His words sting, but the horrible anger inside me remains dormant. So what if Jake sees through me down to the frightened, pissed-off little girl that I am? That’s probably why he tolerates so much of my bullshit.
But I can only offer him a tiny smile in response. It’s definitely time for me to change the subject and focus on more pressing matters. “Jake, we really do need to get out of here.”
“Sounds like a plan,” he says, and plants a quick kiss on my forehead before scooting off the bed. “I’m going to throw on that suit you made me pack and pop in my lenses while you slip into something more…exotic.”
“Grown-up, you mean,” I say with a laugh. “We have to look well over twenty-one out there on the casino floor. Our fake IDs can only do so much.”
Jake chuckles as he walks into the bathroom. “I’ll do my best, dear.” He winks at me before vanishing around the corner.
Damn, he’s hot! In a perfect world, I wouldn’t have to surround myself with so much drama. But I don’t live in that kind of world. I was serious when I told Jake about not going back to the facility. I’m done. I have planned my escape down to the last detail. My mother and father are overseas in France, representing the United States at a global energy summit. That was the only way I could feel safe enough to get this nasty little off-Strip hotel room and not be constantly freaking out that my ’rents would find me in, like, ten seconds.
Walking to the closet, I take out the little black cocktail dress that hangs inside. I’m usually not this conservative, but right now, this isn’t just about me. Everything I do from here on out concerns Jake, too. And he’s just too good a guy to let down.
I step out of my silk nightie and into the dress. Thank God I have great legs, because I absolutely hate putting on pantyhose. I slip on a pair of black heels and head to the vanity. My own reflection startles me, because I’m so used to seeing my starburst eyes, not the deep brown ones with clear white scleras gazing back at me…but it’s my glowing bald head that’s going to cause us problems if I don’t cover it up.
Unzipping my backpack, I find my black wig and put it on. It’s a simple wig—shoulder-length, stick-straight hair with long, blunt bangs. I set it in position on my head and quickly brush through it. When I check out my new look in the mirror, I’m surprised to find a complete stranger staring back at me.
It’s definitely a baseline face. My gold and sapphire piercings peek through the bangs of the wig at the edges of my eyebrows, but they have lost their luster without the intensity of my starburst eyes. I sure wouldn’t stand out in a crowd with a face like this. In fact, I look downright… ordinary.
That’s when I begin laying on the makeup. Foundation, liquid eyeliner, fake lashes, eye shadow, blush, and ruby-red lips—outlined and colored in to perfection. When next I examine my reflection, I’m no less ordinary, but I sure look a heck of a lot older…and completely baseline. Alison Wingate is gone.
Good riddance.
“I know you married me because you’re such a good Catholic girl—no sex before marriage, that kind of thing,” Jake says stepping out of the bathroom. “But what do you think? Could you see us together in, oh, ten, maybe twenty years?”
Jake’s wearing a black suit and tie that hang perfectly on his six-foot frame. His deep brown eyes bring a warmth to his face that enhances his ruggedly sculpted features. While I may look like a plain Jane, he looks like an A-list movie star complete with tousled hair and devil-may-care smile.
“So? What do you think?”
“I think I’m a damn lucky girl.”
Jake beams at me. “You look ravishing, Mrs. Kohler.”
I laugh. “You don’t look so bad yourself, Mr. Kohler.”
He takes my hand and pulls me up to his lips. Such soft, tender lips. I wish we could snuggle all night in bed and explore each other’s bodies, but I can’t rest easy until I have several grand in hand—just in case my plans head south in a hurry.
Staring up into his eyes, I’m happy to see that my husband can definitely pass for a twenty-something baseline. And a super sexy one at that. “You remember what I told you about the roulette table?”
Jake nods. “Yeah. After the dealer hands me the chips, you want me to bet the minimum and lose. I’m supposed to look upset—”
“But not too upset.”
“Right. And then I’m to place a hundred-dollar marker on any number I like, and you’ll do all the rest. How’d I do?”
“Perfect. Just don’t play it up too much. Once you win, we leave. We’re not there to break the bank.”
