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Welcome to Dunvegas Page 14

by Meankitty Publishing


  “As a guest I have rights. I don’t appreciate being...smelled and stuff. You should kick him out. That man is offensive.”

  “You’re correct about that,” Ms. Bast said, “but he’s doing a favor for the owner. Goddess only knows why. Besides, sweetie, this is Vegas. Half the people you meet are offensive.” Then she strutted away, her body swiveling like a runway model. “Enjoy your stay, Ms. Mellons,” she called over her shoulder. “Don’t believe everything your machines tell you.”

  She had to be a fellow Dreamer. All the hints and signs and who else would realize Miranda’s luggage was full of equipment? Had the Dreamers set her up to sabotage Miranda? Did she know about the loose foo? God, did that bastard Lupin know something? If either of them made first contact with the ET before Miranda, it would just...suck.

  Las Vegas might be an adult playground, but it was time for Miranda to get to work.

  ~*~

  Miranda didn’t see or smell anything that resembled cat feces in her room, so she took a quick shower to wash off the desert. Slipping into an old robe, she twisted her hair into a thin hotel towel and ordered room service. No time to get her own food.

  While she waited, she set up her equipment on the desk, calibrating the machinery to filter out human gamma waves. Dreamers knew there were aliens on Earth—even the original gamma machines picked up traces of non-human brain patterns. The prevailing theory was most of the blips had been times when the military was transporting an ET from base to base since no Dreamer had met an ET yet.

  Miranda’s youthful interest in what her dad had always called E&E had led to a four-year program at a tech institute and, ah, independent studies in electroencephalography since she couldn’t afford med school. To supplement her tiny outpost stipend, she’d taken a second job delivering pizzas. That’s how she’d been able to swing the new scanner design without alerting any Dreamers, who’d snag any research, and credit, away for the “good” of the organization.

  She’d perfected, or hoped she’d perfected, her scanner upgrades only a few weeks ago. Now her hard work and newfound hatred for pepperoni were going to pay off with the field test to end all field tests.

  Miranda manipulated the dials and knobs on the scanner until she was satisfied with the baseline readout. The machine was picking up activity on all gamma levels. Vegas was densely populated, so that was to be expected. Slowly, she calibrated the sensitive antenna to disregard the human wavelength, which she’d tuned using herself and the residents of Alamo, where she lived. No ETs there, that was for sure. Her, and their, reading hit the charts midrange, except when dreaming. An ET, with a more active gamma pattern, would hit the charts above and below human expectations. The handheld, if close to the subject, could determine whether the discrepancy was dreamstate or alien.

  So far, both in the past and with her upgrade, blips had always been dreams, but she had to be sure now that she was working with new equipment. Too bad she couldn’t go room to room and ask all the occupants if she could test their brains with the handheld. She had to standardize the primary unit for the number of approximate humans sleeping in the surrounding two miles, filter out interference like radio waves and cell phones, and...

  Voila!

  Miranda stared at the long, narrow display of the scanner. That couldn’t be right. It was lit almost completely red, as if the whole block was full of...

  No, her machine must be broken. She entered a stream of data at the keyboard, but nothing changed, so she rebooted the hard drive. Readjusted dials. Wriggled the antenna, the plug in the wall. Maybe that asshole at the front desk had damaged it when he’d butted into her conversation. Either that or everyone in the building was deep in dreams.

  Because according to her scanner, Miranda was surrounded by extraterrestrials.

  As she stared at the readout, a knock sounded at the door. The scanner’s proximity sensor flared.

  Her stomach as knotted as her hair in the drying towel, Miranda jumped up and grabbed her taser.

  Had the Dreamers found out about her machine? Were they ruining her test somehow? They pretended to be all in this together, but it was a facade, and they wouldn’t appreciate her hiding her technological advances from them. Or heading to Vegas to look for the ET without running her plan by them. Or getting permission to scratch her butt.

  “Who’s there?” she called out.

