The Whole Truth: Supercharged Files, #1

By Jody Wallace

A human lie detector is hired to unmask a mole but discovers her powers can't protect her when even the bad guys are superpowered.

 

Cleopatra Giancarlo is different from your average twenty something career girl. For one thing, she knows when people lie because she can see the truth in their shadows. For another, she doesn't use her power for good. Or evil. After repeated failures to help others, she mostly just uses it to get deals at Bloomingdale's. She fears what the government would do if they discovered her ability, yet she longs to find out if there are people like her out there. If there's anything more she could be.

 

She gets her wish when two strangers whisk her away from her old life and introduce her to the world of suprasensors. John and Samantha represent an organization called YuriCorp, one of many privately-owned firms that employ supras to increase their profit margin. Any of these firms would be thrilled to have Cleo on staff, and their methods of recruitment aren't always friendly.

 

But even in the world of supras, Cleo isn't safe. Her new boss wants her to go undercover and seek traitors in the company ranks. Her new friends know what she can do and how to work around it. And when someone starts wiping out supras, her new assignment might end up with her in a coma—or worse.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Meankitty Publishing
• Release date: Apr 5, 2015
• ISBN: 9798224844357

Jody Wallace

Jody Wallace’s 30+ titles include sf/f romance, paranormal romance, and contemporary romance. Her fiction features diverse protagonists, action, adventure, and humor. Her readers frequently comment on her great characters, suspenseful stories, and intriguing and creative world building. When describing her methods, Jody says: “There are two sides to every story. I aim to tell the third. And I add cats regardless.” Outside of her fiction career, Jody has employed her Master’s Degree in Creative Writing to work as a college English instructor, technical documents editor, market analyst, web designer, and all around pain in the butt. To discover other books by Ms. Wallace, visit her website at http://www.jodywallace.com  Ms. Wallace’s newsletter: https://www.jodywallace.com/newsletter/ Twitter: https://twitter.com/jodywallace Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/JodyWallaceAuthor To discover meankitties, visit the cat’s website at http://www.meankitty.com

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About The Book

THE WHOLE TRUTH

Book One of the Supercharged Files

A HUMAN LIE DETECTOR is hired to unmask a mole but discovers her powers can’t protect her when even the bad guys are superpowered.

Cleopatra Giancarlo is different from your average twenty something career girl. For one thing, she knows when people lie because she can see the truth in their shadows. For another, she doesn’t use her power for good. Or evil. After repeated failures to help others, she mostly just uses it to get deals at Bloomingdale’s. She fears what the government would do if they discovered her ability, yet she longs to find out if there are people like her out there. If there’s anything more she could be.

She gets her wish when two strangers whisk her away from her old life and introduce her to the world of suprasensors. John and Samantha represent an organization called YuriCorp, one of many privately-owned firms that employ supras to increase their profit margin. Any of these firms would be thrilled to have Cleo on staff, and their methods of recruitment aren’t always friendly.

But even in the world of supras, Cleo isn’t safe. Her new boss wants her to go undercover and seek traitors in the company ranks. Her new friends know what she can do and how to work around it. And when someone starts wiping out supras, her new assignment might end up with her in a coma—or worse.

Copyright Page

The Whole Truth

By Jody Wallace

From Meankitty Publishing

Copyright ©2013 Jody Wallace

Cover by James of Goonwrite.com

Editing by Julie Coffey

All Rights Reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient or use a qualified vendor’s legitimate lending program. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

Chapter 1

I see shadows. But not dead people.

WHEN THEY FOUND ME, they weren’t ninjas, just garden-variety men in black. Excuse me, people in black. The frustrating part wasn’t that they invaded my home but that I should have been expecting it. After all, I’m the only person I’ve ever met who can do what I can do. Besides write advertising copy. Anybody can do that as long as they have a penchant for buzz words and hyperbole.

No, as far as I know, I’m the only freak like me in existence. I should have been ready for this to happen. I should have had a bag packed, with stylish travel wear and airline-friendly cosmetics.

