Author's Disclaimer: First and foremost, I must admit that Max & Co. are not, in fact, my very own. They're claimed by several different companies, none of which know I'm using them, let alone consent to that use. I can only beg them not to sue me, as they'd get no money and I'd probably cry at them. This story is written solely for my own enjoyment and to bolster my over-large ego. Mia and the actual story are copyright 2001 by Jennifer Craig.
"Viva
Las Vegas!"
Sun, sleep, and the smell of tequila—this isn't what I expected from my vacation. These were Dr. Roberto Martinez's first thoughts upon awakening in an unfamiliar hotel room. How did I get here? He glanced around—it was an awfully nice room, too. And who's paying the bill? Well, I'm in a bed, so I wasn't abducted… unless they're very considerate kidnappers. The angle of the pale light filtering through the blinds was too wide for morning. Berto vainly squinted at the glowing green numbers of the bedside clock then blindly groped along the bedside table for the glasses that would bring the room, if not his situation, into focus—and froze as a slender, tanned arm slid over his shoulder and slipped the eyeglasses under his hand. He swallowed his panic and slowly slid the glasses onto his nose before turning to face whomever was behind him.
A young woman—one with more curves and fewer clothes than he normally ever saw outside the confines of his own imagination—smiled nervously at him from her half of the bed. Her blonde hair was bright enough that it was probably out of a bottle—Berto was profoundly grateful that he didn't seem to know for sure if it was her natural color.
"Um… hi. I, uh, I'm glad you woke up; I was just about to leave a note… What's wrong?" She asked, puzzled as his blush reached historic proportions.
Berto felt as if he'd been hit by a truck—a curvaceous, lovely truck. "Who are you?"
The woman looked embarrassed and sat up, clutching a sheet to salvage her modesty and Berto's blood pressure. "Oh… Um, I'm Mia. We met at a club last night…" Her voice trailed off hopefully only to rise in a sigh at his blank stare. "Oh; you don't remember at all, do you?"
"I'm sorry, I—" Berto began hastily. The girl waved her hand quickly.
"No, no, it's okay; you had a lot to drink." Mia toyed with the edge of the sheet, embarrassed.
"I did?" He frowned. "I don't usually…" He stopped mid-sentence as a horrible thought struck him; he tried, as surreptitiously as possible, to check himself for clothes. "Did we…?"
Mia giggled at his expression, losing her self-consciousness. "No; don't worry." She grinned at him. "And don't think that I'm not disappointed—I went out last night all ready to get drunk and do something stupid, and ended up talking to someone." She leaned back against the headboard, giggling; Berto grinned in return.
"Alright, I'm starting to remember you now—or at least that sense of humor " And he was. Hazy memories were surfacing slowly; they had met at a club and talked in the breaks between the loud music. They'd talked about friends, childhoods, work—the specifics of his kept carefully vague, of course—but as the evening progressed, the conversation turned to being alone. They both felt isolated; he by the intellectual barrier between himself and most people his own age, and she because a turbulent youth and a recent stay in a cult had left her without close friends and with no immediate family save an estranged father. From the club, they'd gone to a diner and then to this hotel. Berto shook his head in amazement—he could visualize Max waking up in a hotel room next to a scantily-clad blonde, but not himself—and glanced around the room, slowly taking in the gaudy décor and the overall red-and-pink tone of the room. An icy hand of dread clutched at his stomach and he slowly looked down at the bed. His suspicions confirmed, he groaned; the bed was in the shape of an enormous heart. "This… is the honeymoon suite?" At Mia's nod, he leaned his head on his hands. "Tell me we weren't drunk enough to get married."
Mia's expression was a study in indignation. "Of course not! This was just the only room they had available. What kind of a girl do you think I am?" She paused, considering her position and half-clothed state and grinned "Don't answer that. Close your eyes," she demanded imperiously before sliding out from under the sheets. Berto hastily complied and listened to the whisper of cloth as she dressed. There was no need to peek; the image of her half-clothed body was imprinted on the inside of his eyelids—possibly for the rest of his life.
