The Whole Truth (The Supercharged Files Book 1) (12 page)

“I’ve already eaten.”

I figured he’d have eaten by now.
John liked his schedules. I’d suggested dinner so I could hit him with...

“Dessert, then. I get such a
sweet tooth at night.”

Since he’d turned me down for
dinner, he’d be more likely to cave on dessert. I had homemade brownies, ice
cream, chocolate syrup, whipped cream and cherries.

John glanced at his watch. “How
long do you think it will take to put the bed together?”

“Not long.” I crossed my fingers.
“We don’t have to put it together tonight. I can sleep on the mattress.” I’d
rather use the time to concoct my seduction sundaes.

“Beds are easy to assemble. It’s
not a problem.”

He said that now, but getting him
to agree to a time and date had been an uphill struggle with a boulder in
front, and you know what happens to people who push boulders uphill. Right—they
get flattened. But here we were, finally, two flights of stairs between us and
my apartment.

John idled in the fire lane. All
the good parking spots were taken at this time of night. My complex housed more
old folks than it did hip singles who went clubbing on weekends. Bonus, it was
quiet. Minus, the parties never had single men. Single men my age.

“Where’s your apartment?”

“Second floor, up those stairs.
That’s my balcony with the plants.” Yuri had gifted me with several ferns I’m
sure I’d kill soon enough.

John started to cruise the lot in
search of a space, but I stopped him. In the short time I’d been here, anyone
who needed to move stuff parked illegally.

“Don’t worry about security. They
don’t care as long as they like you, and they like me. One of them really likes
me.” Rooster was twice my size and very into NASCAR and squirrel hunting.

We hopped out of the truck and
untied the straps used to secure the mattresses and bed parts. Carefully, John
lifted the footboard out. I balanced the end so it didn’t scratch his truck. We
headed for the stairs, me first since I was shorter.

Not smart. Ever tried walking
backwards upstairs in tippy flowered sandals? I made it one step. Two. Three.
Four.

My heel caught on the fourth
step. I canted sideways. Parts of me met the stairs, and I flailed for the
railing with one hand.

“Shit!” Pain razed my knees. I
dropped my end of the bed, heard something tear. The bed thonked on the
concrete stairs, directing its weight into John’s chest. He caught it with an
oof.

I clenched the railing, heart
racing, and cursed as my knees and several spots on my shins throbbed and
smarted.

The late sun arrowed through the
breezeway into John’s face. “Are you all right?”

First his glove box, now this.
Did a klutz count as a damsel in distress?

“Just embarrassed.” My knees were
scraped. One dribbled blood. Bruised and dirty, I clambered to my feet. “I need
to go forward instead of backward.”

“I can carry this piece by
myself.”

“No, I got it.” I balanced it
against the railing, turned, and grabbed it behind my back, gripping the knobby
post. I wanted John to think I was plucky instead of incompetent.

“Uh, Cleo,” John said. “Your
skirt.”

“What about it?” Facing up, I
jiggled the footboard experimentally, and it didn’t overbalance me. Still
shaky, I took that first step.

“I think it has a hole.” Cooler
air than expected tickled my thighs, all the way up to my bottom.

“I think you’re right.” It put
new meaning in the word breezeway. “Don’t look,” I joked but I didn’t stop.
Momentum ruled. Flashing butt cheek at John with every step, I navigated the
rest of the stairs, no problem, except for the problems that arise when
climbing stairs with bloody knees and a skirt ripped up to your hoo-hah.

When I unlocked the door, rotated
sideways to hide my underpants, Boris executed a mad dash for freedom. Not that
he ever did anything interesting with freedom—froze in astonishment at the vast
size of the outdoors—but one of these days. I hooked him around the belly with
a foot.

“Get out of the way, Boris.” I
booted him to the side. Unfortunately I used too much swing, and my sandal
accompanied him, clattering across the tile of the foyer.

Boris pounced on the shoe and
clutched it to his chest, kicking ferociously with his back feet. With his large
teeth, he ripped at the pretty flower as if it were a flank steak.

“Dammit, Boris, stop that!” I
leaned the footboard against the jamb while John waited in the doorway. I
attempted to rescue my shoe with the hand not cinching the back of my skirt—I
mean, they were really cute shoes! Boris leapt to his feet and growled.