But I didn’t. They caught me completely unaware. I’m stupid that way, even if I can discover any truth by asking the right questions.

I got home from another late night, after a normal week at work, if there is such a thing. I unlocked the door, cursed it when it stuck, and had almost kicked it shut when I noticed them.

A man and woman I’d never seen before were in my living room watching my newest indulgent purchase. Wait, technically that would be my new Kate Spade purse. While it’s sparkly, it doesn’t do any tricks worth staring at. They were watching my widescreen TV.

The man rose when he noticed me, as if he always stood when a female entered the room. He inhaled audibly but made no sudden moves.

Had I surprised their....illicit TV viewing?

What the hell are you doing in my house? I asked from the safety of the foyer. I would have taken off without asking questions, but they didn’t seem aggressive. I mean, they’d been absorbed in Andy Griffith.

The man’s lips parted slightly. Then he gave a sharp nod.

Cleopatra Giancarlo? he asked, smoothing the lapel of his expensive suit.

Maybe. I propped the door open with my toe, tensed to run. Maybe not.

I see you were working late again, Miss Giancarlo, he said.

Working late isn’t a crime. Unless you were a mobster or something. When the man didn’t respond, I continued.

Who are you people? Let them try to claim they were friends. Let them try to lie to me. I didn’t step away from the door.

The man glanced at the woman. She shrugged.

My name is John Arlin. This is my partner, Samantha Graves. We’re happy to meet you, Miss Giancarlo.

Their actual names, and they were honestly happy to meet me.

Samantha reclined against the arm of my sofa with my cat—my cat!—in her lap. I hoped Boris got hairballs all over her spiffy tweed.

She smiled at me. Her teeth were unnaturally white. Shut the door, she said. You’re letting in mosquitoes.

I backed onto the porch, only to notice a gigantic man in a dark suit step out of a vehicle at the curb. He was nearly twice as tall as the car. He waved.

Safer inside or outside?

Outside lurked their giant. Inside I could see their masks if they lied. I went in, closed the door, and held my keychain at the ready. I’d read somewhere you could stab people in the eyeball with your key to incapacitate them. Provided you had the guts to do so.

Please don’t feel threatened. We just want to talk. John adjusted a sleeve and glanced at his watch. His dark jacket parted to reveal a crisp white dress shirt and...

Did I see a holster?

You’re in my house without my permission. I feel threatened. I inched into the room, toward the phone, my cell having disappeared in the depths of my work satchel three days ago. I knew it was there because I could call myself. I just couldn’t find the damn thing.

I apologize for that. Time has become critical, and it was expedient to meet you in private, instead of making an appointment.

Was it true? I squinted, trying to detect the shadow that formed around the faces of any liars in my line of vision. No darkening. He was being honest.

It occurred to me that John and Samantha could be the people who wanted to buy the house from my landlord. The old coot threatened to sell the place out from under me every time I complained about the parking lot, if you could call a ten foot wide section of rubble a parking lot.

John continued. Dinner’s in the fridge. Pastrami and jack on sourdough.

Good guess...but the sandwich put him out of the running for home buyer. You didn’t break into my house to talk sandwiches. Why are you here?

We have some information for you about an opportunity, he said. Will you hear us out? He had yet to display a mask, the shadow veneer that appeared in front of a liar’s face, which did ease my nerves. That didn’t mean I was going to let my guard down.

Cut the solicitous crap. What do you want? My television? I doubted it, because their car outside wasn’t big enough to transport it, but bravado seemed smarter than fear. Take it, I have renter’s insurance.

He stepped closer, and I became aware of the fact he was tall, not to mention built. I was short. Could I key-poke his eye or not? More like his throat. Wasn’t the spot between your collarbones vulnerable? I patted my non-key-holding hand against my breastbone to check, my heavy work satchel thumping my hip.

John picked up my cordless telephone from the bookcase next to the couch and extended it to me. The minute we make you nervous, dial the police.

I’m nervous right now. I pressed various areas on my throat to test which was most stickable. Nervous people did that, protected their throats, or their boobs. I guess they were protecting their hearts, not their boobs.

