The Whole Truth (The Supercharged Files Book 1)

by Jody Wallace

  What gives? “I’m Cleo.”

  “Sure you are. You got an aura like a popsicle, girl. Order your dessert first, you’ll feel better.” Without another word, the odd woman sped off between the tables to take an order.

  “Aura?” I queried as we made our way to the back of the restaurant.

  “Aura,” Samantha agreed. “She sees moods. I told you that you needed to relax.”

  John had a booth near the back, and he waved when he saw us. Peanut shells crunched under our feet. Near the music source, the crowd was louder. Several pool tables—in use—lined the back wall along with a few pinball machines—not in use. I didn’t spot any kids.

  “I thought this was a family place.”

  “Well, not on Saturday nights. But the food is worth the noise.”

  Before we reached John, a blond man with several days’ worth of beard and an empty pitcher of beer at his table snaked out an arm and grabbed Samantha. He tugged her into his lap.

  “Sammie,” he said, his voice slurred. “You don’t call, you don’t text. I miss you.”

  “Hands off, Clint.” Samantha dug her fingers into his wrist until his skin dented around her nails.

  “But I love you,” he said in utter, drunken honesty.

  “I can’t help that.”

  “Don’t you know what I do for you? We need each other.” He buried his face in her hair, whuffing, and her eyes narrowed. She elbowed him and he lurched back, sending her sprawling.

  I tried to catch her, but I skidded on a peanut shell. We konked heads so hard I saw stars.

  “Ow!” I fell on my ass in peanut litter. Samantha did the same, knocking into the bench.

  “Damn! I’m sorry, baby.” Clint leapt out of the booth and heaved Samantha to her feet.

  “Sober up, Clint. I don’t have anything to say to you.” Samantha, a halo of dishonesty surrounding her, dusted herself off. I guess she did have something to say to old Clint. I walked behind her to John’s booth. He’d risen to his feet, unlike the other patrons, who hadn’t acknowledged the altercation.

  Samantha had peanut shells on her butt. As I checked my own posterior, I considered telling her, but she pointed at the side of the booth opposite John without saying a word. I held my peace. She sat next to me, preventing my escape.

  John eased back into the booth. “Everything all right?”

  “It’s nothing I can’t handle. Let it go, John.”

  Seemed like a reasonable question to me, but I was a newcomer, ignorant to the undercurrents, especially when my companions were as preternaturally honest as these two.

  John shrugged. “Cleo, I hope you’re hungry. I ordered spring rolls to start.”

  I hadn’t seen those written on the windows. “I like spring rolls.”

  “I know. I told him.” Samantha yanked a napkin out of the dispenser and wiped the tabletop, her motions abrupt and angry.

  “My blog again,” I guessed.

  John slipped a red vinyl menu from behind a tin bucket of peanuts and handed it to me. “Everything’s good except the chili.”

  “Don’t get the chili,” Samantha agreed.

  Perversely, I wanted the chili. Instead I ordered the closest thing on the menu to chili—black beans and Mexican corn bread. The selections were eclectic, a combination of Thai, Tex-Mex and American. John had beef satay and Samantha fried rice and a beer.

  “So,” John said, once we’d placed our order, “how do you like Nashville so far?”

  “I haven’t seen enough to say.” I cracked a peanut so I’d have something to do with my hands. Particles of shell sprayed out and speckled the table.

  “This area is Nolensville,” John said. “It’s south of the city. I can take you on a tour tomorrow if you want.”

  “She’ll be tired.” Samantha swiped the table with her napkin, pushing the detritus of my peanut into the floor.

  I was tired now, and that hadn’t stopped Samantha from dragging me to dinner. “I’d like that. Thanks.”

  “No problem,” John said.

  I still wasn’t sure about the relationship between them. While I felt no loyalty to Samantha since we weren’t, and likely would never be, friends, I had no interest in John if he was a cheater.

  In my experience, cheaters came in all shapes and sizes. John had light brown eyes, long lashes and, stretched out on his side of the booth, seemed a good deal more comfortable than he had on the job and in his suit. I took a moment to inspect him—his blue sport shirt did his broad shoulders justice. His biceps revealed plenty of definition without coming off steroidal. His hair was mussed. When he sipped his beer, licking foam from his upper lip, I wondered what it tasted like to him.