"Okay, you can open them now," Mia chirped. She hesitated as he complied, wringing her hands. "Hey, listen… I know you've got to be in a hurry to get back to your vacation plans, but would you like to join me for breakfast?" She smiled nervously. "You know, to make up for ruining your reputation."
Berto gaped at her for long enough that she fidgeted nervously.
"If you've got other things to do, I understand, of course—," she offered.
Berto shook his head. "No, that'd be great; I'm starving. Just give me a minute to get dressed, okay?" the young N-Tek agent replied.
Mia grinned. "Now that's a shame. Alright; I'll meet you down at the hotel restaurant." She waved and left the room with a spring in her step; a few moments later, he heard the door of the main suite bang shut. He leaned back against the headboard for a few minutes to get his bearings. A beautiful girl just invited me out for breakfast—and is, unless I miss my guess, flirting with me. He snuck a look in the mirror—in it's novel location on the ceiling—half-expecting to see his friend Max Steel, secret agent and all-around chick-magnet extraordinaire, staring back at him. This isn't what I expected from my vacation, but I'm not complaining.
* * *
Later, over croissants and coffee, Mia smiled at him over her concoction—she had ordered some ungodly brew of chocolate, cinnamon, and espresso that had taken a full minute to rattle off and probably been prepared by a barista with an advanced degree in chemistry—and asked him why he decided to come to Las Vegas for his vacation. "Not that I'm complaining, mind you," she added, winking one round brown eye at him. Berto grinned and sipped his hot coffee while he composed a reply.
"I guess… because it was the last thing people expected of me," he answered finally. Mia quirked her eyebrows at him curiously as he continued. "At least a week of vacation is mandatory for ag—employees at N-Tek." He paused as Mia brightened.
"N-Tek, that extreme sports company? Wow; I have a friend who swears by their stuff," she interjected before waving a hand in apology. "Sorry; go on, please." She prompted, licking a bit of whipped cream off her finger. Berto gulped and took a sip of his coffee, stalling for time until he felt could trust his voice again.
"So, a friend of mine heard about my vacation time and asked me if I was planning to spend it alphabetizing my CD collection or something. And since that was just about what I was planning to do…" He smiled sheepishly and won a grin in return. "…I just blurted out the first place that came to mind; I wanted to go somewhere he wouldn't." Mia nodded in understanding and Berto continued, encouraged. "See, my friend—Max—," he absently noted a slight shift in his companion's posture, "—is really into extreme sports, but he was raised pretty conservatively, otherwise. He'd never come to Vegas." He trailed off and gazed at her—Not a hardship, he mused—over the rim of his mug. "You've been pretty quiet—what brings you to Vegas?"
She smiled. "What's a nice girl like me doing in a place like this, you mean?" She paused and glanced away. Though she had more-or-less retained her composure through a drinking spree, waking up with a near stranger, and dealing with the hotel waitstaff, Mia suddenly looked uncomfortable. Tracing the handle of her coffee mug with one thumb, she spoke in with her sweet soprano voice barely above a whisper. "I… I came here looking for my father. I think I mentioned him to you last night…?" She trailed off with a questioning tone; he nodded encouragingly. She glanced back down at her exotic coffee, keeping her gaze fixed on it as she continued, sotto voce. "I lost track of him when I was fifteen… or maybe it was the other way around. Anyway, I had tracked him here to Vegas…." She trailed off again and took a deep, shaky breath before continuing. "But when I got here, his apartment was deserted… It looks like no one's been there in months. And… there are things missing, things I know he wouldn't abandon." She seemed to huddle around herself for a moment before glancing up at him with melting brown eyes. She looked so alone, so lovely and vulnerable, that he was struck by a near indomitable urge to hold and protect her—it was as if someone had stepped into his mind and flipped the Jungian hero-archetype "on" switch. He dismissed the urge as something that would work far better for the Max Steels of the world than for him and contented himself with reaching across the table to squeeze her hand. She smiled bravely at him, though obviously near tears, and he felt another jolt of protective impulse run through him.