Sorry. He tilted his head down. Would you prefer to eat first? You must be hungry. We got the sandwich from Mazio’s.

How could they know my favorite eatery was a dive three blocks down on the east end?

An ugly suspicion rose in me. A nightmare of a thought. They knew all these things about me because they’d been spying on me. Watching where and what I ate, how late I stayed at work.

I’d prefer that you leave, I told him.

We’ll leave as soon as we talk to you. He stepped closer, still offering the phone.

I think you should go now. I snatched the phone but John held onto it, keeping me within arm’s reach. His nostrils flared and his pupils dilated, and for a minute I got the distinct impression he was smelling me.

John, Samantha warned. You’re creeping her out.

He shook himself. I returned to the relative safety of my foyer with the handset. Since Mondo was in the street, I could make a run for the neighbor. So what if he wasn’t home? They wouldn’t know that.

Oh, wait. They probably would. My fingers found the nine. I pressed it, then a one. John pursed his lips and fingered his Snoopy tie. Snoopy?

They waited to see if I’d dial a third number. If they meant me harm, would they give me the chance to call for help? Maybe I should hear them out.

We all stared at each other until Samantha said, What a soft, fluffy cat. Is this Boris or Natasha?

I contemplated the additional digit on the phone. Why do you know all this stuff about me?

We know all sorts of things about you. That’s what we’re here to discuss. The woman slid Boris off her lap and rose.

First thing I noticed was she was really short, too.

Second thing I noticed was she had on four-inch heels, Manolos, which meant she was actually shorter than me. Mine were two-inch kitten heels, the same rose pink as my tiered ruffle skirt and blouse.

You know, that thing about secret servicemen in black isn’t true. Samantha had on a tweed suit. I know tweed’s the new black, but I was pretty sure John’s Snoopy as the Red Baron tie wasn’t regulation at Ye Olde Agency.

You guys aren’t from the CIA, are you? I asked. FBI? NSA? Homeland Security? The main reason I’d kept myself to...myself was my inherent fear of the government and what they’d want from me if they found out. You could only tip off the cops so many times before they got suspicious, and pretending to be psychic only works on television.

Samantha Graves smiled, and her long-lashed, blue eyes twinkled as if we were sharing a joke. She had a perfect, shiny black bob without a hair out of place, and she couldn’t be more than a size three. I could hate a woman like that.

That’s correct, we’re not from any of those places. May I call you Cleopatra?

Not unless you want me to finish dialing 9-1-1 for the murder I’d be forced to commit.

I had yet to see a glimmer surrounding either of them. They had yet to answer any of my pertinent questions.

Shit.

They knew.

John Arlin’s gun holster beeped the theme song from Shaft, breaking the tension, and he pulled a cell phone out of it. Phone, not gun. He spoke. Arlin. Yes. Five minutes? I thought we had two hours. No, no problem. He clicked it off, and he and Samantha exchanged a glance.

Miss Giancarlo, he said, could we convince you to go on a drive with us? Your cats, too.

Go with you? Do you think I’m insane?

Samantha minced up to me and tilted her head to the side like a bird. Do you think you’re insane?

No. When you live with this affliction as long as I have, you develop great skill at getting people to confess the truths they aren’t telling. You realize you aren’t nuts.

We read your blog. We’d been wondering about you, but the post yesterday cinched it.

My blog? I kept an online journal called The Whole Truth. It's part diary, part social diatribe, where I vent my frustrations about what liars people are and how screwed up the world is because of it. I'm not crazy. I don't go around listening to politician's speeches and unveiling the truth behind their words. That would attract attention of the wrong kind.

So much for all those precautions I’d taken to remain anonymous. The question was whether this was the wrong kind of attention—or the attention I’d always dreamed of.

Your blog, Samantha agreed. We know what you can do, and so does at least one other group. You’ve got to make a choice and make it now.

My stomach flopped. The moment of my own truth was upon me, and I had no idea how to handle it. Is this where you say, ‘Come with me if you want to live’?