Was it the ketchup? “Give me my
shoe or no tuna treats for you, cat.”

Boris was as large as many dogs
and often acted like one. He clamped down on tasty leather and dashed toward
the living room, pieces of flower scattering in his wake.

Clickity clickity click.
The heel of the shoe dragged the floor between his front legs.

Annoyed, I hefted the footboard
and clumped, one shoe off and one shoe on, into the apartment so John could
kick the door shut.

“Back to the right.” I stomped
through the sparsely furnished living room, and we set the footboard against
the bedroom wall. I could see Boris in the open closet, ripping my sweet shoe
to shreds.

“You were right about the shoes.
They’re not good for moving furniture.” Men loved to be right. Okay, okay,
humans loved to be right. Blood trickled down my calf, not unlike the ketchup
from earlier. “I need to change.”

“I’ll leave.” John beat a hasty
retreat. Tentatively, I reached behind myself and...

Yep. My sexy skirt had undone itself,
popping the back seam all the way to my drawers. Fancy drawers, satin and lace,
but still. I’d never intended to share them without foreplay.

In the bathroom, I disinfected my
scrapes, yanked on the khaki shorts I found wadded in the hamper, and slid into
some Christmas house shoes that didn’t match any part of my outfit. Well, the
shorts and slippers were both frumpy, so they were thematically harmonious.
John offered no comment when I emerged in new clothes from the waist down,
oozing blood at the knees.

First I locked the cats in the
bathroom with their cat pan. No more shenanigans.

“Ready?” I asked. We headed
downstairs to finish, the faint tinkle of the silver bells on my shoes
accompanying our endeavors. The mattress was so heavy I was forced to curse a
lot. The box spring was awkward but light. John carried the frame by himself,
waving me off when I attempted to help.

By this point, especially after
how many times I set the mattress down for a little rest, I’d worked up a
sweat. My fingertips burned from pinching the heavy Sealy tighter than
necessary, scared it would escape and knock John over. My up-do was a down-do,
hanging around my face in damp wisps. My shirt stuck to my ribcage and hugged
areas I didn’t want it to hug.

We panted by the truck and
inspected the last piece, the headboard.

Correction. I panted. John did
not.

“That’s a very solid piece,” he
said.

I liked to stockpile books,
beverages, MP3 players, tissues, and other useful things within reach of my
bed, and I’d chosen a headboard with shelves I could cat proof. It should put
an end to the cats knocking everything from nail polish to popcorn off my
bedside table.

But all that shelving meant it
was going to be heavy. Substantially heavy. I blew a string of hair out of my
face and put my hands on my hips.

“We can do it.”

“It’s not me I’m worried about,”
John muttered.

While John stared at the
headboard, deep in thought, I realized it was time to face facts.

The hot date wasn’t going as
planned. Instead of sexy banter and locking gazes over the mattress as we
smoothed my new white Egyptian cotton sheets on the bed, I was bruised, bloody,
and scuffing around in my house shoes. I’d ripped my skirt and Boris had eaten
my sandal, which I’m sure he’d puke up at an inopportune moment.

John’s respect for my brainpower
had to be in the can. I felt foolish and sheepish and all those other painful
ishes.

I’d labored since I’d come to
YuriCorp to impress John. While he seemed to enjoy my company—at work—he
ignored hints. I’d chased him like a hussy while turning down a variety of
other trysts. I’d deceived myself into thinking John had smiled at me more than
his usual frown to smile ratio.

There was no smile for me
tonight.

“Do you have telekinesis?” I
asked. “Staring at the headboard won’t move it.”

“Doesn’t exist.” John continued
to stare. Glower, really, as if the headboard had personally offended him when
the offending party was myself.

He needed to get laid. Why did he
not seek love amongst the cubicles? He was practically the only person at
YuriCorp who avoided office romance. Even Yuri had met his wife at work, though
now she stayed home to mind their flock.

Literally—they kept goats. She
sold cheese and soap at some organic farmer’s market.

