Alien in the Family

embarrassed.
    Martini laughed. “Too true.”
    “Chuckie knows me pretty well,” I muttered.
    “Yeah? Then how’d he let you shove him through the gate when Reid had you two cornered?”
    He had a point. And Chuckie wasn’t empathic. Okay, we were good.
    My cell phone rang, and I dug it out of my purse. “Hi, Christopher, what’s up?”
    “Oh, we’re just wondering when Airborne’s going to grace us with their presence. And Jeff. The rest of Alpha’s sitting here, taking bets on when Reynolds loses his cool and starts screaming about how late you are.”
    “Chuckie doesn’t lose his cool.” This was true. He’d had a lot of reasons to in high school, when he’d been short, ravaged by acne, and a total geek-nerd combo. He’d never lost it when people had picked on him, though I had. He’d always told me success was the best revenge. Becoming a multimillionaire twice over before he was twenty-five and now running the C.I.A.’s ET Division qualified as overwhelmingly successful in my book. I was, as always, so proud of him.
    “I hate it when you think about him,” Martini muttered to me.
    Focused on the stupid flowers again. They didn’t seem to be working. Maybe I should try trees. “Be there as soon as we get through the gate. By the way, where is ‘there,’ exactly?”
    Christopher sighed. “You don’t know?”
    “No. See, if I knew, I wouldn’t have asked. It’s my crazy little way.”
    “Crazy is the accurate description for you. And, apparently, Reynolds. We’re not in any of our bases.”
    “Um, why not?” I looked around. All of Airborne seemed confused. I looked up at Martini. “They’re not at a base.”
    He raised his eyebrow. “Oh? Where the hell are we going, then?”
    “Jeff has no clue either. Want to share, or do you secretly like hanging with Chuckie waiting for the rest of us?”
    Christopher sighed. “We’re in Las Vegas.”
    “Come again?”
    “Vegas. We’re in freaking Las Vegas. Reynolds is cracking up, by the way.”
    I was sure he was. Chuckie had a wicked sense of humor. And he and I had spent a wild week in Vegas when Circle-K had bought out his chain of convenience stores for the first of those multimillions. That was when he’d suggested we get married, the first time, but I’d thought he was kidding. He hadn’t been, as I’d discovered six months ago, when he suggested it the second time. Before my week with Martini in Cabo, Vegas with Chuckie had been the best vacation, and sex, of my life. And Chuckie would enjoy tormenting Martini, and apparently Christopher, with this knowledge.
    “Let me guess . . . you’re in the Mandalay Bay somewhere.”
    “Oh, you’re good. Yeah, top floor of THEhotel.”
    “Not the Four Seasons?” Which didn’t surprise me at all that much. Chuckie preferred sleek to grandiose.
    “Reynolds says he knows you’ll like THEhotel better.” I could hear how annoyed this was making Christopher.
    “He’s right. We’ll be there as soon as the gate’s calibrated. At least the Vegas bathrooms are clean.”
    “Yeah, wouldn’t want anything to keep you from spending your money quicker.”
    “You don’t like gambling?” I loved it.
    “We gamble our lives every day. Gambling money seems anticlimactic.” Christopher had a point.
    “Well, whatever, be there shortly.” I hung up. I looked around at the team. I couldn’t help it—I was sort of excited.
    “Well?” Martini asked. “Are we heading where it sounded like we’re heading?”
    “Oh, yeah. We’re going to Vegas, baby!”

CHAPTER 8

    MY TEAM HAD THE MOST HUMANS ON IT , and all of them looked pleased. Claudia and Lorraine looked confused. And Martini looked beyond annoyed. “Vegas. Great.”
    “Oh, come on, Jeff. It’ll be fun.”
    “Right. We aren’t going to be having fun. We’re going to be figuring out how to stop my relatives from ruining our lives.”
    “True, but . . . it’s so cheap and tawdry and glittery and loud. And it never sleeps!” I loved Vegas, when you got right down to it.
    Martini sighed. “Can’t wait. Truly.”
    We walked to a gate and calibrated for the McCarran International Airport. Martini sent Tim first, then the rest of our team. He recalibrated quickly, his hand a blur. Then he swung me up into his arms.
    I hated going through the gates. They still looked more like airport metal detectors than anything else to me, but they also brought new meaning to the term “sick to your stomach.” About the only way I