John frowned. He looked so serious and concerned for my safety it was cute. And frightening. We won’t hurt or coerce you in any way. They might.

Of all the times not to see a mask! The air around both unwanted guests was as clear as lip gloss.

Whoever was coming was bad news. At least, John and Samantha thought so. All right, I said. Where are we going, for how long, and why do you want to take my cats?

Trust us. Samantha clasped my hand between hers. Something deep inside me warmed and tingled in an I just ate homemade chicken soup way. My uncertainty eased, though I still wondered how much danger was I in. Were these guys secret agents? Was the other group, the one they said was coming?

Would I be dissected? Hidden away in Area 51?

Did they know whether or not I was from Mars? No, Venus.

You’re making the right choice. John’s steady brown gaze locked with my own. He was really quite attractive. We won’t force you to do anything you don’t want.

Samantha dropped my hand. I swallowed hard, my gut, my instincts, leaping around like a fish on the hook. I need to get my—

We don’t have time. Rest assured, it’s all been taken care of. John leaned behind my sofa and snagged a cat carrier with Natasha, my white hellcat, already in it. Ooooh-kay. She lurked against the back of the crate, her eyes slitted with fury.

Can they ride together or will we need the other carrier? He pointed to a second blue crate behind the couch.

Natasha needs her own space. Especially considering what Boris usually did in the carrier. I assume we’re using that black car out there? Boris would do better if I held him.

We can’t take the chance he’d get loose, John said. Can you help me?

I scooped up the yellow tabby from the couch. John and I popped Boris into the crate while Samantha got a brown sack from my fridge.

Let’s roll, John said.

I got your dinner. Samantha smiled and held up the bag. Diet Dr. Pepper, too.

Wow, you have been keeping track. I’d only switched to calorie-free beverages a week ago when a lady at work asked me if I’d lost weight—because her mask said something else entirely.

Your blog is very entertaining, she assured me. Just so you know, I disagree about the ten pounds, but it’s your body.

No shadow! It shouldn’t have excited me as much as it did, not when my life was in danger. Or something. Suddenly, I wished my affliction was the ability to stop time and make people tell me what was going on. That would also help during Quentin Tarantino films.

Samantha hooked my arm and hustled me out the door, into the dark sedan, where the other guy, taller and broader than John, opened the back door for us to slide in.

Hi, who are you? I asked, hoping for a lie.

Alfonso. Alfonso the Ape Man. He checked the street both ways and hurried to the driver’s door. Cats in back. Psytech’s almost here.

The carriers fit on the seat between Samantha and me. Boris, the coward, yowled out his terror and pissed. Natasha yowled out her disgust at Boris’s actions and tried to claw Samantha through the small slits in the crate.

Samantha wrinkled her nose. Aw, poor kitty. Sorry you’re so miserable, she said.

Around her face, a thin shadow winked into existence.

I smiled. Gotcha.

Her eyes widened and she pinched her mouth shut.

We sped off, our tires—I swear!—squealing.

Who exactly is behind us? I angled Boris’s carrier so his pee wouldn’t slosh on us and the car seat. I poked my finger through the slats and wiggled it.

The competition, John said over his shoulder.

The government?

Samantha laughed. The government is hardly what I’d call competition.

She had no mask.

Somehow that worried me even more than being politely kidnapped by people who knew I had mysterious powers—and how to work around them.

WHERE ARE WE GOING? I asked for the hundredth time. Alfonso had jetted down the interstate southwest out of Chicago until the city no longer glowed on the horizon behind us. With Chicago, that takes a damn long time, too, especially when people keep telling you, Be patient, with an increasing lack of patience themselves.

John met Samantha’s eyes in the mirror of his sun visor, but neither answered. Whatever they knew about my affliction, it must include the fact I couldn’t see a lie where silence existed. Even the cats had settled down to the occasional moan and hiss.

I wadded the brown sack from my dinner and pegged it into the front seat in disgust. John caught it without comment. I got in your car without screaming my head off, but if you don’t cough up some info, I’ll consider this kidnapping. Catnapping, too. No court in the world would side with you.