"How can I help?" he asked. Her smile warmed a little and she squeezed his hand, inspiring a jolt of something more Freudian than Jungian.
"Thank you. I… don't know what you can do; I've never dealt with anything like this before." She held his bespectacled eyes with her own sincere brown ones for a moment. "But I'm really glad to find someone willing to help."
Berto gave her hand another quick squeeze then released it, taking a speck of guilty pleasure in her fleeting expression of disappointment. "Well, I've dealt with this stuff before—" Or at least followed Max through it, he corrected himself, "—and the first step is to finish breakfast. Then we can stop by your dad's apartment to look for clues."
She smiled at him, brightening, then quirked her eyebrows. "Clues?"
Berto grinned. "Yeah; footprints in the flowerbeds, fingerprints—" I almost said "bloody fingerprints;" why do I have a bad feeling about this case? "—and pads of paper with handwriting imprints." He tossed a little plastic creamer container at her, which she caught with surprising speed. Huh; she was definitely a softball player in school. "Now, finish your breakfast."
* * *
Mia had been right when she said the apartment looked abandoned; a thin layer of dust covered everything. The young woman shivered as she took in the vacant suite, so tangibly devoid of life. I can only imagine what's going through her mind right now, Berto thought; he patted her comfortingly on the shoulder and moved past her to investigate the deserted apartment. After a cursory glance over the furnishings and pictures—there were a few of a smiling, brown-haired woman, but none of a younger Mia—he moved to the desk. After a quick examination of its surface and drawers, he frowned and glanced up at his companion. "Mia, you were right when you thought that something strange was going on; all his files are gone, including the CD's and diskettes. The thing is, the computer is still here; if someone broke in after the files, they'd have just taken the CPU and tried to decrypt it elsewhere. Also…" he paused, glancing around the apartment. "The apartment hasn't been rented out again; no one has even claimed his belongings. It doesn't make sense for the landlord to have just left the place untouched for so long." Mia nodded and moved up behind him; Berto's normally agile mind fogged over with her proximity.
"You're right," she opined. "I spoke to the landlady earlier; someone's been making the rent payments, but she hasn't seen anyone going in or out. Dad doesn't have enough money to keep up two homes. The only explanation I can think of is that someone wants him to be traced to this place, wants it here for someone to find." Her voice was thin with strain and Berto squeezed her shoulder before his eye was caught by a dimly familiar symbol on a crumpled piece of paper in the wastebasket. He leaned over to pick it up and slowly smooth the folds.
"This is… biochemistry, isn't it?" he asked. Mia leaned over his shoulder and nodded.
"Yeah; Dad's a research biochemist. He specialized in genetics, I think. Is that important?" She gazed up at him with round, brown eyes.
Berto melted under her regard and eyed the paper with new intensity. "Well, biochemistry and genetics are fields under a lot of focus, these days. His knowledge would be very valuable at the moment." He turned to meet Mia's eyes. "Mia, what was your father's full name? I have friends I can ask for information."
Mia smiled, her eyes lighting up with gratitude. "Dr. Edmund Maurice."
* * *
"Hey, Rachel, can you do me a favor?" Berto glanced away from the phone booth to wave at Mia, who was enjoying an ice-cream cone on a sun-drenched bench some twenty yards away. She waved back and smiled, swinging her legs from the high seat. Those legs distracted him enough that when Rachel replied, he had to ask her to repeat herself.
"I said," responded the older N-Tek agent in mildly caustic tones, "That I'll do anything that doesn't involve letting you come back early."
Berto grinned. "I think I can work within that constraint." He continued in a more serious tone, "I need information on a biochemist named Edmund Maurice."
"Maurice?" The surprise in Rachel's voice was almost palpable. "I don't even have to look him up; his case file came across my desk just a week ago. He's an authority on nuclear-transfer cloning; he disappeared a few months ago. Hang on; our system has red-flagged the file—."
