Hello, Gorgeous! Page 3

  “Yes! I’m a nervous wreck!”

  Yikes. Karen’s volume rose in direct proportion to her emotional state. She did PR, and most of her clients were local writers. “It’ll go great. You’ve planned the heck out of it.”

  “That’s true!”

  “I’m just gonna get a couple of Advil.” Caitlyn rummaged in the top drawer, then paused. She hadn’t been sick a single day since the government cheerfully infected her with nanobytes. Not a cold, not a headache.

  Karen would be the definitive test. If she didn’t have a skull buster after doing Karen’s head, she would never have one.

  Find out once and for all, Caitlyn thought. Am I a true freak, or is there a chance that things could ever get back to normal?

  “So where have you been?! We’ve all wondered!”

  “Visiting friends around the country. On second thought, I’ll pass on the Advil. So,” Caitlyn prompted, picking up a comb, “tell me about tonight. In vast, lengthy detail.”

  Chapter 5

  “I’m a freak,” she told Stacy over strawberry daiquiris that night.

  “So?” Stacy replied, waving the waitress over. “Two more of these, please,” she said, pointing to their half-empty glasses. “Hey, how’s the baby?”

  “Fat,” the waitress replied. Carrie was stitched over her left breast in red thread. “Colic’s done, thank God. Now I don’t have to worry about dropping him off at the county.”

  “Even better, now you can have him over,” Stacy replied promptly, which made the waitress crack up.

  Caitlyn shook her head. Stacy knew every waitress, bellboy, waiter, cook, chef, Mall of America employee, and dry cleaner in Minneapolis. She never forgot a face, a name, an offspring, or a discount. And she hadn’t been infected with nanobytes. Truly inspirational.

  “So, you’re a freak,” Stacy said when the waitress had left. “What else is new?”

  “Not the only girl in the sorority who knew who Nietzsche was, was a freak. Freak freak.”

  “Again: so?”

  Caitlyn sighed noisily, trying to suppress her annoyance. “So, what am I supposed to do about it?”

  “Does this have something to do with the fact that you own Mag instead of just being the manager like everyone thinks?”

  “No. I went back today, by the way. Place is doing great.”

  “Of course it’s doing great. You give free manicures while your customers are waiting for their hair to cook, so why wouldn’t it do great?”

  She grinned in spite of herself. “We in the trade prefer ‘foil technique’ to ‘cook.’ And tell me that wasn’t a great idea.”

  “Yeah, yeah, it was a great idea. Back to your freakish nature, which is nothing new, FYI. Does this have something to do with your Houdini last fall?”

  “Yes.”

  “Okay. So, what happened?”

  “You’d never believe it.”

  “Hey, I believed you wanted to switch from psych to econ.”

  “This is somewhat different,” Caitlyn said.

  “And I believed you when you said you wanted to buy Mag and do heads and run your own business, when your folks had left you so much money, you’d never have to work again.”

  “Again, that doesn’t really fall into the realm of the unbelievable.”

  “And I believed you when you put most of your inheritance into a trust for that charity The Foot, which means they get to spend the interest, and you can’t ever touch the principle. Of your own money! Which means that the richest twenty-something in Minneapolis often eats ramen for supper.”

  “Hey, you can get five packs of them for eighty-five cents,” Caitlyn said.

  “So I know you’re a freak, okay? I’ve known for years. What, you’re trying to shock me now?” Stacy took a slurp of her old drink, then turned her attention to the new one. “Mmmm, strawberries. Go on, then. Shock me.”

  “Well, I’m supposed to work for the government now. They did me a favor and now I’m supposed to do them a favor.”

  “Oh. Well, I figured it was something like that. Is that why you’re looking so buff? You’re like Sydney Bristow on Alias… normal on the outside, and buff on the outside, but you know all this extra stuff too.”

  “Nothing at all like Alias.” She was pretty sure. As usual, a conversation with Stacy involving alcohol was confusing and soothing. “But yeah, it’s why I’m looking so buff. Let’s put it this way: I was sick—“

  “More like seriously fucked-up from the accident.”

