jake, bamboozled by my well-dressed twin, who was, actually, wearing the hell out of that outfit. All the same, I couldn’t comprehend the doppelganger’s angle no matter how much I wrestled with it. The entire thing was simply crazy.
I pulled my side arm from my shoulder holster, ejected the magazine, and checked the rounds remaining. Three. It had been a busy day already. I rummaged in my desk drawer around the stamps and rubber bands until I found more 9mm bullets. I fed them into the magazine one at a time.
“Are you going kill her?” Quill asked quietly, staring at me with those big eyes.
“Who said anything about killing?” I slapped the magazine back into my semi-auto and checked that a round was chambered. “Kneecappings aren’t fatal. And then I’m going to steal those shoes. The dress too, unless it ends up with scorch marks.”
The silence drew out long enough to become awkward. I rolled my eyes. “Of course I’m not going to kill her right in front of Jake while they’re on a date, for God’s sake! Can you imagine how traumatic that would be for him? Charging in and shooting myself dead over dessert? I need to find out the answers to some questions first. Guns loosen tongues. That’s it; that’s all.”
“You should wait for the rest of the Zero Dogs. They will want to help you save Captain Sanders.”
I nodded. “And that’s exactly why I want them to stay out of this.”
“It is risky going up against something you don’t understand, Captain,” Quill insisted, pointing at the paused screen image of Clone Me walking with Jake. “That might be a kitsune or a fetch or any number of shape-shifting creatures or death omens. You should bring the entire team.”
Yeah. Because nothing says Happy Valentine’s Day like the Zero Dogs crashing through the Stratosphere Grill covered in worm guts. “There’s only one potential hostile to deal with and time is burning. Besides, if things go sideways, I don’t want any of my people tossed in jail for trashing the place.”
“I suppose that seems wise…” His expression, however, remained highly dubious. “So then you know where Captain Sanders went with…Evil You?”
“Damn right I do,” I replied, my voice all kinds of grim. “He took her to a place downtown I’ve wanted to go since forever. Whatever game this shape-shifting-fetch-death-omen is playing, I’m gonna make sure she regrets it.” I glanced at the paused security camera image again and the creature sporting my face. “Don’t wait up. But if you see me on the news, record it. Oh, and make sure we have enough in petty cash to cover my bail.”
“Not to worry. We don’t.”
“Wonderful.” I wasn’t about to let a little thing like bail money shortages slow my roll, and I certainly didn’t have time to rectify the situation. Neither could I afford the time to shower or change out of my body armor and bloodstained fatigues. As far as I knew, Jake was in danger.
It wasn’t time to panic—yet. The doppelganger was unlikely to make a play in a situation as public as a fancy restaurant on the top floor of a Portland skyscraper. But I wanted the surprise card in my deck, so I had to move fast to get eyes on this Evil Twin before deciding my next move.
“I’ll pray for you, Captain,” was all Quill said as I headed for the door.
* * *
Everything changed the moment I stepped into the elevator and pushed the button for the restaurant on the thirtieth floor.
The entire ride over I’d been locked in a strange dead zone of non-thought. Disconnected. Almost Zen in my utter calm. The sun had been setting as I raced along West Burnside. I had ice in my veins. I was a quiet professional, soldier of fortune-style. But when that button lit up and the elevator began to rise, every fear I’d been suppressing flashed into my mind in high definition. I leaned against the burled wood panels, stared at the blurred reflection of the overhead recessed lights, and listened to the elevator’s Muzak version of a Rage Against the Machine song. Meanwhile, every doubt, worry, and second thought started popping off like ammunition in a fire.
Jake was innocent. Jake was in danger. Or was he? Was I in danger? Common sense said yes. Even though I planned to move as if I were under threat, I couldn’t simply storm into a classy joint throwing fire and shooting a bazooka. That was one of the reasons I’d left my team behind. Also, I wasn’t a hundred percent certain Jake and my twin would be here. He’d made reservations, but the doppelganger might’ve changed things to throw off pursuit. I couldn’t risk crashing the place with an assault team unless I knew for certain he was here and in clear and present danger. If he wasn’t here, I was screwed, because neither of us had a working cell phone on hand, and he could be anywhere in the Greater Portland area.