Berto waited as Rachel scanned the file, but was unprepared for her sudden sharp intake of breath.
"It looks like you'll be cutting your vacation short after all, Martinez; the file was red-flagged because we got new information. One of our DREAD informants reports that Dr. Maurice is working for Psycho—."
"What?" Berto exclaimed; at his outburst, Mia glanced up from her contemplation of the pigeons to regard him curiously. He waved reassuringly and returned his attention to Rachel, whose raised eyebrows he could see as clearly as if she was standing in front of him. "I mean, is he working willingly or is he being forced? I… I'm looking into this for his daughter, and I need to know how much to tell her."
"Ah," the older agent replied, her voice bland. "Well, we've no specific information; it's difficult for our moles to get much detailed intelligence out. However, I'm putting you back on duty—you can take your mandatory vacation time later—and I'm sending Max down to help with the investigation."
Berto nodded before remembering that she couldn't see. "Alright; let me know where and when to meet Max, okay?" He quickly gave her his hotel and room number.
"I want you out and about investigating this until he gets here; I'll have him find you. Wait; you said you first got into this because you met Maurice's daughter? Would we have a file on her?"
Berto shook his head, "No, she's a sweet girl; she seems overwhelmed by the whole mess. Besides, she can't be much older than I am."
Rachel chuckled. "Ah, but we have a file on you. I'll look into it; most likely, she's not an agent of DREAD or anyone else. Still, watch your back."
"You've got it, hermana." Berto replied, before hanging up the phone. He walked back to Mia, acknowledging her bright smile with a quick grin and guilty thoughts. How long is she going to smile at me like that with a real hero around to hold her attention? He frowned inwardly at thinking of Max, his partner and friend, that way. Mia gazed up at him from the remains of her ice cream cone and waved him to a seat on the bench beside her.
"Berto, what's wrong?" She leaned forward, brown eyes wide and concerned. He smiled quickly.
"Nothing, really," he replied. "My vacation has just been cut a little short." He was guiltily gratified by her distressed reaction.
"You're leaving? But—," she began. Berto shook his head.
"No, I'm sticking around. But my friend at N-Tek has a few ideas about where your father might be; she's sending down a special investigator to help find him."
Mia's lovely brow furrowed in puzzlement. "That's wonderful… but why would N-Tek be so concerned about my dad?"
Because your dear old dad could help Psycho engineer an army of superhuman killing machines or a mutating plague virus that could destroy the world as we know it. "I don't know," he hedged. "But N-Tek is a conglomerate; we have our fingers in a lot of pies."
Mia giggled. "That's a good way to describe it." She gave him another melting smile and squeezed his hand lightly. "I'm really glad you're here, Berto; you're helping me just out of the goodness of your heart, not because of an assignment." They regarded each other solemnly for a moment before Mia broke the moment by leaping up and dragging him to his feet by the hand she held. "Come on; we have a while until your friend gets here and I want to go to the zoo!" Berto laughed and followed her after a moment of unease. It wasn't until later that he identified the reason for his puzzlement; she'd called Max his friend when Berto had only referred to him as a special investigator. It was a polite convention, he decided finally. After all, even if she could read lips, she couldn't have learned anything from my side of the phone conversation with Rachel. Then; Fighting DREAD has made me paranoid… or maybe its just Rachel. With that thought, he drifted off to sleep—alone, mores the pity.
* * *
Over the course of the day they visited the zoo, a few casinos, and finally a horror movie that had Mia eeping and huddling against a very amenable Berto. It might have been this that allowed Mia to extract a promise from him to meet her for breakfast. They were in the middle of a heated debate about human cloning—because of her father's work in genetics, Mia had given the subject much more thought than he had—when Max showed up. Mia was caught up in one of her main arguments, gesturing emphatically with a forkful of blueberry waffle.
"—But we don't refer to incest or rape as "reproductive freedom." Cloning—," she paused, mid-tirade, to blink at Max as he flopped down on Berto's side of the corner booth and signaled for a waitress. "What…" she hesitated as Max gave Berto a friendly slap on the shoulder and further relaxed at the younger agent's answering grin.