  Tomorrow could be good. Me and John, alone together, doing the tourist thing. Plus, the more time I spent with him, the more opportunity I’d have to catch him in a lie about YuriCorp.

  Harsh, but I had a future to plan. The truths I learned clandestinely rang so much truer than the truths people told me on purpose.

  After our waiter served our food, we settled down to the very important business of eating. I tried a spring roll first, pleased to find it excellent. Delicate wrapper, lots of cabbage, spicy meat, and crunchy sprouts. Dip was a ginger carrot mix.

  Also excellent, the black beans, which I could understand. It didn’t take a lot of skill to cook beans. But spring rolls? In a beer joint?

  “These are really good.” I tried not to sound surprised.

  “We know the chef. He gave us some tips for pizza when we started that business,” Samantha said.

  “So he’s a suprasensor?” I asked. “What’s he do?”

  “It’s not for me to say.” Samantha sipped her beer. “One thing you have to understand. If someone works for a known supra company, you can assume he’s powered. If someone works in a specific department in a company, you can assume he has that particular power. If someone reveals herself, that’s another safe bet. But otherwise, people’s powers are none of your business, and it’s rude to ask.”

  My face heated. “Sorry. I thought after Lou asked, it was standard.”

  “Lou cut her teeth in a supra PI agency run by her family. Curiosity is in her blood. Either way, you have to keep your information to yourself. It’s part of the deal. It should be easy since you’re a chameleon.”

  I had to take their word about me being a lizard. “Did you taste that in my DNA?” I asked John.

  “Not enough to be certain,” he hedged. “The tests will let us know.”

  “Or you could kiss her,” Samantha suggested with a dry laugh. “Skip a week’s testing right there.”

  John stiffened and frowned, as if the suggestion were offensive. “The lab would still need to run it.”

  “Kiss me?” I asked. Was the idea of kissing me unpleasant?

  “You know how they get DNA samples inside the cheek?” Samantha asked. “If John goes mouth to mouth on someone, he can get a pretty accurate reading. He can tell when people are related, sometimes if they have genetic disorders. He can sense hormonal shifts, moods, and other things your personal chemistry can’t hide.”

  The hard glitter in her eyes told a different story. Did she not like it when John went mouth to mouth on other people?

  “That makes sense.” I couldn’t imagine how this particular skill could be exploited on a consulting gig, but I could conceive of other applications. No doubt he was excellent with his tongue. “I’ll, uh, wait for the tests.”

  “Cleo, ignore her. She gets cranky when she hasn’t had enough sleep.”

  More and more, their bickering sounded like a long-term couple. Dating, not married. A married couple would be less jealous of attention paid to the other.

  I gave him a tight smile. “I’m sure we’re all tired.”

  A loud ruckus interrupted our conversation. A man in an expensive suit hauled Clint out of his booth and punched him in the face. Clint stumbled against his table with a bellow, rebounded, and the two men began to grapple like rut
ting stags.

  “God, not again,” Samantha muttered.

  Most of the men in the place, and several women, encircled the pair, though none had leapt to defend Samantha when Clint pawed her. She’d had to fend for herself.

  Perhaps Clint was a local celebrity. This was Nashville—maybe he was a country music singer. He was named Clint.

  “Beer joint!” I yelled to Samantha over the din. If Clint was a suprasinger, did he use his powers to hypnotize people into buying his records?

  “I’m going to kill them both.” Samantha jumped up and shouldered her way through the crowd. She was shorter than everyone, but when she laid her hands on people, they flinched and got the hell out of her way.

  “What did she mean, not again?” I asked John. Samantha didn’t seem the brawling type, but here she was, involved in brawl number two. At a beer joint.

  John shook his head. “The ex and the current.”

  “You’re not the current?”

  “Oh, no.” John held up a hand to deflect the very idea. “Sam and I just work together.”

  “I assumed you were dating.”