Doppelgangers. They were said to bring bad luck—an ill omen that heralded death. I doubted any death omen would dress so well and act so…how had Quill described her? Effervescent? Yeah, vivacious didn’t fit with death omens. I was leaning toward a shape-shifter or some type of fae with a high-end glamour. Or there were always the slightly more left-field options. My mimic could be an alternate timeline me. A “me” from the future trying to save Jake from killer cyborgs or escaping from a rogue timeline involving pepper-shaker-shaped aliens out to exterminate all inferior species. Perhaps a clone version of me, trying to get pregnant and save the human race in some dystopian future where Earth had been invaded by interdimensional psychic dinosaurs.
Whichever scenario was true, the grim fact remained that I needed a plan and I didn’t have one. Jake was level-headed and adaptable—special forces prized that kind of thinking—but this evil twin stuff would throw him. Especially if my doppelganger bucked the odds and turned out not to be evil after all. That meant I needed to recon first. I’d get eyes on Jake and the doppelganger and assess the risks—civilians, lines of fire, the possibility of hostages and a panic.
The digital floor readout reached thirty, and the elevator slowed to a stop. My heart began to pound faster as the doors slid open. The Portland Stratosphere Grill opened right off of the elevator onto a wide circular floor, tables draped with pristine white cloths, massive wooden beams running the length of the ceiling, and all around the room were huge plate-glass windows that offered stunning views of the Portland cityscape and the bridges over the Willamette River. For a moment I could only stand in the middle of the elevator and stare in delight.
I’d never been here before, but I’d wanted to come since I’d first moved to the city. I must’ve mentioned it offhand and forgotten about it, because a mercenary girl like me was too jagged around the edges for a ritzy place like this. Apparently Jake hadn’t forgotten. When he’d called to tell me he’d be flying out on leave and that he wanted to take me here, my heart had done a little twerk of joy.
But then came the giant hagworms and man-stealing clones. Now here I was in blood-spattered combat armor, armed with a pistol, pyrokinetics, and a bad attitude, and looking really too jagged around the edges for a swanky Valentine’s Day scene.
The elevator door started to shut and I shoved it back. It spat a pissy ding at me and shuddered open again, begrudging every inch. I strode into the restaurant, my head on a swivel, searching for Jake and Fancy Clone Me. I’d thrown a leather jacket on over my fatigues to hide my shoulder holster, and I’d left my helmet behind in the truck. All the same, I was already drawing looks.
The maître d’ left his podium and charged me, his upper torso jutting forward like a ship’s figurehead straining toward the horizon. He clutched a menu in one pale, long-fingered hand. The menu had little red tassels that looked as if they belonged on a fez. He was a thin man, with thinning hair and a thin m
ustache. Even his eyebrows were narrow, cartoonish slashes penciled over cold brown eyes.
Damn. A place like this probably had a dress code and maybe even an aroma code, both of which I would violate. That left me crunched for enough time to locate Jake before I was bounced.
I changed direction to gain distance and buy more time to search. As I cleared one of the large support pillars, I finally spotted him. He wore a dark suit and an electric blue tie, military-short hair. Classically handsome, with hard eyes and a warm smile. He sat at a table next to a huge window that overlooked downtown. The sudden jag of happiness hooked me at the sight of him, as always. That spreading warmth, a slug of whiskey that heated me from my brain on down. Or my groin on up. Whichever.
Another step put Clone Me in my line of sight, and I drew up short. Unreality washed over me. Seeing her this close, this real, left me dumbstruck and caught in an unsettled, disconnected state, as if I were trapped in a nightmare where I watched a better version of myself outshine me in every way. Her hair was perfect, a shining deep brown. Her makeup was flawless, contrasted to mine which, when I bothered to wear it, always ended up looking like war paint. The evening dress flattered her figure, accented by her pristine posture. No slouching, no elbow on the table. She probably even chewed with her mouth shut.