  “Right. And they helped me get better, and now they’re saying they didn’t help me for free.”

  “Well, nothing’s free.”

  “Gome on, Stace…”

  She chewed on her garnish and stared at Caitlyn with a gaze so direct, it was almost frightening. “Nothing’s free, Jimmy. Not one thing. You’re rich, but you have no family. I’ve got a family, and can’t stand to be around them. And Joanie… you remember Joanie?”

  “Art major.”

  “Yup. She could draw anything, anything in the world. And she’d have four skull-busting migraines a week. That was the trade-off. Draw like Da Vinci, cry like my little sister when the pain comes. Nothing’s free.”

  “Stacy, for a supposed ditz, you’ve got a disturbingly practical streak.”

  “Uh-huh. So, do them the favor. Get square, and get out.”

  She sighed. “That’s the plan. I think. I mean, I agreed to do this one thing for them. Except… I don’t think getting out will be so easy.”

  “Is this about that test you took so you could be a mailman? Mailwoman? That civil service what-d’you-call-it?”

  “No. Although, FYI, I got the highest score in the state.”

  “Yeah, yeah, you’re brilliant, big deal.”

  “And I have no idea if it would be hard to get free of the U.S. Post Office.” Although, for future reference, that whole “government service thing” would be an excellent excuse. Not that she was looking for one. But just in case. “I’m just not sure I want to get wrapped up with these jerks.”

  “Cautious is prob’ly the way to go,” Stacy agreed.

  “Let’s put it this way: they helped me to help themselves. It really didn’t have anything to do with me. So why should I do anything for them?”

  “’Cuz they did help you. I’m not sure it matters why if it was something to your benefit.”

  “Hmm,” Caitlyn said, and changed the subject.

  Chapter 6

  “Neutralize,” she said to the man who would never be her boss.

  “Yeah,” the Boss said. “Neutralize. I want this little punk stomped on.”

  She was in the place she’d swore she’d never return to, then swore she’d return to only once. She didn’t touch the coffee the Boss’s assistant had brought her. She didn’t make a move toward the chair the Boss had offered her. “Stomped on.”

  “Yes, Caitlyn, I’d be tempted to ask if you’re hard of hearing, except I know you’re far from it. Stomped on. In the last nine weeks he’s come up with the Hello Kitty virus, the Kiss Me virus, and the Do Me virus.”

  “Heh,” she said, though it wasn’t very funny. She’d managed to avoid two of them, but Do Me had infected her hard drive with porn.

  “We’ve tracked him down, and for your first assignment—“

  “First? Boy, were you not paying attention last time.”

  “—I want you to neutralize him.”

  What, he thinks I can’t crack his code? Neutralize. Ha. “This is what the O.S.F. spends its time and money on?”

  “If my computer sends one more picture of a hum job to my sister-in-law,” the Boss said through gritted teeth, “I will not be responsible for what happens next.”

  “This time,” Caitlyn said, doing her Steven Seagal squint, “it’s personal.”

  “And another thing. I’ve been paging you for eighteen hours. Where the hell have you been?”

  “A party.”

  He frowned at her. She thought. His smo
oth forehead didn’t wrinkle at all. Botox? Deal with the devil?

  “Okay, well, now that you work for me, you’re supposed to lie and say something like your pager was broken, so I don’t think you were blowing me off.”

  “It’s working fine.”

  He narrowed his dirty-water-colored eyes at her. He was dressed in another dark suit today. She didn’t know if he had one, or twenty. “Caitlyn, you’d better cut the shit.”

  “Not part of our deal,” she said, and got up and walked out. She was meanly glad to see he hadn’t replaced his door.

  The evil genius who had violated over a million computers lived in a red brick split-level in Chicago, Illinois. The O.S.F. plane had her there in about seventy minutes.

  There was a car waiting to whisk her from the tarmac to the house, and while she made small talk with the driver, she couldn’t help but wonder if all these people knew what she was, and what she was going to do.