"Hey, Berto; we've been missing you at N-Tek. Sorry you had to cut your vacation short," Max offered.
"Thanks, hermano; good to see you again." He gestured to Mia, who had set her fork down and was looking puzzled. "This is Mia, Dr. Maurice's daughter. Mia, this is Max Steel, the investigator I was telling you about."
Mia smiled politely and shook hands with Max. "It's a pleasure to meet you; I'm so glad you're here to help."
Max straightened in his seat, his "hero" persona switching into high gear. "I'm glad to help, Mia."
She smiled. "I'm sure you two have a bit to catch up on; could you excuse me for a minute?" she smiled at Berto and left in the direction of the ladies' room.
Max watched her go, then nudged Berto in the ribs. "That really beats alphabetizing your CD's, bro." Berto reddened as Max continued hurriedly. "She seems nice. The thing is…" he frowned faintly, "Rachel went through Dr. Maurice's file and he doesn't have a daughter." He waved reassuringly as his partner straightened in alarm. "There was a reference to a high-security file near the notation… so it's probably just that she's the clone of his dead wife, or something. Oh, is that boysenberry?" The young agent reached for the syrup, delivering his news with the aplomb of a man used to dealing with everything from megalomaniac terrorists to nosy younger-sister wannabe's on a daily basis.
Berto shook his head in confusion. "That would explain why she's so against human cloning, but—." He paused as Mia approached the table again—Max was amused to note that the news that his new flame might be an unnaturally-created genetic experiment in no way lessened his partner's slightly glazed reaction to her. Mia set her purse on the table and slid across the u-shaped bench to cuddle close to Berto; the young agent melted into a sticky puddle at the attention, then jumped.
"Ow!" he exclaimed. Mia smiled, seeming less than apologetic.
"Sorry; static shock, I guess." She gave an ingratiating smile that froze in place as he slowly sagged in his seat and slumped against her shoulder.. She turned to the shocked Max with a decidedly cold glint in her eyes. "Darn; he was a good conversationalist, too." As Max moved to lunge toward her, an angry snarl slid across her pretty face, gone almost before it came. "Hold it, hero; first, the sedative I gave him may just have included a lethal neurotoxin." She smiled tightly as Max's eyes narrowed. "Also, I may just have forgotten the antigen in my other purse. Then again, I may not have." Her arm tensed as Max shifted in his seat. "Also, in case you're misguided enough to think you can find another antidote in time, I have a pistol right behind his kidney." She held his gaze with cold brown eyes until a glimmer of resignation showed in his face, then continued. "On the other hand, if you cooperate, there's a good chance that we'll all get what we want. There, I think that covered everything." She nodded toward her purse on the table, keeping her eyes on the seething N-Tek agent. "There's a pair of glorified cuffs in there; please put them on and press the blue button."
Max hesitated for a long moment, jaw tight, before a quiet groan from the somnolent Berto decided him. He slowly opened the purse and donned the dully gleaming titanium cuffs, which were connected by three thick, insulated cords. As he pressed the blue button, Mia relaxed and moved away from Berto.
"Those cuffs can give you an electrical shock that will probably kill even you—they're activated by remote. Let's not test it. Pick up Berto and let's go; our ride is waiting."
* * *
The restaurant staff had bought Mia's excuse for Berto's unconsciousness far too easily, Max mused. She had probably bribed them—they certainly didn't fall all over themselves apologizing for the alleged case of food poisoning. When he got out of this, he'd report them to the Better Business Bureau. He glared at Mia from the opposite seat of the minivan—That's another thing—is DREAD going through budget cutbacks? Where's the sinister, dark limousine? She smiled sweetly at him, gun once again holstered and the remote control on her keychain held firmly in hand, and absently stroked Berto's shoulder as he stirred in his sleep. Well, time for the old pump-the-villain-for information ploy… "Who hired you, Mia? Why are you doing this?" he growled.