Attraction can exist without any
desire to act on it. Tons of guys at YuriCorp were hot, but I wouldn’t want to
date them. The college student who worked the front desk, for example. Had to
be a model. For another, Beau, when he wasn’t going chameleon. You just had to
ignore the personality and the hair.

That being said, I’d rather have
a fling with Rooster than date Beau’s mean ass.

Maybe I didn’t lather John’s
soap. Just because we liked one another’s chests didn’t mean it was a love
connection. He’d never be able to tell me I didn’t look fat in those pants.
Never be able to say, “I forgot your gift at the office.” Then there was
tonight, me going for sex kitten but ending up with Boris the Mad Shoe Eater.

Suddenly I was done trying to
seduce him, and I felt ten pounds lighter.

Easiest diet ever.

“I know this evening hasn’t been
enjoyable,” I said in as sensible a tone as I could muster, “but you can’t
carry the headboard alone, and if you don’t get it out of your truck, you’ll be
stuck here. With me.”

John raised both eyebrows. “You
could hurt your back.”

“Roxanne can fix that.”

“Roxanne can’t heal a ruptured
disk.” John’s shoulders inched closer to his ears as he tensed. “Why don’t we
call Al?”

“I told you, he’s at his
daughter’s dance recital. I’m not dragging him away from that.”

“Do you know any neighbors you
could ask for help?”

What did he want me to do, knock
on doors and see which of the sexagenarian set wanted to risk their spines,
knees and hips with my headboard?

“I haven’t had a chance to get to
know everyone.” I glared at him. “Full time with YuriCorp means twelve hours a
day, six or seven days a week.”

“It won’t always be like this.
You just need to get up to speed.” He didn’t mention the other half of my job,
mole hunting. But he never did.

“I can do this. I didn’t drop the
mattress.”

“This will be heavier.” John
glanced around the parking lot as if a likely candidate were going to emerge
from the bushes. Hopefully not using a walker.

“I’m wearing sensible shoes this
time.”

We both studied my slippers, a
gift from Dan, holiday booties with fluff around the tops.

John rubbed his mouth with one
hand. “Yes, you are,” he agreed.

How could he not have noticed? I
stamped like a horse, and the jingle bell on the bow tinkled. “Sensible
and
jolly.”

“That explains the ringing in my
ears.” John smiled, the first he’d managed all night.

“Your talent is smelling stuff,
not hearing. It’s okay.”

“Cleo,” John said, his shoulders
finally relaxing, “I don’t want you to get hurt.”

“I promise I won’t.” I hoped it
was true. “If I feel any muscle spasms, we’ll call someone. I bet Sam and Alex
are at Merlin’s playing pool.” Alex would be here like buckshot for the chance
to recruit me some more. No matter how many times I saw him, he never let it
go.

John’s smirk darkened into a
frown. “Only as a last resort.”

“Two birds, one stone—I can ask
Alex if he knows about Pavarti.”

“He doesn’t.”

I wanted to ask how John was so
sure, but I didn’t force the issue. I didn’t like the sonuva, either. “Who from
work lives around here?”

“Beau,” John said.

“Not a chance.” Who else could we
call if I couldn’t handle that monster of a headboard? “Lou has family here,
but I’ve only met her uncle Herman, and he’s ninety. I could ask the security
guard who likes me.”

“Bad idea. He’ll think you owe
him.” John tugged at the headboard, which was wrapped in thin foam and plastic.
“Don’t put yourself in a position where a guy thinks you owe him.”

Funny thing for him to say. “What
do I owe you after tonight?”

“Nothing.” He scowled and yanked;
the headboard shot halfway out of the truck.

“Rooster might feel the same
way.” I pulled my cell phone out of the capacious pocket of my khaki shorts.
“He gave me his pager number and told me to buzz him anytime.”

“Rooster. That’s his name?”

“Who are you, my dad? Well, you
already know what Rooster does for a living.”

“Cleo, it’s an unusual name. Grab
the other end.”

I did. Rather, I tried to.

It was too heavy.

Chapter 10

You’ll Thank Me
Later

Alex and Samantha pulled up
twenty minutes later in Alex’s black Porsche. We waited on John’s tailgate and
sipped our respective beverages—soda for me, bottled water for him—without
speaking.

“Ladies,” Alex said, “how can I
be of service?”

