Three Fates

together about. This is a team, Jack, not a group made up of roosters and hens.”
    “It has nothing to do with the way you button your shirt, Irish, so cool the feminist jets.”
    “That’s insulting.”
    He headed south awhile, then jogged east again. No tail, he decided, and no surveillance on Tia’s building that he could spot. That could change, but for now, it was handy.
    He let Rebecca stew while he wound his way back home. He circled the building, keyed in the code for the garage he’d had built to his personal specs. The reinforced steel door rose, and he guided the SUV inside.
    He had his Boxster stored inside as well, along with his Harley and his surveillance van. A man, he thought, had to have some toys. Storing them in a public garage had never been an option for him, and not simply because the yearly rate would have outstretched the cost of sending a kid through Harvard Law, but because he wanted them close. And under his own system.
    He climbed out, reset the locks and alarms on the door, on the SUV, then uncoded the elevator. “You coming up?” he asked Rebecca. “Or do you want to sulk in the garage?”
    “I’m not sulking.” She sailed by him, crossed her arms over her chest. “But it would be a natural enough response to being treated like a child.”
    “Treating you like a child’s the one thing I don’t have in mind. Okay, take a pick. You want the rundown of this, that, or the other?”
    She tipped her head up, wishing she wasn’t amused. “I’ll take this.”
    “This would be your brother expressing his concern that you’re staying here with me.”
    “Well, it’s none of his flaming business, is it? And a nerve he has, too, when it’s plain he’s cozied himself up with Tia. And I hope you told him so.”
    “No.” Jack pulled open the elevator door so she could stomp into the apartment. “I told him I was in love with you.”
    She stopped dead, spun around. “What? What?”
    “Which seemed to ease his mind more than it eases yours. I’ve got some things to do. Be back in a few hours.”
    “Back?” As if to catch her balance, she threw her arms out. “You can’t just leave after you’ve said such a thing to me.”
    “I didn’t say it to you. I said it to your brother. Stretch out, Irish. You look beat.” And with this, he closed the door, locked her in and left her stammering curses at him.
    He didn’t go far. It was only one flight down to the base he kept in the building. He worked from there when it was convenient, or when he was simply restless in his apartment upstairs and wanted a distraction.
    Right now he wanted both the convenience and the distraction.
    It was a comfortable space. He’d never seen the purpose in spartan work areas when there was a choice. There were deep chairs, good lighting to make up for the lack of windows, the antique rugs he favored and a fully equipped kitchen.
    He went there first, started coffee and, while it brewed, accessed the messages that had come through on his various lines. He booted up one of the computers ranged over a long L-shaped counter, called up his e-mail and listened to the electronic voice read it out while he fixed the first cup of coffee.
    He answered what couldn’t wait, put aside what could, then shifted to the personal messages. The e-mail from his father made him grin.
    The aliens, having performed hideous medical experiments—of an embarrassingly sexual nature—on us, have returned your mother and me to Earth. You can hear all about it on Larry King. Now that I have your attention, maybe you could spare five minutes to get in touch. Your mother sends her love. I don’t. I like your sister better. Always did. Guess who.
    With a laugh, Jack sat down at the keyboard. “Okay, okay.”
    Sorry to hear about the alien experience. Typically, they insert tracking devices in their abductees. You may want to chew on tinfoil while having any personal conversations, as this is known to jam their frequencies. Just FYI. Recently back in NY. Am keeping gorgeous Irish redhead prisoner in my apartment. Possibility of exotic sexual favors from same may keep me busy for the next couple weeks. Love back to Mom. None to you. I’m not even sure you are my father. You guess who.
    Knowing his father would crack himself up reading the post, Jack hit send. Then got down to work.
    He ran a modified check on Cleo, enough in his estimation to placate Anita. On a separate computer he started a background check on her for