Mia's eyebrows arched. "Why, I'm doing just what I told you; I'm trying to find my father. I just decided to take a more direct tact than your bungling search-and-rescue schemes."
Max snorted. "We already know Dr. Maurice doesn't have a daughter—what's your real story?"
Mia's lovely brow furrowed in puzzlement. "What? I—." She paused as the van rolled to a stop. "Well, as the fortune tellers say, all will become clear." She jerked her head toward the door and slid away from Berto, keeping a tight grip on the remote. "Pick him up and get out."
They exited into a cavernous storeroom where Psycho waited with a smug grin—Of course a grin, Max; it's not like he has any other expressions—with a half dozen of his men. Max carefully set Berto down on the cement floor, muscles tensed at the proximity of his—arguably—most hated enemy. Mia walked a little ways off to the side, looking nervous.
"I should've known you'd be behind this, Smiley," he spat. Psycho began to snarl an angry reply—probably along the lines of "Don't call me that!"—but was interrupted by Mia.
"I've kept up my end, Psycho—where's my father?" she snapped. Psycho glared at the tiny faux-blonde for a moment, then gestured to his men; two more entered from the shadows, half leading and half-carrying an elderly bearded man who looked like he was held together with hopes and cobwebs. Mia waved them away and hurried to the dazed man as Psycho's men surrounded Team Steel—at least the part of it that was conscious and standing. "Are you alright, Dad?" she murmured, then smiled at the reply. "Good." Her smile took on a satisfied tinge and she pressed a button on her remote.
Max cringed for a moment, expecting a surge of electricity from the cuffs—only to feel them fall away. While he stood in bafflement, Mia's Luger took out two of the astonished men. He recovered swiftly to sidekick one astounded guard and strike another in the throat with an elbow. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Mia race toward Psycho, but he lost track of her as he was swarmed by four guards—thankfully, the close quarters made their weapons useless.
Minutes later, winded and with his attackers unconscious or worse on the floor, he paused to look for Mia—Psycho had disappeared, but she was near a door grappling with two of his men. As he watched, she grabbed the knife arm of one and delivered a vicious roundhouse kick to his temple—he fell like a log and she used the pause to fire her Luger at the other at the other. He went down in a spray of blood and she paused, panting, to scan the room for other threats. With Psycho's men lying broken on the floor, she gave Max an absent wave and hurried to check on her father—who had wisely huddled against the wall, away from the fighting.
Max approached her, eyes narrowed, and Mia glanced up from the dazed scientist.
"Is Berto okay?" she asked, with no hint of facetiousness.
"He's still unconscious," Max replied curtly. "What the heck were you up to? What's going on?"
Mia glanced at him in amusement. "Wow, you really are a Dudly Do-right type; you can't even use any good swear words." She sighed and rose to her feet, suddenly looking weary. "Well, the Cliff Notes version is this; Psycho kidnapped my father to direct DREAD's excursion into the wonderful world of human cloning." She rolled her eyes. "Apparently, he killed the scientist who was heading up the scheme originally. Anyway, when I came to find him, Psycho recognized me from some freelance intelligence work I've done—not for him; don't look at me like that!—and saw a chance to get his favorite enemy out of the way. He agreed to ransom Dad for you. Since I couldn't rescue my father alone, I brought you here and double-crossed Psycho before he could do the same to me." She smiled sweetly at his flabbergasted expression. "Worship my brilliant tactical mind—and welcome to the bright and sunny world of international espionage and terrorism." She moved to help her father toward the minivan and Max grabbed her shoulder with a growl.
"Hold it; what about Berto?" he snarled. Mia blinked.
"Berto?" she asked in tones of innocent puzzlement.
"You know; the neurotoxin!" Max snapped. Mia shrugged.
"Oh—I lied. Haven't you been paying attention?—I do that a lot." She squirmed out of his suddenly numb grip and led Dr. Maurice toward the minivan, pausing as she helped him step into the back. "Oh; could you help get Berto in here? I called N-Tek from the restaurant; their people should be here soon."