Alfonso stuck a finger in his ear and wriggled it. He cocked his head to the side and appeared to listen, to what I have no idea. We shook them, he finally said. They know where we’re headed anyway, and I can run the blanket for a while. There’s no reason you can’t tell her a few things.

Finally!

Tennessee, Samantha admitted, without any hint of a mask.

Is that a joke? I asked sharply. Attacking people can be helpful. Sometimes when they get defensive, they slip up. I didn’t agree to go to Tennessee.

It’s not a joke. That’s where we’re headquartered. Samantha leaned against the opposite door of the car, as far from Natasha’s claws and Boris’s pee as she could get. I’d stuffed the napkins from my satchel through the cracks, so we weren’t in imminent danger of urine groundswell. Alfonso had cranked the vents and we’d rolled down the windows, but they refused to pull over so I could swish out the carrier. I mean, the cat only had so much pee in him. Eventually he stopped.

Isn’t it quicker to go through Indiana? I have to work tomorrow. I calculated distances mentally and realized finishing the presentation at the office tomorrow, when there was nobody there to interrupt me, would be out of the question. Not a tragedy, considering my boss should have been doing it himself, but I’d certainly hear about it if I didn’t come through.

John turned in the seat, his elbow across the back. His nearly black hair swooped across his forehead like he’d been running his hands through a formerly perfect coiffure. Which he had.

We have somebody taking care of your house and mail. We’ve also drawn up paperwork to notify your employer you’re taking a medical leave of absence.

My boss wasn’t going to like that. He might have to do some work himself. What affliction am I sporting for the insurance company? The obvious choice was a mental breakdown, but I wasn’t going to suggest it.

What do you want us to say?

The truth, of course, I quipped.

He smiled. We’ll also compensate you for any lost income, Miss Giancarlo.

I’m not worried about lost income. I’m worried about being dissected by scientists. They hadn’t bullied me, but they had to be lunatics to kidnap two howling cats and a potential alien-human hybrid to have a meet and greet in Tennessee. Hadn’t they ever heard of conference calls? I loved the telephone. I couldn’t sense a single lie through the phone lines. So far.

Samantha snorted. Nobody’s going to dissect you. Where we’re going, you’re nothing special.

I was oddly wounded until I noticed the skein of shadow around her. Not enough to read but enough to know there was something fishy in her statement.

Say again? I asked, squinting. You’re going to an awful lot of effort for somebody who’s not special.

Samantha rolled her eyes and refused to elaborate. What a priss. In real life? We would not be friends, despite the fact she had great taste in clothes and didn’t think I should lose ten pounds.

We’re interested in your ability, John said. Look at me, Miss Giancarlo, so you’ll know I’m telling the truth.

I did. He radiated sincerity. His gaze locked with mine. We will not dissect you.

Then you can call me Cleo, I conceded. Will you test me?

Yes.

Will it hurt?

No.

Will it take long?

That depends.

I thought a minute. This was the moment I’d always been waiting for—meeting the others. The ones who knew. It could be life-changing to find out more about what I could do and why. Mom had always refused to tell me anything about my biological father, the obvious culprit, though you think she’d have mentioned if he was small and green and his ride was this weird flying saucer car. Unless she’d been on too many drugs to notice. Hell, the drugs could be the reason I was this way.

But since John and Samantha seemed to have more knowledge about me than I did myself, maybe they could help me turn the lie sight off. Then I could have sex without squeezing my eyes shut the whole time. The last guy I slept with accused me of fantasizing about George Clooney. Funny thing for him to say, considering who he fantasized about.

And before you ask, I’d tried blindfolds, with mixed results. Here’s news—you can’t trust a man when you can’t see what he’s doing.

Are you going to hold my cats hostage and make me read the minds of politicians? I’m telling you now, you don’t want to know what they think about.