“And then can we get something to eat? Because I’m starving.”
“Sounds like a plan,” I say with a laugh as I take his arm. I grab my purse, and together we head to the door.
How a woman walks in high heels is usually a dead giveaway as to how old she is. I learned that the hard way when I was married to husband number two nine months ago. Jonathan Darling was the West Coast Facility’s anger management counselor. He was a baseline, of course, and a graduate student at Berkeley, in his early twenties. I found him to be completely adorable, if not just a bit nerdy in his obsession with video games. However, it was my complete lack of confidence in heels that led to our discovery at a chic Los Angeles restaurant, when a waitress noticed that I was teetering in my Christian Louboutins more than I was actually walking in them. She asked to see our IDs and then quietly notified the police as we sat sipping champagne in the elegant dining room.
Of course, both of my previous marriages had been tabloid fodder. At first, I had basked in the media attention, proud of the ruckus I had stirred. But all that changed when I learned that my out-of-control antics had allowed my father to pass anti-psion legislation through the Senate that much faster. I’d had to wise up fast, make a serious plan, and practice walking in heels.
And then, of course, I met Jake. At first sight, I just knew that he would make a perfect husband number three. With a little training, of course.
I wrap my arms around my husband as we walk across the parking lot to the casino entrance. Two sets of baseline couples walk along with us, and thankfully, no one pays us any attention. My heart skips a beat out of nervousness when the casino doors open and we step into the smoke-tinged room amidst the cacophony of ringing slot machines, music, and raised voices.
It only takes an instant for the slot machines’ high-pitched ring to cause my bad ear to ache, but I resist covering it with my hand. I don’t want to draw the slightest attention to myself out here in the open. I know that cameras are positioned everywhere in this massive casino, with its safari-themed wall art rimmed in gold. This particular casino is beginning to show its age, but it’s still lavish, even though it teeters on the cusp of gaudy, like most everything in Las Vegas.
I am taken aback by the sheer number of baselines flittering about the casino floor. As I walk with Jake by my side, my inner ear throbbing, I’m suddenly feeling vulnerable and very much out of my element.
“Are you okay?” Jake asks me in my good ear.
“Yeah,” I say, though it’s a flat-out lie. My heart drums in my chest. I am on the verge of panic. I hadn’t counted on an earache—and this one’s sending stabbing pain rocketing through my head. How the hell am I supposed to focus?
I stumble on the carpeting, but Jake reaches out and stops me from falling on my face. “Hey, what’s going on?”
“I’m fine. It’s nothing,” I say, when in fact I’m falling to pieces and I know it…but there’s no backing out now. It’s only a matter of pushing a silly little ball around a stupid spinning wheel—it should be a piece of cake.
Reaching into my purse, I take out two crisp hundred-dollar bills—the last of our stash—and press them into Jake’s palm. “Here. You know what to do.”
Jake pockets the money and nods. “Let’s go.”
Spying the roulette table across the room, I take Jake by the hand and zigzag through the casino as fast as I can manage in my three-inch heels. Mercifully, J
ake doesn’t say a word. I have to get this over with as quickly as possible; otherwise, I might just blow it. I hadn’t anticipated the terrible earache, and the longer I’m here the worse it’s going to get. Stupid ear! Courtesy of husband number one, the psi-cannon who preferred to settle arguments with his fists.
I slow up as soon as I get within twenty paces of the roulette table, and take a deep breath. I can do this, of that there is no doubt—but how long will I be able to focus with this painful throbbing in my head?
“Jake,” I say, leaning close to him. “Forget losing the first round—we just gotta go in there and do it.”
“But—”
I squeeze his hand tightly; he has to know how badly I hurt. “It’s my ear—it’s killing me.” Stepping close to him, I gaze directly into his eyes. “One spin. Straight-up bet. All or nothing.”
“Right,” he says, sincerely. “Whatever you need me to do… Let’s just do this and get the hell out of here.”
I try to smile, but it comes out more like a wince. There’s no silencing the high-pitched ringing in this cavernous room without causing a hurricane, and I’ve got to keep the drama to a minimum here.