Max gaped at her, then moved to scoop his unconscious partner off the cement and lay him down in the back of the minivan. "Wait; our files said Maurice didn't have a daughter."
Mia looked up from helping her dazed father buckle his seat belt. "Before I went freelance, I worked for N-Tek for awhile—I was a mole in one of those little quasi-religious terrorist fringe groups." She said this as if it were a de facto explanation, then sighed at his blank expression. "The real identities of deep-cover operatives are totally erased—It's a health and safety issue for the mole, y'know?—but I imagine there was a high-security notation in the relevant spots."
Max nodded. "So… you're not the clone of Maurice's dead wife?"
Mia blinked at him for a long moment. "Just get in the van, Max."
* * *
Epilogue:
Max glanced up from Berto's recumbent form as the door of the small sick room clicked shut. Mia entered and arched a manicured eyebrow at him before helping herself to a chair.
"He's not awake yet," Max offered in carefully neutral tones.
A faint smile touched the woman's mouth. "Good; then we can have that heart-to-heart you've been dying for." She leaned back in her chair, crossing her legs and lacing her fingers around one knee, oozing "casual" from every pore. Gone were the jeans and tee of a carefree vacationer; she was neatly clad in a pantsuit that would've been conservative if it weren't bright scarlet. She looked older, more aloof, and more confident—he hadn't thought that last was possible. Max gritted his teeth.
"Why are you still around?" he demanded venomously, his never-stable temper fraying with this new threat to his friend and partner. "I thought you'd be in another state by now, collecting engagement rings."
Mia quirked an eyebrow at his harsh tones and replied thoughtfully. "And I thought we were getting along so well, Max." She shook her head and continued in a marginally less caustic tone. "You really care about him, don't you? That's so very touching." She held up a hand as an angry rejoinder formed on his lips. "An observation, not an evasion, my dear boy." Her tone held just enough supercilious indulgence to leave him speechless with hostility as she continued. "I'm still here because your father—remember, your boss?" Her faint smile widened as he glared, "—has kindly offered me my old job back. Well, a job, anyway." She smiled benignly as Max frowned. "And, despite my experience and my many and exemplary qualifications, I'm sure your esteemed father would be happier if he knew all his agents were working well together. Therefore, you are dismissed." She waved an impeccably manicured hand toward the door. Max bristled and rose to his feet, hands balled into fists.
"If you think I'm going to leave you alone with him after what you did…"
Mia's faint, condescending smile vanished under a frown, her chocolate eyes glittering disconcertingly. "Just what did I do to him, Mr. Steel?" She held up a hand to forestall any reply, answering her own question. "I shamelessly manipulated him and his feelings, yes. I placed his life and yours in danger. I haven't apologized, and I don't intend to. Anything to add? No?" She quirked her eyebrows at him as he glared silently. "Then listen. To me, it was worth it. I saved my father and slowed DREAD's human cloning program, if not ended it. Exchanging all that for one boy's naivete was a bargain at twice the price." She returned his glare, lips pursed.
Max regarded her for a minute, choosing his words with unaccustomed care. "You don't believe that."
Mia blinked, brows twitching toward her hairline, before replying thoughtfully, "You know, Rachel's right—you are smarter than you look. Not that that's saying much." She glanced toward Berto as the rhythm of his heart monitor slowly increased, indicating a present return to wakefulness. She turned back to Max and nodded toward the door. "Off you go." Seeing his hesitation, she continued. "Look, Rachel is waiting right outside—she knows just what I'm going to do. Get your answers from her." Max deliberated for a moment more before slowly exiting into the hall. Alone save for the still-sleeping Berto, Mia sighed and settled back into her chair.
Presently, the N-Tek agent awoke and groped blindly for his glasses; Mia smiled, rose, and slid them under his hand. As the room came into focus, Berto glared at the too-familiar woman who smiled easily in return.