  A voice she could swear she recognized called out, “Room service.”

  Right, right, she’d ordered dinner. Miranda’s stomach unknotted and rumbled.

  “Just a sec!” She folded up the antenna and tossed the comforter from the bed over her desk unit to forestall questions. Then she hid the taser, grabbed her wallet and trotted to the door, opening it with a smile.

  “Boy, that took a long time. Hey! What the hell are you doing here?”

  Outside her room holding a silver tray stood Lupin, the asshole from the front desk.

  “Delivering your ham sandwich. I expect a big tip.” Although he’d stared at her downstairs to the exclusion of everything else, now he peered past her into the room.

  “You’re a waiter?” She eyed the silver tray and noticed the bucket of champagne in his other hand. “I didn’t order booze.”

  “Compliments of the house.” He shoved past her into the room—pushy bastard—and walked over to the small table, covered by an assortment of the tools she used to affect repairs on her machines. He inspected them, and then the blanket-covered mound on the desk. “Where should I put the food?”

  “On top of the television.” It was the only part of the room not covered by her junk. What could he be thinking about the electronic gizmos and burners and spools of wire everywhere? She held out a couple bills. “Here’s your money. I’m so sorry you had to deliver my dinner to the cat pee room. Please leave.”

  “Doesn’t stink any more. Huh.”

  “I think it never did. You just said that to get a free upgrade.” And why a member of the wait staff was staying at the hotel—and dressed in a ratty T-shirt—she had no idea. The many times she’d been to Dunvegas, the staff hadn’t been so peculiar.

  “No, it definitely smelled earlier.” He set the tray on the TV and the champagne bucket on the floor. Then he picked up her handheld scanner and clicked it on. It whined almost silently as it powered up, and he winced, rubbing his ear quickly on his shoulder.

  “Put that down,” she said.

  He ignored her. “What are you doing in here, Miranda Mellons? Making bombs?”

  “No, and none of your business! Give me that.” She snatched the scanner away from him but stopped short when she noticed it was flaring as red as a cherry tomato. And it was pointed straight at Lupin.

  Lupin was the extraterrestrial? But...but he didn’t seem like a poor, tortured escapee. He wasn’t wonderful and fascinating. And he certainly wasn’t the answer to all her questions.

  He was an asshole!

  “I can’t believe you’re the alien,” she said, and the enormity of it overwhelmed her as her vision blurred and she sank to the floor in a faint.

  ~*~

  Harry’s target, Miranda Mellons, passed out, which made his job easier. Assess the alleged gamma wave scanner and report back to PMS and Mr. Fritz. Why they couldn’t have sent him straight to Alamo, Nevada, when the precog on staff sensed Miranda’s invention, he had no idea. For whatever reason, the geeks in PMS—the Paranormal and Magical Security company—insisted that the inspection of the equipment’s functionality had to be in the hotel and in the presence of its creator. They’d gone to great and deceptive lengths to get her here, and now he had to evaluate the risk.

  She was a tasty little thing. He wouldn’t have minded assessing more than her technology, but Fritz and PMS hadn’t hired him to seduce the human’s body, just her brain.

  The towel had fallen off her head, revealing a rat’s nest of brown frizz. Harry lifted her off the floor and arranged her comfortably on her bed. If her robe sort of came open in the transfer,
was it his fault? Her tits were small but succulent, all pink and white. Resisting the urge to see if they felt as soft as they looked, he closed the gaping neckline of her robe and debated trying to wake her. She looked younger than her reported twenty-nine years with the annoyance lines between her eyebrows smoothed out in sleep.

  He was an expert in annoyance wrinkles. He could annoy a precog, and they could even see it coming.

  Better tie her up first. He took the cloth restraint out of the serving tray and roped the little brunette to the bedpost. Not in a pervy way, just secured her wrists so she couldn’t go for that taser he’d smelled earlier. Or the phone. Or his balls. If she stayed konked, he could get his initial assessment of the machine out of the way before the Q&A portion.