Hand in hand, we walk over to the roulette table, where three couples hover over the betting area. As soon as we approach, the dealer glances over at us.
“Place your bets,” the dealer says, nodding to Jake.
Jake flashes him an easygoing smile and places our last two hundred dollars on the cloth-covered betting area. It only takes a few seconds for the man behind the table to count out a set of sky-blue chips and sweep them in front of my husband.
“Place your bets,” the dealer calls out to the table, the roulette wheel whirling madly to his left.
Jake gives me one last furtive glance before staring down at the numbers on the betting area. I draw in a deep breath and slowly release it while he studies the numbers on the layout. The ache in my head feels as if someone is stabbing me with a sharp blade. I rely on years of mental discipline to work through the pain as I wait for Jake to make his choice. I just hope I’m able to focus well enough to control the roulette ball.
He places all of his chips on the black number eight, and I inwardly smile. Eight has always been Jake’s lucky number. It’s even today’s date…the date we got married. I just hope that lucky number eight continues to hold out for us tonight.
Jake wraps his arm around my waist and stands close to me as I turn my attention to the spinning roulette wheel. In anticipation of the dealer’s call, I reach out to the air molecules around me, to see what I have to work with—damn it! A sharp, stabbing pain rips straight through my eardrum and into my gray matter. My knees buckle, but Jake somehow manages to steady me.
“Ali—we should wait.”
I glare back at him. “No,” I reply through clenched teeth. “I can do this.”
But by Jake’s expression, I can tell he’s doubtful.
And that’s when my anger shoots through my veins like a firestorm. Damn it all! I’m going for broke!
“No more bets,” the dealer announces, and I’m riveted to that tiny plastic ball.
The dealer releases the trigger and the ball begins to spin counterclockwise to the wheel as it makes its descent. I reach out with my mind and become one with the spinning currents of air that the ball pushes through on its way to the wheel. In an instant, I am that air… I can see the board clearly, and it’s as if I am holding that little round object in the palm of my hand.
The ball hits the roulette wheel with a jarring bounce that sends it banging from one slot to the next. My job is to keep it bouncing until I am sure to place it exactly in pocket number eight. The first two bounces happen in rapid-fire succession, but it’s nowhere near where I need it to land. As the ball hits pocket number seventeen, I hold it above the spinning wheel just a fraction of a second longer, which takes it off-course from its original destination. It’s hard work, what I’m doing, but every rapid-fire bounce and suspension goes unnoticed to the naked eye. And it’s a good thing, too, or I’d be busted in a second.
Finally, the ball falls smack dab into the number eight pocket, and I instantly raise the air pressure above the ball to keep it firmly planted there. Success! Oh my God, I did it!
I bite my lip to keep from screaming out in excitement, because the roulette wheel is still spinning too fast for anyone else to read… and that’s when the pain stabs through my inner ear again with a searing intensity, and I stumble into Jake.
But I’ll be damned if I’m going to allow that stupid roulette ball to move from its spot!
“Hey, you okay?” Jake asks as he holds me close to him.
I wince in reply, but my heart soars the minute I hear the dealer announce, “Black number eight! Winner!”
Jake blanches and gapes down at me. “We won! Oh, my God, we won!”
“Yes, sir,” confirms the dealer as he places a doll-shaped score marker on the table layout and begins the process of sweeping away the losing chips and paying out the winners.
Jake gives me a tight squeeze and kisses the top of my head. “Oh, my God—we won! We really won!”
“You say that like you somehow doubted me,” I mumble in jest, but I’m not sure that it quite came out the way I wanted it to, because of the strange look that Jake gives me.
“Aw, come on, Ali, I never doubted you.” He flashes me that beautiful smile. “I was scared to death that I was going to be the one to mess this up.”
I roll my eyes. “Let’s just cash out and get the hell out of here, huh?”
“You got it,” he says as he gently releases me. He makes sure that I’m not going to topple over again before he picks up our stacked winnings off of the betting area.
Before Jake goes, he sets a chip in front of the dealer. “That’s for you.”