John didn’t say anything, so I
said, “This won’t take five minutes.” I hopped off the tailgate, still in my
shorts and slippers, and pointed at the headboard balanced against the truck.
“It’s too heavy for me.”

Alex squeezed his large self out
of his small car and swung his arms back and forth, crossing them over his
chest and pressing his elbows. His gaze trailed down my frame and stopped at
the knees, which wasn’t what snagged most men.

“Gotta loosen up,” he explained.
“Wouldn’t want to hurt myself.”

“Speaking of injuries, do you
know anything about what happened to Pavarti Singh?”

“Nope.” Alex smiled, his teeth
twinkling with honesty. “I’m a consultant, not a terrorist.”

Samantha crossed behind the
sports car and halted beside me, glancing between John and myself. Then she
inspected my attire. “Having a nice...date?”

John had to have heard, but he
didn’t react.

“I fell on the stairs.” I
smoothed my hands down my wrinkled shorts.

“Were you in a rush to put your
bed together?”

I wished I could tell her to shut
up, but that would reveal how much I cared. “I hope we can get it finished
tonight. I’ve been sleeping on the couch.”

“At your place?”

“Of course I sleep at my place.”
She would not get a reaction out of me. “I went to see my stepfather one
weekend, but otherwise I’ve been here.”

Alex and John lifted the
headboard with, I was happy to see, enough strain that I didn’t feel like a
gimp for my inability to do the same.

“I’ll get the door.” I hurried up
the stairs to my apartment. Samantha followed. As soon as we were out of
earshot, she grabbed my arm and said, “So how is he?”

“Hands to yourself.” I yanked
away before she could affect me. She’d have more friends if she limited herself
to business-related pushing. “John’s annoyed that I called you.”

“No, I mean how is he in bed?
Have you slept with him yet?”

“None of your business.” Why
would she ask that when she’d mocked me for calling the furniture moving
expedition a date two days ago? I could hear John and Alex thumping up the
stairs. “I didn’t know who else to ask for help.”

“How about the furniture delivery
guys?” she suggested with an arch expression. “You’d have better luck with them
in several ways. Everyone at the office has been laughing at you. You’re not
going to get anywhere with him. Nobody ever does.”

“Samantha,” I said, focusing on
her shadow mask, “why do you bother to lie to me?”

“Ah, but which part of what I
said is a lie?”

“I read lips,” I reminded her. “I
know.” There’d been no lip movement, but nobody at work was laughing at me.
That, I would have figured out. Some were annoyed because I was nosy—like my
“friend” Sheila—but that was the extent of it.

Interrupting our pleasant
discussion, the door to 2G opened and Lou’s Uncle Herman popped his head out.
His white hair stood on end like Albert Einstein, whom everyone believed had
been a supra but it was more urban myth than fact. “What’s all the damn racket,
Cleopatra?”

“I’m moving some furniture.
Sorry, Herman. We’ll keep it down.”

“See that you do. I’m trying to
concentrate.” The door slammed, and we entered my apartment, waiting for the
last piece of bed.

“He’s one to talk about making a
racket,” I muttered to Samantha. “The man listens to his television as if he
were completely deaf, and I know for a fact he’s only half deaf.”

“He’s a supra, isn’t he?”
Samantha asked. “He looks familiar.”

“I have no idea, but he is Lou’s
uncle.” John and Alex trooped through the door, and I pointed at the bedroom
for Alex’s benefit. “In there.”

“Do you have tools so we can put
it together?” he asked.

“I’ll get them.” I had a pastel
toolset under the kitchen sink, which Dan had given me when I’d gotten my first
place. I handed it to John. Samantha and I watched as the two men navigated the
politics of who got to hold the pink screwdriver.

“If only they’d take off their
shirts,” Samantha said, so quietly only I could hear. This was, of course,
assuming Alex didn’t have Alfonso ears.

I firmed my lips so I wouldn’t
laugh.

“I know you want him,” she said.
“Don’t you remember telling me Thursday?”

I hadn’t said those exact words.
“Shut it.”

She leaned closer until our arms
brushed. “He’s never dated anybody at YuriCorp.”