The mimic was smiling and completely focused on Jake, leaning toward him slightly, flashing non-verbal cues on how interested she was in whatever story he was telling. Watching her, I simply couldn’t tell if she was evil. No gut reaction. No wave of goose bumps. She looked like a more carefree version of me, very smiley, very warm. Everything else on my end was the tangled wiring of mixed emotions, everything from envy to curiosity to aggression. My plan had hinged on knowing what to do when I’d spotted them, but now that the moment was here I had no idea of the best way to proceed.
“Madam,” the maître d’ said as he finally caught up to me. He stepped in front of me to block my view and gave me the slow elevator eyes, his upper lip twitching. “May I help you?”
I had no idea what to say, but that had never stopped me before. I needed to get close enough to move on her if she were a threat to Jake, all without attracting his attention at the wrong time. It would be very awkward if he attacked me by mistake, believing I was the pod person. So my mouth dropped open, and I was as surprised as anyone when I heard myself say, “I’d like a table for one, please.” I waved a hand toward the side of the restaurant where they were seated. “Somewhere in that area.”
“Do you have a reservation?”
“No—yes! Sanders or Walker.”
“A table for one and you offer two names?”
“One’s a stage name. But I have other names I can give you if those two don’t work out.”
His smile was the barest slit-curve in his face. “I’m afraid the Sanders party has already arrived and been seated and served.” He didn’t bother to glance toward Jake’s table, but his expression could’ve given frostbite to an iceberg. “We don’t have a Walker listed, and if you don’t have a valid reservation, I’m afraid I must ask you to leave.”
Great, I just so happened to score the snooty maître d’ with the photographic memory. I didn’t dare shout to Jake because I didn’t know how he would react or how my arrival would affect the doppelganger. I was still too far away and couldn’t reach her in time if my appearance provoked her.
“How about I wait at the bar?” I tried on my most charming smile. At least the mirrored bar back would allow me to do some surveillance, and it was dim enough over there that I probably wouldn’t be recognized. Also, a mirror might reveal her true form if she were using anything but the highest-end glamours.
“I don’t think that is an option, madam. I believe you’ve had enough already. However, I can call you a cab if that would assist your departure.”
I gaped at him. “I haven’t had anything to drink yet.”
“Of course you haven’t. Now if you will please—”
“Wait, is this because of my outfit? Are you discriminating against me because I’m a mercenary?”
“No, not at all—”
“Or because I’m a woman? Is this a sexist establishment where a woman isn’t free to enter of her own accord in a somewhat disheveled state due to her highly demanding job?”
“Madam, I assure you that is not the case—”
“Is it because I’m pregnant? You don’t like babies? Who the hell hates babies?”
He flushed red, starting at his tuxedo collar and spreading all the way to his hairline. “I promise you I do not hate children— Wait, you can’t drink alcohol when pregnant. Now I really think you should leave before I’m forced to notify the authorities.”
Crap. Cops would cause a scene and make a mess of things. If I were arrested before getting to Jake, he’d be vulnerable because he believed my doppelganger was me.
“I’m writing a very harsh online review of this place,” I snarled to the maître d’. “Starting with your raging baby-hatred.” I turned on my boot heel and stormed back toward the elevator. He stalked along behind me like a hyena but kept a careful distance until the elevator doors finally closed.
* * *
It was a short ride to the twenty-ninth floor.
Offices branched off from a main corridor, most of them dark and closed up tight. I hurried to a stairwell on the far side of the corridor and slipped inside. The flight of stairs would take me up to the restaurant, but I’d spotted the entrance as I’d been searching for Jake, complete with Alarm Will Sound notice—probably to discourage people from smoking in the stairwell or skating on the check. Besides, the stairwell door had been located close enough to the elevator that I’d have to deal with the maître d’ again. I needed another way in, and a top floor restaurant meant a freight elevator. Natch.