  “No,” the driver, a heavyset woman in her fifties with red curly hair and laugh lines, replied in response to her question. “We’re just supposed to take you from point A to point B and back to point A whenever you’re finished. You know, finished with whatever it is you need to finish. Then back you go for a debriefing.”

  “Debriefing? Like, I tell the Boss everything that happened?”

  “Exactly.”

  “Because I’m not going back there. Ever.”

  The driver had no response to that, then said, “You’re definitely the youngest agent I’ve ever squired around.”

  “Thanks.” ‘

  “Too young by far, if you ask me, I don’t know what the Boss is thinking.”

  “I’m not that young,” she pointed out. “I finished college. I’m Caitlyn, by the way.”

  “Mmmf,” the driver said.

  “See, what happens is, then you give me your name.”

  “It’s Sharon.”

  “Well, nice to meet you, Sharon. Thanks for the ride, I guess.”

  Sharon rolled her eyes, then pulled up to the split-level. Eight one three Feather Avenue. “Here we go.”

  “You drive right up to the front door?”

  “What, I’m supposed to drop you off a block away? It’s pouring out.”

  “Just doesn’t seem very, uh, spylike.”

  “Well, it is. Now go in there and shoot him in the face.”

  “What?”

  The driver flapped a hand in her direction. “Or, you know, whatever it is you need to do.”

  “Jeez,” she muttered, and opened the door. “I’ll be back in—I have no idea.”

  “I’ll be here.”

  Caitlyn slammed the car door shut and headed up the sidewalk. This was extremely weird, and not at all like spy games on television. Did she knock on the door or kick it down or ring the bell or sneak around back or what? This was so weird.

  She was stretching out her hand to ring the bell when the door opened, and she was nearly knocked off the steps by an older woman in an obvious hurry.

  “Sorry, dear, didn’t see you.”

  “I’m looking for T—“

  “Yes, yes, he’s in the basement, go on in, dear. I’ve got to run to the store and then get my tires rotated. I’ll be back in a couple of hours.”

  And she charged down the sidewalk, jumped into her Ford Escape, and squealed out of the driveway.

  I’m supposed to kill this guy while his mommy’s shopping?

  She thought it over for a minute, then went into the house.

  Chapter 7

  “Helloooooo?” She went down the stairs. There was only one life sign in the basement, and he was focused on the computer. He wasn’t remotely nervous, or even anxious. In fact, he didn’t seem to care that she was there at all.

  She waited for the chip in her head to give her some advice, or at least a readout, but nothing. Nada. Maybe it was taking a break.

  “Ma, I said I needed more Hot Pockets and that was it,” he said without turning around. “C’mon, I gotta work.”

  “Yes, well, um, I’m here to put an end to your, um, evil ways. And stuff.”

  He turned around and gaped at her. Terrance Filit was the stereotypical nerd—thick glasses, Star Trek T-shirt, faded jeans, skinny bod—but he had the biggest, bluest eyes she’d ever seen. Paul Newman eyes. Or creepy-kid-from-Godsend eyes, if you wanted to get really picky…

  “Are you looking for my mom?” he asked, dazzled.

  She smiled. Luckily, she’d taken the time to do some red lowlights in contrast with her white blond strands. The Boss could say what he wanted, but he could never say she’d gone on assignment not looking her best. “No, I passed her on the way out. I was sent here from an elite government agency to… never mind, it sounds lame even before I say it out loud.”

  “God, you’re really tall.”

  “Thanks.” She crossed her arms over her chest and looked stern. “Look, you gotta quit with the viruses, okay? I mean, a couple of them were funny, but people can’t work. Think if you came home and your computer was totally on the fritz. It would, like, totally disrupt your life.”

  “I’d love to come home and find my computer was stuffed with porn,” he confessed. “It’s better than—” Terry reddened and looked away. “Never mind.”

  Neutralize him, the Boss said in her head. Creepy. That better not be her chip. If he had access to her chip, she was kicking his ass severe.

  He’d love to come home and find his computer stuffed with porn?