Why was she gossiping? Was she
trying to bond? Women as pretty as Samantha often had trouble befriending other
women. She hadn’t made any close friends at work—almost the opposite. Maybe she
was bad at overtures.

I melted, just a little. “How do
you know?”

“People tell me things.”

“I bet they do.” John lost the
battle for the screwdriver, so he held the headboard steady while Alex crawled
around and secured the frame. “I’m sure you’re great at keeping secrets.”

“Yep.” Our arms bumped again.
“Got any?”

“Not really.” Alex had a great
ass. I’d never seen him out of a suit. Too bad he was a jerk. And dating
Samantha. And a liar. “What, um, do you hear about what a person should do if
she were interested in John?”

“Are you?”

“No.” I’d vowed to leave John
alone less than an hour ago, but if his biceps bulged under the mass of the
headboard much longer, that could change. I found myself licking my bottom lip
as I watched him be manly. “He’s pretty hot, though.”

“And?”

I shook myself out of my
lust-haze. “One of the security guys here asked me out. I might go.” As long as
it didn’t involve squirrels.

“You should get with John. Get
him to drop his guard. You know. For the job.”

I turned and stared at her. “What
do you mean?”

“Nothing.” She smiled. “He seems
lonely.”

The guys finished the headboard
and attached the footboard to the frame. I inched away from Samantha. By the
time my bed was in one piece, we were several feet apart. I didn’t want John to
suspect what we’d been talking about.

“I appreciate your help,” I said
to everyone. “I’ll sleep better at night, thanks to you.”

We all went into the living room.
As Samantha slipped past me, she whispered, “You can thank
me
later.”

Alex paused by the door. “I
didn’t see your cats. I’ve heard so much about them.”

“I locked them in the bathroom.”
If I’d thought of that before John and I had carried the footboard upstairs, I
wouldn’t be minus a pair of cute shoes right now.

“Maybe next time,” Alex said. I
hadn’t planned on any next times, but I kept my mouth shut since he’d just done
me a favor. “Samantha and I have to go.”

John checked his watch. “It’s
late. I should be going, too.”

Samantha sidled up to him and
covered his watch with her palm. “Don’t be such a fuddy duddy. You don’t work
for Baumhauser, do you, John?”

John stiffened. “Why would you
say that?”

“You’re too young to head home
before nine on a Saturday night.” She let him peek at the watch before she
re-covered it, her fingers gripping his wrist. “Cleo doesn’t know anyone in
town. Don’t be mean and leave her all alone.”

A bit thick. I could’ve had a
companion tonight. Rooster, among others. I could have stayed with Beau and
been chided for my lack of skills. Could have gone to sit with Pavarti. But the
companion I’d wanted was John.

John glanced at me, expelled a
breath, and laughed. “I suppose you’re right.”

Samantha got the laugh I’d been
angling for all night? I should have worked the “poor lonely me” angle earlier
instead of bringing up Rooster.

“You and Cleo should watch
something on her very big TV,” Samantha said. “Maybe the finale of
Hero Wars
.
Didn’t you say you forgot to record it?”

“I did,” John said. “Cleo, do you
still have it on your DVR?”

“Yeahhh.” I wasn’t sure what was
going on, but if it meant John wasn’t going to rush away like his hair was on
fire, I was willing to roll with it.

“Sam, butt out and let’s go.”
Alex looked across the room at me until I looked back, whereupon he shot me a
rueful grin. “See you later, Cleopatra.”

“Thanks again,” I said as they
left. I didn’t add that I owed them. No need for the unpleasant reminder.

“Do I smell brownies?” John
asked.

“You do.” He followed me into the
kitchen, where I removed aluminum foil from my baking dish. “Fresh baked this
morning.” I’d gotten up early to prepare them.

I reached for a cake knife and
bumped into John, who was unaccountably close, his eyes trained on my face.

“You did suggest dessert,” he
said, proving he’d been paying attention. But then, he had to pay attention in
order to avoid topics he didn’t want to discuss. “Did you make these for me?”

If I said yes, it might hint at
my premeditated seduction. “They’re for Pavarti, but you can have a few to take
home. Is that better than twenty bucks and a tank of gas?”

“Yes.” He watched me slice the
brownies into rows, the edges crinkling. “I’d like one now.”

