Crash was crowded tonight. The music blared, the people mingled and the bartenders were losing their patience. Max was loving every minute of it, looking dead sexy in a pair of hot pants and halter she'd borrowed from Original Cindy. She had a helluva time riding her motorcycle, getting catcalls from many men who enjoyed seeing tantalizing ladies in skimpy clothes on hard-bodied vehicles.
All the more reason to enjoy myself, Max smiled as she gulped beer with Sketchy and Original Cindy. She wasn't even worried about Joshua tonight—she had stopped by to see him on the way to Crash, to bring him food and another new book.
"No 'hang out' tonight, little fella?" Joshua asked.
"Can't, Joshua," Max said sympathetically. "I've had a hard day. I need to let loose. I promise, next time, okay big fella?" She hugged him close.
Joshua nodded, pulling away from Max's embrace. He opened one of the grocery bags she'd brought over, took out a Little Debbie box, opened the package and began munching on his favorite snack cakes he had taken a liking for ever since he'd escaped Manticore.
"Remember, no going outside," Max called over her shoulder.
"People get scared," Joshua remembered between bites.
"Exactly. Later."
Yeah, nothing was gonna spoil her night out with Original Cindy. Sketchy decided to tag along at the last minute but Max didn't really care. Hell, the more the merrier. She'd been looking forward to this night all week. She'd even left her pager home along with Logan's cell phone she'd borrowed and never bothered to return.
"Evening, ladies," an all-too familiar voice sounded behind her as she and Original Cindy sat at the bar waiting for their third pitcher of beer.
Max flinched, not wanting to turn around. She had a feeling who it was but like an idiot, she turned and faced Alec, looking kind of sexy himself in tight jeans, a white shirt and a black leather bomber jacket.
"Are you lost, little boy?" Max glared. "Do you need help finding your way home so you can get your momma?"
Raising an eyebrow, Alec retorted, "Yeah, do you think you can follow me there? We can play house: I'll call you momma and you can call me Daddy."
Max flinched, remembering the time they almost copulated back in Manticore. "In your dreams and my nightmares."
"Great, I'll see you there."
"What do you want?" sighed Max, twirling around childishly on the barstool until she was slightly nauseous and her share of beer was not helping to get rid of it. "I'm not about to let you spoil my plans. Remember what I said about that anvil…"
"Hey, who said I was going to spoil your plans? How do I know you're not here to spoil mine?"
"Spoil your plans? Ha! I never knew you had an actual life outside of hookers, beer and being Monty Cora."
"I'm a changed man, Maxie," Alec smirked.
Max almost snorted. "I'll believe it when I see it. Now leave before you make me even more sick than I already am."
"Gee, Max," Alec put a hand on Max's shoulder, squeezed lightly and gave her a sarcastic smile. "You're just as charming drunk as you are sober." He took his hand off of her, flicked a stray strand of her hair away from her eyes and winked at Original Cindy. Max balled up her fist and took a swing at Alec, but missed. He had caught a view of the round butt of a passing blond waitress that most people would describe as a stick, straightened his jacket and followed her.
Was she drunk? For some reason Max almost never got drunk but maybe she'd gone too far tonight.
"Boo, you okay?" Original Cindy asked. "You lookin' paler than a white cat on crack."
"I'm…I'm fine," Max said. "Just a…tad bit ah, woozy. Y'know what? I think I'm just gonna go home right now."
"Nuh-uh, friends don't let friends drive drunk," Original Cindy patted her friend's back. "We gotta get you a taxi or something, boo."
"Why oh why did Alec have to show up just when I was having a good time?" Max grumbled. She stood up, surprised to discover she was not at all tipsy. Her stance was strong and the room wasn't spinning. "Hey, Cindy? I think I'm okay."
"You sure?"
"Uh-huh. I'm just gonna…yeah, just gonna go on home."
"I'll see you there," Original Cindy said vaguely. "I'm gonna lay the smackdown on Sketchy's sorry ass at foosball. Have a nice night, boo."
"Yeah, sure," Max yawned. She walked out of Crash, feeling sorry for herself. Why was Alec getting on her nerves tonight? He never bothered her before. Wait, scratch that—he bothered her all the time. He always showed up where he was least wanted and drove her crazy. Max stepped out into the cold Seattle night and mounted her motorcycle, perched in the bike rack. All she really wanted to do now was smear the glitter off her arms and chest, rinse the gel out of her hair and slip into a soft cotton tank top and baggy-baggy sweatpants.
Unfortunately, as soon as Max stumbled into the door, Logan's cell rang. She picked up with a groggy, "Hello?"
"Max? Where were you? I've been paging you all night," Logan's voice was so steely cold it gave Max the shivers.
"Surprise, surprise. What dastardly deed are the bad guys up to now and can it wait till tomorrow?"
"Listen, if you're not up to it, I can always get in touch with Asha—"
Asha? Max gripped the phone and saw red. How could he suggest that right in front of me, the insensitive bastard! "No, no," Max said quickly. "I can do it. I'm just a little wiped. Seriously. What's the job?"
"Grigory Efminovitch's 18th-century reliquary. Said to bring eternal life and power to its owner."
"Who's Grigory Efminovitch and what's a reliquary and what does this all point to?"
"He was a monk and friend of the tsaritsa Alexandra Romanov. Also known as Rasputin, meaning dissolute, he was looked down upon as a fraud. His reliquary is a small box or glass tube and their made for holing relics—usually human bones."
"Ugh." Max had heard some pretty weird stuff in her short time with Logan, being his eyes and ears, but carrying around a glass box of bones?
"Yeah, I know. Anyway, it's said that Rasputin's reliquary contained the bones of Jesus Christ himself and gave him absolute power. Anyway, the reliquary was in a museum in St. Petersburg until it was stolen and smuggled into the United States. It circulated the black market for months."
"And you're telling me this because?"
"Because there's a price on it's return."
"There's more you're not telling me, Logan Cale. Who's holding the damn thing captive?"
She heard Logan sigh and mutter, "A cult called the Chosen. They think the story of absolute power was real and, of course, bought it."
"A cult? Damn it," she added silently. There was a disconnection from her spine to her brain at the moment. "I'm going after a cult," she yawned. "I'll be over in a few minutes to get the details. Let me get out of these clothes."
"I'm not going to ask."
"Then don't. Later."
A good thing that did, Max thought as she slid out of the hot pants and halter, leaving the damn pager and cell at home.