I had to descend two more floors to find maintenance access to a freight elevator. It was locked up tight with a black metal gate. The simple lock melted quickly after a tightly focused blowtorch-sized blast of fire. The smoke detectors and fire alarms stayed silent, to my vast relief. After that, the only choice was between nicking a fake floral arrangement or going with the empty pizza box I found in an office break room. I went with the pizza box.
The freight elevator was all stainless steel and raw industrial finishes. The door rumbled open on the employee/food-prep area of the restaurant, near walk-in freezers and a huge pantry. A security gate blocked access beyond the elevator door, but it unlatched from the inside, so no worries there. I strode into the prep area as though I knew exactly what I was about, ignoring the security cameras on a wave of sheer brazen confidence. A guy running loads of plates through an industrial dishwasher glanced at me, looked away, and then did a double take. I headed straight for him with a huge ditzy smile on my face.
“Pizza delivery.” I glanced at a slip of paper—a supply store receipt for three hundred packages of rubber bands that I’d stuffed in my jacket pocket weeks ago. “The maître d’ told me to come through the back entrance.”
“Is that for the crew?” he said, eyeing the box with a hungry gleam in his eye.
“Says ‘management.’” I shrugged to show a bit of working-stiff camaraderie.
The dish guy snorted and waved me toward the main kitchen. I thanked him and hurried on my way. The kitchen staff was too busy with the dinner rush to bother with me. There were glances, but no one stopped me because I moved as if I had every right to be there. I ditched the empty pizza box before I pushed through the double swing doors that opened to the restaurant floor.
The maître d’ was on the phone, his back toward me and his head nodding along to whatever reservation information he was scribbling in his fancy tassel book. The doors to the kitchen were safely behind and out of view of his podium of snottiness and derision. A waiter gave me a surprised look as we passed one another. I smiled and briskly continued on my way, steady as she goes. I was closing in fast on Jake’s table.
The doppelganger had her back to m
e, but Jake spotted me long before I was in striking distance. He froze with a fork full of something halfway to his mouth. I raised my finger and put it to my lips, mentally pleading with him not to freak out. He didn’t even blink, immediately looking back at the doppelganger and chomping down his bite. She’d sensed something amiss though, and she started to glance behind her. He caught her hand and squeezed it, smiling and saying something I couldn’t hear at this distance. She stopped turning and focused on him again. The man was a disturbingly good actor. I’d have to remember that the next time he swore he wasn’t the one to mix my reds and whites in the washing machine.
Adrenaline shot through my veins as I reached their table and prepared to sit directly opposite her. Jake gleaned my intentions and scooted out of the way, sliding his plate with him. He kept both hands on the table, one lingering near the steak knife, and he kept his gaze locked on my look-alike. I swung into the seat, pulled the pistol from beneath my jacket as unobtrusively as possible, and aimed it at her under the table, my hand and the gun hidden by the tablecloth.
“Andrea,” Jake said, his tone dangerously casual. “You never mentioned a twin.”
“Never knew until oh, an hour ago.” I grinned at the doppelganger, but there was nothing friendly in my show of teeth. “I have a Glock twenty under the table here. I don’t want to shoot you, but I will, and more than once. Give me answers. Who are you?”
The doppelganger’s smile was far warmer than mine. It was eerie to watch a perfect replica of yourself reacting to you. It was as if the reflection in my mirror had gone off the rails and started moving independently. She was an exact copy, too. Eye color. Hair color. Skin tone. Every freckle. Every scar.
“Hello, Andrea,” she said, and again I experienced that odd unreality, hearing my voice as if on a recording, played back to me but using surprising words. “I expected you sooner.”
“Had a few setbacks. So who are you? Don’t make me ask again.”
Valentines Heat I Page 9