Alien Diplomacy

you’re going to join us.”
    I tried to channel anyone I could think of—Serene, Lockwood, Pierre, Wolverine. Sadly, nothing had really prepared me for this. Neither Aunt Emily nor the Washington Wife class had covered what to do when a gay couple you suspect of some form of treasonand/or dirty dealings whisks you away and, instead of trying to bribe or kill you, asks you to join them in their “bed of love.” I was certain, however, that hysterical laughter probably wasn’t on the list of approved reactions. Unfortunately, it was looking like all I had.
    They both looked at me expectantly. I had nothing to add to this conversation, so I went for the only thing I could think of. “Why did you tell me you thought Jack was murdered?”
    Vance stared at me. Gadoire’s arm tightened around me. “What did you do?” Gadoire asked him. “I told you not to talk about that.”



CHAPTER 79
    V ANCE GRIMACED. “I KNOW YOU THINK I’m crazy, Guy. But I know Jack wouldn’t have killed himself.”
    “So, what, you called the ambassador and shared your wild theory?” Gadoire snapped, with an impressive glare. Not up to Christopher’s standards, but then, none were.
    “No.” Vance shifted uncomfortably then looked down. “I knew you were interested in her. So I wanted to warn her to keep her safe.”
    “Wait, you came to my Embassy, acted like a complete jerk, insinuated you needed my non-Washington-insider help, and ran off the moment bullets started flying, in order to protect me?”
    “You went to their Embassy?” Gadoire sounded furious. “We never discussed that. Wait.” He looked at me. “You were shot at?”
    “Yes, outside the Embassy. It sort of made Vance’s theory seem legitimate.”
    “My dove, we will protect you,” Gadoire said, suddenly all Mr. Pepé Le Macho Man.
    It was taking all my self-control, but I was managing not to give away what I did or didn’t know. I was also just managing to keep the hysterical laughter at bay, but I didn’t know how much longer that was going to last.
    “Protect me from the things you just told Vance you didn’t believe?” I looked at Vance. “You told me you knew who the target was. You told me you were the next in line to be killed because you possessed such knowledge!”
    “Vance,” Gadoire said, sounding like the Stern Headmaster at Acme Academy, “what’s the meaning of this? The truth, Vance. Not some wild story meant to impress the pretty girl.”
    Vance looked up sullenly. “Fine. I really don’t think Jack killed himself. Which means that he was murdered, and the only reason I can get for why is that he warned us all that someone was going to be assassinated at this event.” Vance making this leap in logic actually impressed me. I’d had no idea he could think.
    “And?” Gadoire asked, Headmaster voice on full.
    Vance heaved a sigh. “And, yes, I made the rest of it up. I thought she’d go for it and come with me for protection, so I could bring her home and surprise you.”
    “So, you really have no idea if there’s an actual assassination attempt going down?”
    “No,” Vance said sullenly. “I also really don’t know why anyone was shooting at us.” He glared at Gadoire. “But it proves my theory.”
    Gadoire rolled his eyes. “We’re in a city with half the police force it used to have. All it proves is that some lunatic was shooting off a gun in broad daylight, and those fools running Titan have no concept of how to properly protect any municipality, that idiot Marling in particular.” He cleared his throat. “However, that’s neither here nor there. My dear, let me apologize. I hope Vance’s little fantasy hasn’t spoiled your appetite for us.”
    “Before I respond, let me just get a couple things straight.” They both nodded. “First off, am I right in thinking you’re both bi?”
    “Well, duh,” Vance said. “Why else would we be asking you to have a threesome with us?”
    “Wow, that leads me right to my next question. Why me? I mean, seriously, Vance, I’ve never thought you considered me worthy to empty your spittoon, let alone that you were contemplating intimacy as an option.”
    He shrugged. “You’re Guy’s type. I make concessions.”
    I was Pepé Le Pew’s type? How had this happened? Why had this happened? Who in the Greater Cosmos had I pissed off? I knew exactly how Penny the Cat felt—repulsed and horrified with a big helping of “run away, run away!” Of course, given the