Alien in the Family

were both good fighters, scary good.
    Body slams, double punches, kicks, lunges—they could have gone into the light heavyweight class in the UFC and taken the division easily. Tito was in the featherweight class, I was pretty sure, but he wasn’t here to pass along any clues as to who to put my money on.
    I gathered the frightened Poofs and put them into my purse. “It’s okay, Poofies,” I lied. I pulled the Glock out, just in case.
    I saw something small fly through the air. It was Harlie, and it was heading for the edge of the roof. I dropped the Glock and my purse, kicked off my shoes, and ran. I’d been a sprinter, and I was still great over the short distances. Caught the Poof in the air, had to come to a screeching halt. Didn’t achieve it and went over the edge.
    Lucked into something to grab onto. One-handed. Small ledge, too far from the roof to get back up there. Far too far away from the ground to want to let go. “Harlie, be a good Poof and get on my shoulder.” Harlie scrambled up as requested, and I managed to get both hands on the edge, just in time. Got toes on not much. Felt like glass.
    Okay, this wasn’t good. Tried to use my toes to support, didn’t work. At all. The edge wasn’t all that secure, and I was in trouble. I couldn’t call to Martini or Christopher—not only were they dealing with murderous opponents, but my screaming could cause them to be fatally distracted.
    Of course, my plummeting to my death wasn’t going to sit well with them, either. Right before I started to scream, whatever I was leaning my toes against disappeared, and I felt hands on my feet.
    “It’s a chick,” a male voice called. “Gimme a hand.”
    “Help!”
    “Hang on, sweet cheeks, we got you.” I felt someone near me and risked a look. A big guy wearing a USC Trojans T-shirt was inching along the ledge next to me. He put his arm around my waist. “Got her, guys. Let go, babe.”
    I did and grabbed him. Built like Martini. Thank God. Several pairs of hands pulled us inside. Inside what turned out to be a big suite. “Wow, thanks. I can’t tell you how great your timing was.”
    The guy who’d saved me grinned. “Trojan football at your service, hon. I’m Len.”
    Lots of big guys, all athletes. Fairly drunk, but I wasn’t going to complain. “I’m Kitty, and I need your help. I mean, again.”
    “You a dealer here?” another one asked me.
    “No, why would you think that?”
    “Some of the Hooters girls don’t wear the shorts and stuff,” he answered with a grin. “And you have the job requirements filled.”
    “Filled well!” another voice called. There were affirmations around the room that my rack was all right by Trojan football.
    “Dudes, seriously. I’m a Federal agent and we have a terrorism situation going on.” I looked around and saw the room clock. 11:50 a.m. “We have ten minutes to save thousands of people. Can you please help me?”
    Len gave me an up and down. “Federal agent?”
    “Undercover. My badge is on the roof. Along with my partners. Who are potentially losing fights to the terrorists. Look, thanks for the save, I have to go.”
    “Oh, come on.” One of the others said, getting in front of me. “Why go now?” He was one of the drunker guys. He was also a linebacker if I was any judge.
    I picked up the threat. I didn’t have time for it. “Let me go or come with me. The only options.”
    “C’mon, Kyle, get out of her way,” Len said.
    “You’re only the QB when we’re on the field, Len.” Kyle looked as though he was used to being a problem.
    “I don’t have time for the gang rape plan, okay? I’m not kidding, thousands are going to die.”
    “Sounds great.” Kyle had a few guys backing him.
    Len came up behind me, took my hand, and pulled me away. “Mine, then. Okay? Now, get out of the way.”
    “We’re a team. We share.” Kyle finished his beer, tossed the can, and put out his hand. One of his buddies slapped another into his huge ham-hand. He popped it and started drinking again.
    “I have to get out of here. There’s no time.”
    Len tried to move me out of the room, but the line stopped him. “Who’s gonna know?” Kyle asked.
    “I will,” Len said. I looked behind us. Len had some backers. They weren’t as big as Kyle’s backers, and Kyle’s were all clearly more wasted.
    Time to improvise and hope Gregory hadn’t caused too much damage. “Harlie? Be a good Poof and help me get back to Jeff.”
    The Poof