  Luckily there was no need to muffle her; the rooms on the wolf floor, among others, were quite soundproof.

  Harry then directed his attention to the device beneath the comforter. It looked like an airplane dashboard minus the stick. Dials and screens everywhere, all with tiny needles bouncing back and forth. Printer off to the side with a long roll of paper. Folded up antennae of several types on the top. There was a long, thin screen that displayed jagged waves—must be the gamma readout. It was lit up like a Christmas tree.

  Well, of course. Silly woman walked into a hotbed of paranormal activity with her infernal machine and threatened to bring everyone from the ghosts to the goblins out of the closet. Nobody—paranormals or humans—was ready for that yet.

  Harry rubbed his hands together, inhaled the delightful scents of machine and woman—his two favorite things in the world—and got to work.

  ~*~

  When Miranda woke, she realized she was tied to her hotel bed, and that alien asshole was entranced by her scanner. He bent over, his tight ass jutting into the air like an invitation to kick it. His black t-shirt pulled up in back, revealing a slice of tan skin.

  Tamping down panic, she wriggled her legs. They weren’t tied, and only her head ached from having her hair wadded in that towel for so long. No other discomfort. She stretched slowly, carefully, to see how far her reach extended.

  Not far enough.

  She scooted around a little more. The man appeared to be oblivious. Something clanked, and he tossed one of the expensive vacuum tubes to one side with no regard for the pizzas she’d delivered in order to afford it.

  What the hell was he doing to her scanner?? He was going to trash it!

  Her first instinct was to yell at him not to hurt her baby.

  Her second instinct was to struggle wildly until the headboard broke loose and attack him with the splintered pieces. Some way to initiate first contact.

  Only, he couldn’t be an alien. No fricking way. He was a garden-variety jerk with a superiority complex, and her scanners must be duds.

  Therefore, she went with her third instinct: scream as loud as she could.

  “Fiiiiiire!”

  ~*~

  Harry jumped into the air like a cat had landed on his back. Even when the cat in question was a she-cat in heat, that was not a pleasant experience.

  “What the hell?” He landed on all fours, ready to transform and attack. Or run. He was not above running if the situation warranted.

  Miranda Mellons sat halfway up in bed and screeched some more. “Fire! Rape! Help, help, help!”

  His sensitive ears couldn’t take the noise. Harry threw back his head and howled.

  After a long, torturous moment, she drew in another breath to scream more.

  “Please,” he said. “No more. I’m not going to hurt you.”

  She apparently didn’t believe him. Who could blame her? She started in again, this time going with “Fiiiiiiire!” instead of the insulting “Rape!” she’d tried before.

  Like he’d ever rape somebody. Jesus, he wasn’t a satyr, he was a shifter.

  Harry crawled across the room, the horrible sound threatening to burst his eardrums. Throwing himself across the bed, he clapped a hand over her mouth.

  “I am begging you,” he said, his voice a half-growl. “Don’t. Scream. Any. More. These rooms are soundproof. Nobody can hear you anyway.”

  She stopped. Her eyes, a mossy brown color, shot daggers at him like the most expert of knife throwers.

  “Mmmfer fmmfer,” she said. He had the feeling it hadn’t been a nice phrase.

  Then she bit him.

  He snatched his hand back. She yelled. He cursed and put his hand over her mouth again. She bit.

  “Dammit, stop! I’ve been sent to talk to you about the technology you’ve invented. I have not been sent to put up with you biting me and screaming my head off!”

  She quit biting. “Are you part of the Dream Team?”

  The movement of her lips tickled his palm. He removed it because the sensation was getting him kind of excited.

  “No,” he said. “I’m a freelance technology expert.”

  “Did the Dream Team hire you?”

  “Mr. Fritz hired me. Are you going to be calm now?”

  In response, she twisted her lower half into a semicircle. Her knee pounded him hard in the side of the head. He jerked away, his ear smarting, but unfortunately that put his neck in the vicinity of her thighs. She promptly wrapped them around his head, arched her body like a bow, and tried to strangle him.