“Thank you, sir,” the dealer says, acknowledging the generous tip, before turning his attention back to the next lineup of bets. “Place your bets, ladies and gentlemen. Place your bets!”
Jake and I spare no time cashing out our chips. We’ve raked in almost seven thousand dollars, and I couldn’t be more relieved. My ear still hurts like hell, but at least now we can lie low in comfort for the next week and not have to worry about how we’re going to pay for everything.
As we make our way to the exit, Jake studies the giant roll of cash in his hand. “Uh, Ali, I don’t know if I want to go out to eat with this much cash in my pocket.”
I blow through the exit doors, and the painful ringing in my head finally stops. I massage my ear, mindful of the wig I’m wearing, and glance over at my husband. “You want to go back to the room first?”
He nods. “A place like Vegas attracts a lot of pickpockets.”
“And other thieves,” I add, stepping up to him. “Why don’t you give me some of that?”
He grins at me like a fool as he unrolls his wad of cash and hands me half the stack. “What happened to you in there? You think they had some kind of anti-psion device inside?”
I shake my head as I stuff my half of our winnings inside my bra—shoot, I’m flat as a board; might as well use my bra to hold something. “I wish I could tell you some exotic tech-head device did that to me in there, but it didn’t. I have a little metal pin close to my eardrum that helps me hear low-frequency sounds—voices, mostly. I think the ringing from the slot machines was simply at the wrong frequency for me to handle.”
Jake gives me one of those serious looks. “It was your first husband who caused you to lose your hearing, wasn’t it?”
I nod, but I don’t say anything. I’m still too embarrassed to talk much about it. How could I have been so stupid as to have picked a wife-beater for a husband?
Jake wraps his arms protectively around me and kisses the top of my head. “Well, I’m not about to let anything like that ever happen to you again.”
I stare into his deep brown eyes. “I know.” That warm fuzzy feeling fills me all the way down to my little black heart. I really, r
eally do have the most perfect—the most real feelings for this man. I want to spend the rest of my life looking into his eyes—contact brown or starburst blue.
“I love you,” I tell him. “I really, truly, love you.”
A soft smile returns to his lips as he rests his forehead against mine. “I know,” he replies. All of a sudden, it’s as if the entire world around us has disappeared, and this moment in time is the only real moment of my life. For the first time, I feel safe—I feel loved—and I am able to love just as deeply in return.
My facility psychiatrist would have called this an emotional breakthrough.
Not me.
I call it bliss.
His lips are soft and warm and I simply can’t get enough of him. I lean into him, my hands exploring his muscular backside, while his arms gently wrap around my waist, pulling me closer to him. I come up for air as he stoops to cover my neck in tiny kisses. “I love you,” I gasp, eager to hear myself say it again. And I can’t get over how wonderful it sounds.
“Aw, get a room!” shouts a man in disgust as he passes by on his way into the casino.
“Up yours!” I snap, flipping him the bird.
“You know,” Jake grins, “the guy may be right. Weren’t we headed back there, anyway?”
I eye Jake suspiciously. “I thought you said you were hungry.”
“I bet they have room service. Why don’t we go find out, now that we can afford it?”
I laugh. “Fine by me, loverboy.”
Arm in arm, we head across the parking lot. For the first time in my adult life, my heart is light and I am happy. No, I mean blissfully happy. With Jake by my side I feel like I can do anything…even become the kind of person I have always dreamed of becoming.
I am no longer Alison Wingate.
I am Mrs. Alison Kohler.
And I really like the sound of that.
Jake removes the key from his jacket pocket and opens our hotel room door. He steps aside and waves me forward. “After you, Mrs. Kohler.”
“Why thank you, Mr. Kohler. Don’t mind if I do.”
I step into the dark entry and onto the unfamiliar feel of plastic beneath my feet. It’s the thick kind of plastic usually reserved for particularly messy home repair work. At first, I think I might have stepped into the wrong hotel room. Then the tiny hairs on the back of my neck stiffen at the same time alarm bells go off inside my head.
Freaks of Nature (The Psion Chronicles) Page 13