"What are you doing here?" he snapped, focussing through a slowly dissipating haze of pain-killers.
Mia smiled sweetly and helped herself to a seat on the bed. "I already answered that question for your partner; he can give you the short version when he gets back in. Meanwhile…" Her brown eyes widened with every indication of sincerity, "We need to talk about our relationship."
Berto glowered at her before replying, "We don't have a relationship—you were just using me to get your claws into Max!"
"Exactly," she smiled, unmoved by the venom in his voice. "Every smile and every touch, each pout and glance and oh-so-accidental glimpse of bare flesh—it was all carefully calculated to bring your partner into my fiendish clutches." She quirked her eyebrows at his expression. "And since we'll be working together, I thought we'd settle a few things."
Shocked, Berto half-sat up in the hospital bed before collapsing again with a groan; Mia set a hand on his shoulder reassuringly, seeming unsurprised when he shrugged it away. "Working together?" the young N-Tek agent choked out
Mia nodded. "That's right. Again, ask your partner; that doesn't matter right now. What matters is…" She captured his hand before he could pull away—not a challenge, in his weakened state—and lightly traced the back of it with the tip of one finger. She noted his dilated pupils and the frantic beep of the heart monitor with a smile of satisfaction. "What matters is that you still want me. That's not good, you know; office romances so rarely work out." She smiled benignly as he glared.
Between gritted teeth, he replied, "Get away from me."
Mia smiled. "Oh, that's very good; you're well on your way to recovery." She turned his hand over, lightly stroking his palm and arm before abruptly dropping his hand with a frown as he drew breath to call for Max. "Wonderful; admitting that you need help is the first step to solving the problem." Berto stared at her, speechless, as she continued. "But that is a pity, because I really enjoyed talking to you, and going to the zoo, and the movies, and having breakfast with you every morning." She sighed mournfully, regarding him with thoughtful eyes as her fingers crept up to stroke his jaw. "And it's also a pity that I'm not into bondage, because you're so very vulnerable right now…" She leaned down to run her lips under his jaw and over his frozen mouth. "But it's a still greater pity that I can't bring myself to prefer this—" she ran a hand lightly down the midline of his body, eliciting a gasp, "—to this," she continued, lightly tapping his nose with one long finger. "But then, the world is full of tragedies."
Berto gaped at her, breathless with desire and speechless with anger; Mia smiled disarmingly and moved toward the door.
"Mia…" he called, after a moment's internal debate.
She paused at his voice, a hand on the doorknob, and turned with an inquisitive eyebrow arched. "Yes…?"
Berto watched her for a minute. "The apartment—who was paying the rent?"
Mia blinked in surprise. "Oh—I was. It took me months to get enough information to trap Max, and I couldn't let my father lose all his property because of some pesky kidnapper. Anything else?" She quirked her eyebrows hopefully.
"No, that's it." He waved her toward the door. She gave him a quick, vaguely puzzled smile and exited, closing the door of the sick room with a firm click. In the hall she smoothly turned her smile on Max, who was attempting to extract information from an unusually uncommunicative Rachel.
"Could you excuse us, Max?" Mia smiled. "It's girl talk… you know, cramps, men, chocolate…" Rachel smiled at his bafflement and the two women moved off in step, Mia's stiletto heels clicking a sharp mimicry to Rachel's uber-sensible chunky soles.
"How'd it go?" he heard Rachel murmur.
"Point for me… I think." Mia replied. "In any case, my evil plot is firmly in place."
"…'evil plot.' " Rachel echoed, dead-pan.
"Right… Hey, show me the company cafeteria and I'll tell you all about it…"
The two blondes disappeared around a corner and Max shook his head. What cruel fate brought the two of them together to bedevil my life? He slipped back into Berto's room to commiserate.
End.
Author's Notes: Thanks for
reading… now, please give feedback! J This is part of a planned series, but if there's a lack of interest, I
won't subject the archive to the rest of the stories. The next planned segment will follow Mia's meeting with Kat and a
regular Team Steel adventure.