  With her thighs.

  He’d had his face buried in a woman’s crotch many times in his life, but never when the woman intended to kill him. Well, maybe a few who’d been sort of pissed, but they got over it. Wolf shifters weren’t referred to as golden tongued because of the color of their mouths.

  Her scent blossomed around him as he pawed at her legs, trying to separate them. There wasn’t much danger she could do permanent damage since he was pretty hardy, but that didn’t mean he felt no pain. Although he was beginning to feel something else in his lower half, something responding to the presence of a female who smelled way too good to be so homicidal.

  Finally he wrenched her thighs apart and pinned her in place with his body. He was larger than her and now all she could do was glare.

  Until her head shot forward and her skull caught him on the bottom lip.

  “That hurt!” He licked his lip and noticed her glare softened as she watched. For a second. He put his hands on either side of her head and anchored it in place before she could nail him again. “Miranda, would you listen to me?”

  “Get off.” She tried to arc her body to toss him aside. All it did was rub their privates together.

  And of course the little wolf responded, well, wolfishly.

  “Oh, God,” she said. “This turns you on? You’re sick.”

  “No,” he lied. Her hostility didn’t turn him on, but the rest of her did. “You just shoved my face in your crotch and now you’re rubbing my dick like you’re in heat. I’m a man. These things happen. What do you expect my dick to do?”

  “Mind its own business,” she snapped. “Get off me.”

  “Not until you promise to listen.” This was getting more and more uncomfortable by the second. Untrue. It was getting more and more comfortable by the second, the warmth from her plush little body creeping through his shirt and jeans. She panted, her breasts rising and falling. Her robe had opened again, and manfully he didn’t look.

  But he did sniff. Hot damn! She wasn’t as furious as she’d been when this whole thing started.

  Angry sex could be fun. For a moment he considered a little Elvis style hip swivel to see how she responded but mentally smacked himself. Bad dog.

  “Miranda, I need to know about your scanner,” he said. “How it works and what you’ve found out so far. Most of all, I need to know if anyone else knows about it or how to make it.”

  “I don’t have to tell you anything,” she said. Her pulse quickened. “Why do you want to know?”

  “If the scanner falls into the wrong hands, it can hurt a lot of people. My people.”

  “Your people, huh?” She relaxed beneath him, softened like her l
ovely breasts which he hadn’t gotten to touch. Yet.

  Since she seemed to be listening, he dropped the next carrot. “I’ve been authorized to give you fifty thousand dollars if you cooperate.”

  “Fifty thousand...” Her eyes widened and her lips parted. It almost looked like she wanted to be kissed. “Are you kidding?”

  “Nope.” She’d probably try to strangle him again if he kissed her. The question was, would it be worth it?

  “I have a question,” she said. “How long have you lived on planet Earth?”

  “Uh.” That wasn’t the question he’d been considering. “Since I was born?”

  “Are you of extraterrestrial origin?”

  Oh, right, right. The file. She was one of those humans. “No, sorry.”

  “Do you know any aliens?”

  “Aliens,” he said, drawing out the word, “don’t exist.”

  “Your gamma waves are off the chart. The human chart. The hotel is full of gamma waves that are off the chart, and I hardly believe everyone’s in deep sleep.”

  “Maybe it’s a faulty design,” he suggested.

  Her protesting shriek made him recoil. “It’s not a faulty design! There’s no reason in this world why the gamma indicators skew. You think I haven’t tested it? I know my baseline. This is the biggest crowd I’ve scanned, but there’s no reason it would give readings like that. Unless you’re all aliens or you broke my machine when you kicked it in the lobby. I will sue your ass if you did.”

  “I can explain the gamma readings.” As she was bound to figure it out soon enough, he’d been authorized to bring her into the loop about the paranormal world that existed under the nose of the human race. Unlike aliens, which did not exist. “I don’t think it’s broken.”

 

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