  “I am not romantically involved with Sam. I’m single.” He had no mask.

  “I am, too.” I smiled, and John smiled back, the meaningful kind of smile where you don’t need suprasenses to know what the other person is thinking.

  A guy who knew I could see lies, who wouldn’t lie to me outright—would that be better or worse than the relationship experience I was accustomed to?

  He was single, and I was intrigued. Highly intrigued.

  The crowd dispersed. Interrupting my intrigue, Samantha returned, the man in the suit at her heels. “I don’t like him being here, and I don’t like him touching you,” the man was saying. He worked his jaw with his hand, then straightened his tie. “He’s a useless drunk who needs to be taught a lesson.”

  “He can’t hurt me. Leave him alone, Alex. He’s got his own problems.”

  “Am I supposed to feel sorry for the loser? It’s been a year. Arlin.” The man nodded at John.

  John returned the nod, noticeably stiff. “Berkley.”

  Samantha sat beside me, but the man remained standing, hovering over our table like a beer lamp. His attention was on John, not Samantha and not me.

  I was thankful for that. I didn’t like the look of him, Hollywood gloss and money with petulant wrinkles beside his lips. I hoped he continued to ignore me.

  “How’s business at YuriCorp?” he asked John. “Good, I hope?”

  Shadows fluttered around the man’s face like a feathered Mardi-Gras mask. Sarcasm and double-speak. Seems Alex didn’t wish his girlfriend’s company well.

  “Fine,” John said.

  “How’s your recent acquisition?”

  John glanced at me, blinked a few times, and said, “Fine,” again.

  “You really don’t know, do you? She’s right here, Alex.” Samantha leaned back in the booth and bobbed her head at me. “Be nice. No prying.”

  The man focused on me intently. “I almost didn’t see you sitting there. Wow.”

  I was not looking my best and was hardly the type to elicit a wow from a guy like Alex. Compared to his squeeze, I didn’t fare well. Both of us were short and female, true, but I had futzy brown hair, a moon face, and the kind of body nice people refer to as curvy. Samantha had sleek black hair, a striking countenance, and a slender figure with sizeable breasts.

  Note to self—ask her if they were real. Hee!

  The man stuck his hand across the table, his pale eyes daring me to shake. “Alex Berkley. I’m with Psytech. I’ve been anxious to meet you.”

  I didn’t take his hand. “Hello.”

  He raised his eyebrows in mock surprise. “Have they been telling you tales about us, Miss Giancarlo?”

  “Is there something about Psytech I should know?” I watched him like a cat watches another cat that may or may not pounce. Had he been to, say, Chicago in the past two days? Had he practiced sincerity like John, Al, Samantha and Yuri? He seemed to know what I could do, or some version of it.

  “There’s a lot about Psytech you should know. It’s best to consider all your options before you make a decision that will impact your future.”

  “I agree.” I rested my chin on a hand. “Isn’t it convenient you came here tonight? So, please. Tell me. What are my options with Psytech?” I noticed John, across the table, watching me instead of Alex, but he didn’t look worried. Slightly amused, in fact, amusement being an alien expression on John’s face based on my twenty-four hours of acquaintance with him.

  “First, you should know how much more we’d pay you,” Alex said.

  Not a lie.

  “You should know how much bigger our benefits package is.”

  Also not a lie.

  “You should also know you’ll never get anywhere working at YuriCorp. Their business is soft, Miss Giancarlo. They struggle to make ends meet. They don’t leverage their profits in a way that benefits their employees. No doubt they’ll try to hide this from you.” He smiled, not showing his teeth, and—yes—around his too-handsome face glistened dishonesty. “If they can.”

  “The people at YuriCorp were nice.” I widened my eyes and forced myself to hold his creepy gaze. “Would you say most Psytech employees have a great deal of job satisfaction? I’m very concerned about job satisfaction.”

  “I have a great deal of job satisfaction,” he stated.

  “What about the rest of the employees?”

  “We have the highest salaries in our niche market.”

  “Money isn’t everything.” I rattled my drink, down to ice cubes. “Does management maintain good relations with employees?”