You read minds? Samantha’s eyes widened. I thought you—

I can’t. It’s a figure of speech. What else would you call it? I wished I could read minds. It sounded less complicated than trying to read ghostly lips that hovered a few inches in front of a liar’s face.

What do you call it, Cleo? John asked, lobbing my question back at me.

I don’t know. Seeing lies, I guess. Depending on the degree of dishonesty, my victims project a vague mirage or a thick haze with distinct features that mouths the rest of the story. A mask of truth, which is ironic, because masks usually hide the truth. Worst of all is when the lies are so thick I can’t see the real person.

Or can I? I have to wonder.

Seems like it would be a handy skill.

Not when you can’t turn it off. Everybody lies, John. Except for John and Al, and only because they knew. Samantha knew and couldn’t help herself.

If you’d read her blog, you’d know how much it pisses her off, Samantha added. She needs us.

So the blog finally got me into trouble. All this time I’d hoped my blog would strike a chord with somebody, and now to discover the chord was sour. Well, I wasn’t a musician.

You’re not in trouble. John swiveled toward the front of the car.

I feel like I’ve met the people you work with. Samantha leaned on Natasha’s cat carrier and patted my arm. She was one of those wee, touchy chicks. You’re a vivid writer.

When you know everybody’s secrets, it’s easy to be. She liked my writing! I felt a relaxing glow of pleasure. Maybe Samantha and I could be friends in real life.

Natasha took advantage of Samantha’s proximity to slash through the vent in the carrier with a heartfelt growl. Boris, hearing his sweet love crank it up in the other crate, began panting loudly, like a dog. Or a cat very tired of smelling his own pee.

Ouch! Samantha jerked back.

Sam, was that necessary? John asked.

I’m telling the truth, Samantha grumbled. And she had been, I could vouch for that.

The two of them had a vibe I wasn’t sure about. A little competitive, a little something else. Man, woman, neither with a wedding band, both attractive.

With the right questions, I could find out. Have you two worked together long?

Dead silence. Well, hell. I hadn’t wanted to know their life stories, just whether or not they were sleeping together.

I let the quiet drag and stared out the window, tickling Boris through a gap until he calmed. I wondered what to expect from this adventure and why I didn’t feel particularly threatened. I should be. I should be scared to death. Mostly I was curious, tense, and curious some more.

We passed a couple urban areas and some farmland. Illinois was very flat. I’d city-hopped along the top of the country—Seattle, Philadelphia, Minneapolis, New York. I’d never been further south than Metropolis, Illinois, when my stepfather Dan and I had visited the giant Superman statue and museum. Dan was a huge comics fan. It was something my mother had never understood about him, and something I’d always understood.

Of course, I did have an advantage. I needed to press it now in order to find out what was going to happen to me.

Let me ask you this, I said, hopefully after they’d lowered their guards a scooch. When we’re done meeting whoever you’re dragging me to see, can I go home? I wasn’t especially attached to Chicago, but I was used to it. Used to the lies of the people around me, used to my routine. I knew the best places to shop, the best movie theatre popcorn, the best routes to and from work. The cheapest gas was a block from the freshest bagels with the pineapple cream cheese, and my bagel card lacked two stamps before I got one free.

John shifted to face me, and Samantha concealed a yawn, not very well. She’d been nodding off despite the ammonia smell and cramped quarters. The darkness outside the windows, the sound of the blacktop under the tires, was hypnotic if you didn’t happen to be wound as tight as a pair of pointy-toed Jimmy Choos.

You can go back to Chicago if you want, John answered. But keep in mind, we aren’t the only ones who know about you now. We can’t guarantee others won’t seek you out, and their methods can be more...uncompromising.

I resisted the urge to fix John’s rumpled hair. Samantha might get jealous. If we were going to be gal pals, I couldn’t move on her man. Less compromising than dragging me cross country in the middle of the night?

We’ll take you back if you don’t like what we have to offer. They wouldn’t hesitate to blackmail you. They know you’re close to your stepfather.

Leave Dan out of this. I’ll go straight to the cops if anything happens to him.

They won’t do anything while you’re under our protection. You’ll be fine. So will he.