  The viruses were all pornographic in nature… if your hard drive got infected, it pulled all sorts of porn from the Web and dumped it into your drive. Or, worse, had everyone in your e-mail box e-mail you porn. It was kind of funny, just the sort of thing a kid—a boy—would find amusing.

  A boy so focused on porn because he had no experience with the real thing, and as a result was massively curious as well as massively—

  She unbuttoned her coat. “Mind if I stay a few minutes?”

  “Are you going to shoot me?” he gasped.

  “No.”

  Thirty-six seconds later.

  “Wow!” Terry cried. “That was just so totally wow!”

  “You’re uh, eighteen, right?” I didn’t just commit statutory rape, right?

  “Nineteen in June. Um. That was so… I gotta get in the Darth chat room and tell all the guys!”

  “Yes, yes. Now, listen. You can’t design any more of these—“

  “Who wants to do that now?” he said impatiently, waving at his computer and looking generally disgusted. “I’ve got other stuff to worry about. You’ve—you’ve opened up a whole new world for me! I’ll never design another virus again!”

  That sure sounded like neutralized to her. Good ‘nuf. “Alrighty, then,” she said, slipping into her panties, leggings, bra, and cashmere turtleneck. She pulled on her wool socks and stepped into her boots. “Make sure you keep your word, or I’ll have to come back and, um, neutralize you again.”

  He nearly fell off the couch they’d dallied on. “Really?”

  “Shut up, Terry,” she said kindly, and shrugged into her coat and walked out.

  Chapter 8

  “You—you—you—you—you—“

  Caitlyn studied her nails and decided she could go one more day without a touch-up. “Me—me—me—me—me what? Can you hurry this up, please? I’ve got to be at Mag in another half hour.”

  “He’s not dead,” the Boss growled.

  “Well, he was sleepy when I left…”

  He cursed her, but since she was raised by an alcoholic Air Force sergeant, she was used to it, and could barely conceal a yawn. “And now I’m done, right? Right. And by the way, it was a major creep-out to have your driver bring me here. Like you don’t have my home address? So, I’ll—“

  “We’ll be in touch,” he interrupted. “But you should leave—before I shoot you in the head.”

  “Why?” she asked suspiciously.

  He balled up an interdepartmental memo an
d took a bite out of it, then spat the paper wad into his wastebasket. What a revolting habit, she thought, amazed.

  “Because I’m really annoyed that you didn’t kill that kid,” he snapped.

  “No, why will you be in touch?”

  “Oh, you know. This and that.” He grinned, showing flecks of paper on his teeth. “Maybe you’ll need a tune-up.”

  “One job, remember?”

  “I never forget anything.”

  “Well, thanks to you guys,” she said bitterly, “now neither do I.”

  “You just never know what may come up,” he went on cheerfully. A cheerfully psychotic asshole in charge of a top-secret government facility. Oh, this was gonna be one for the journal. “Nobody can predict the future, you know. Not even you, sunshine.”

  “Do not call me sunshine. And could you go back to yelling? I find it less creepy than your fake ‘we all get along great’ thing.”

  “And you’re getting only half your salary for this one,” he added, “since Terrance Filit is still alive.”

  “Oh, I’m getting paid? Right.” She mulled that one over for a minute. Drawing a check for this crap was something she hadn’t considered. Of course, government salary. How great could it be? But still. The bennies were probably pretty good. “This is my cue to say Keep your dirty money, except my rent is late.”

  “Half,” he said again, looking meaner than ever. “And the next time I send you to neutralize somebody, make sure they go to sleep dead, okay?”

  “I have no idea what that means, but fortunately, there won’t be a next time. Right? Right. Besides, if you don’t quit bugging me, I’m going to tell.”

  “Tell?” He eyed the crumpled-up memo, then threw the whole thing in the garbage without eating any more of it, to her relief. “As in tattle? You’re going to tattle on the O.S.F.?”

  He was so sneery about it, she hesitated before saying, “That’s right. I’ll tell everyone what you guys did to me. Without my permission, I might add. I mean, come on. Monitoring police bands and hospital radios? And scooping up the first almost-dead person you find and infecting her with God-knows-what? Who does that?”