“Do you want it warmed up in the
microwave?”

“Sounds good.”

“Ice cream?”

John filled his lungs with
brownie-scented air. “Yesss,” he said on the exhale.

“Chocolate syrup? Whipped cream?”

John leaned down and kissed me,
his lips quick and warm against mine. Startled, I backed up, but the countertop
was behind me. My mouth tingled.

Holding my gaze, John reached
down and pinched off a bite of brownie. He ate it and licked his fingers. “I
like brownies a lot.”

“I guess you do.” Where the hell
had that come from? “Why did you just kiss me?”

In response, he tilted my chin up
and bent to kiss me again. I closed my eyes.

Then, nothing. I opened my eyes.
He’d halted an inch away.

“Because I’ve wanted to since I
met you,” he said. Chocolate breath tickled my lips. He shifted his body closer
to mine until we touched in some significant areas. “Cleo, you have a lovely
flavor.”

“When you met me, you wanted to
sample my DNA.”

“Yes.” He smiled. “I also wanted
to kiss you.”

Samantha had intimated that, to
catalogue DNA, John needed to delve deeper than a peck on the lips. His face
brushed my cheek as he bent to smell my hair, the hollows of my neck. Hot
breath puffed across my skin. When his tongue flicked out, tasting, shivers
zinged from my head to my toes. His hand curved against the small of my back
and brought me firmly against him.

Oh, my. He really, really liked
brownies.

As delightful as this was, John’s
actions didn’t feel in character. John had undergone a transformation when...

“John, Samantha pushed you.”

“I don’t think so.” He nibbled up
my neck, and when he reached my ear, my knees threatened to buckle. “You’re
sweet and salty, like kettle corn.”

“When she hid your watch from you,
she touched your wrist. I think she pushed me, too.” I’d confessed how
attractive I found John, and I’d never have told her that normally. Good Lord,
what had she hoped to achieve? If I couldn’t attract him myself, I sure as hell
didn’t want her infusing him with fake lust.

“Right. I’m sorry, Cleo.” He drew
away from me and cursed under his breath before he stalked into the other room.

“You don’t have to act
horrified,” I yelled while I leaned on the counter and regained control of my
knees. My poor, scraped up, trembly knees. “I won’t force you to marry me
because my honor has been compromised.”

Damn Samantha! I was going to
kill her Monday. John and I needed a distraction, bad. I prepared the brownies,
sans whipped cream and chocolate syrup.

“Are you still here, John?”

He didn’t respond. I hadn’t heard
the door, so he hadn’t dashed into the street, tearing his hair in remorse. I
toted the dessert to the living room, where he stood gazing out the darkened
window.

“You still want a brownie?” I
asked. “I’m having one.”

“Thanks.” He didn’t look at me,
but he accepted the plate.

The sound of our forks against
the saucers and the tick of my grandmother clock were the only noises in the
apartment. The cats must have fallen asleep.

“Why did Samantha do that to us?”
I asked, once I’d reached the last few bites. It might be safer to let him
think she’d pushed the hornies on me as well.

“Who knows?” He took a bite of
brownie, and his lips tightened on the fork. After he swallowed, he added
darkly, “It wouldn’t be the first time.”

“Can she be, I don’t know,
censored for using her powers to do evil?” I’d demanded she stop with the
pushing after our site visit, and she’d lasted two days. Were her deviousness
and her relationship with a creepy Psytecher indicators she wasn’t to be
trusted on a grander scale?

Like, say, with corporate secrets?

John set his plate on an empty
curio table. I could see his countenance reflected in the glass. “It’s hard to
prove, and there are no official sanctions for it. I should have known better.”

Known better than to kiss me?
“This isn’t a big deal, John. We didn’t do anything I regret.” A lie—I
regretted that we hadn’t kissed more.

“I appreciate that you aren’t
angry with me for taking advantage of you.”

“Don’t be ridiculous.” If he
played the hangdog much longer, I was going to slap him out of it. “I coerced
you into helping me move furniture. Who’s taking advantage of whom?”

“Cleo, I won’t try to lie to
you,” he said. Which one of us was he trying to convince? “I’m attracted to
you, but we work together. It wouldn’t be smart.”