For the first time, I saw a waver from John. A smidge of shade. He had doubts about whether Dan and I would be fine. Was he worried about me or Dan? He, Samantha and Alfonso weren’t giving me enough information to cross the street, much less a country.

I hadn’t been around conscious, talking people this long without seeing masks since I’d turned thirteen and woken to a grey world. All this bizarre honesty was making me edgy.

When I next spoke, I did it loudly. Maybe it would stir them up if I yelled and accused.

Just because I’m different, why do you think you can jerk me around and turn my life upside down? I’m a U.S. citizen. I have rights. My affliction is a private matter. I tried not to cringe at my cheesiness.

Cleo, I know what you’re doing, and it’s bullshit. Samantha rubbed her eyes and yawned again. If you didn’t want anybody to know, you wouldn’t blog about people’s split personalities that come to life. You’ve been screaming for attention.

I wasn’t screaming. Though I’d been known to begin my entries with Argh! Lots of people blog about their dissatisfaction.

Clues a child could follow. Samantha pushed her hair back, and it returned to its spot with nary a wisp.

I sighed. Do you promise you’re not going to make me run for office or fight terrorists? Or be a spy? I don’t want to be a spy.

The people we’re taking you to see don’t get involved in that kind of thing, John assured me.

Then what do you want from me? What do you know about how I can do what I do?

Our boss will talk to you about that. John sniffed the air and wrinkled his forehead. May I have your hand?

I extended a pointy finger. He took my whole hand and turned it over, and I swear, he licked my wrist over my pulse. Tingles of pleasure, unexpected and sharp, shot up my limb and into other places. Alfonso and Samantha acted as if nothing were unusual about their comrade licking some woman’s arm.

I yanked my hand back, still tingling. What the hell? I rubbed my wrist where he’d licked me, but I couldn’t erase the strange, erotic sensation.

John appeared to mull something over in his mouth and mind. When you see lies, you must use a combination of... It’s unique. It explains why Psytech was so anxious to get to you first. We finally scooped them.

It’s about time, Samantha said. Those jerks are running us into the ground.

You just licked me. Hey. Hey! I got their attention by yelling. The cats both meowed. You licked me.

Yes, John acknowledged. It’s one of the easiest ways to tell how you’re different from other people.

I had to know. Do I taste like beef instead of chicken? Am I an alien?

Samantha burst out laughing. Even Alfonso, who hadn’t spoken except to tell John and Samantha we’d shaken our pursuers, grinned.

You’re perfectly human, John said.

Have you met many people like me?

Samantha touched the corner of her eye. Cleo, sweetie, we’re all like you.

Chapter 2

When is a bagel not a bagel?

THEIR HEADQUARTERS was a dump. I was expecting some kind of high tech, retinal scan, white-and-silver office building with the three G’s—guards, gates and guns. Instead, Alfonso pulled into a run-down strip mall in front of a chiropractor’s office. Dawn had hit us like an axe an hour out of Nashville, and I felt less than sterling. I envied the people getting out of bed and grabbing a shower and a cup of coffee that wasn’t from a fast food restaurant.

Which office is yours, the chiropractor or the cell phone place? I fumbled out of the car and tried to straighten my legs. Alfonso caught my arm before I ate pavement that looked suspiciously like my parking lot in Chicago.

It’s good camouflage, he said. Our actual company is named YuriCorp.

"Oh, it’s a secret hideout. I can see why you’d want to keep it that way."

John came to stand beside me. I smiled up at him and asked, Now that we’re here, can you tell me your super power?

This is where you’ll be staying while you’re in Nashville. John, ignoring my question, yet again, unlocked the glass door of the chiropractor and motioned me inside.

Ooooo-kay. I could use an adjustment after nine hours in the car. I hoped the other clients weren’t allergic to cat dander. I want to let the cats out. They need a break and some water.

I tugged Boris’s carrier with both hands, my satchel, which weighed nearly as much as the cat/carrier combo, on top of it.

"I’ll get that and give it