  “Psytech is an excellent employer. Our attrition rate is minimal.”

  Bingo. Not true.

  When I hid a smirk by pretending to sip my soda, he tried to dig his way out. “Every group has at least one disgruntled bastard. We may have two or three. Most of our employees love Psytech.”

  Not true.

  I grinned outright. So did John. Samantha grabbed a napkin and started wiping the table between the plates.

  “Either way, Miss Giancarlo—Cleopatra—we’re prepared to offer you a generous sign-on bonus and you can name your salary. Give it some thought. We’ve got offices in Los Angeles, New York, London, Nashville. You can live wherever you want. Even Chicago.”

  Some part of that was a lie, but he was good. Not as good as John and Samantha, but subtle. Clever. I couldn’t see any lip movement in his translucent mask. I wondered which part of his spiel was untrue.

  “Come in and talk to us tomorrow. Next week. Anytime. Our door is always open to a woman of your talents, Cleopatra.”

  “I might decide to tell all of you pushy freaks to go fuck yourselves,” I told him in my sweetest voice.

  Alex straightened, and a layer of his oily charm dissolved. “That’s always an option,” he said. “Not one I’d advise.”

  “It’s a free country,” I pointed out.

  “Nobody at Psytech would force you to do anything you didn’t want.”

  Lie. Scary, scary lie. I huddled against Samantha, caught myself doing it, and put my elbows on the table to cover my gaffe.

  “I’m sure you’d make your stepfather proud with a career at Psytech.”

  Before I worked up the nerve to ask if Psytech planned to blackmail me with Dan’s safety, he flicked a business card onto the table. “Let us know when you get tired of living paycheck to paycheck. Sam, I’ll call you. Thanks for the head’s up.”

  When Alex left, I asked Samantha, “What did he mean about a heads up?”

  “I let him know I was back in town.”

  Partial dishonesty strobed around her, but I didn’t so much as narrow my eyes. I had a feeling her heads-up to Alex had something to do with me. Considering what Yuri had cautioned about the mole, I filed my suspicion away for later, even though she was Yuri’s granddaughter.

  Being a blood relat
ive didn’t ensure loyalty or kindness. Look at my mother versus Dan. Mom, my blood relation, had been a horror while alive, and Dan was awesome.

  There was no telling what my biological father was like, though I could admit to a tiny, private disappointment I couldn’t crack flying saucer jokes to myself anymore.

  “So your boyfriend works for Psytech?” I smiled at Sam with fake sympathy. “That’s gotta be hard.”

  Samantha and John exchanged a glance, and Samantha turned to me with the weirdest smile on her face. “It’s not as bad as you think. Welcome to YuriCorp, Cleo.”

  Chapter 5

  The Dixie Mafia Early Bird Buffet Eating Team

  A giant Batman head was silhouetted against the grey skyline as John drove me back to my humble abode after a tour of Nashville’s urban sprawl. It hardly compared to Chicago as far as urban or sprawl was concerned, but John assured me Music City wasn’t as congested and crime-riddled as the Windy City. Or as cold.

  “What’s that building?” I pointed at the skyscraper topped by the notable earpieces. It and several blockier buildings made up the otherwise undistinguished cityscape.

  “The AT&T Tower.” John navigated the interstate and the conversation with business-like aplomb. It wasn’t what I’d expected after our flirting last night. I didn’t know whether to be disappointed or relieved, since it was often a bad idea to get involved with coworkers.

  Especially when you hadn’t had a chance to pick favorites.

  Lights blinked at the tips of the ‘ears’ as we passed the building. “It looks like Batman.” It had to mean something that, in this hub of supra activity, a major communications company had constructed an ode to Bruce Wayne’s alter ego in lieu of an office building.

  “We get that a lot.”

  Ok, it meant I was unoriginal. “That’s not where your real secret hide-out is, huh?”

  John sort of smiled. “It’s not behind a clock tower, either. There’s the site in Nolensville and the site downtown. That’s it. A number of us telecommute, and our more sensitive employees maintain home offices.”

  In some ways, sensitive could describe me—it was an effort to swallow so many lies every day. “Could I get a home office?”