Seven: Give and Take
When Augusta came out of the shower, she only then realized how good she felt. It was amazing, the therapeutic value of a shower. The way physically cleaning the body seemed to make everything else seem so minor, so trivial, nothing to be bothered with. She hadn't realized how awful she'd felt until she didn't feel awful anymore.
The towels were pathetic. They didn't cover her, and she really didn't want to put on her old clothes. She didn't have any choice with her underwear, but to have that shirt back on her skin, it was just icky.
With her underwear back on and the towel firmly wrapped around her chest, she cracked open the door to the bathroom. Ritchie was still asleep on the bed, and the room was pretty dark from the thickness of the drawn curtains. However, it was plain enough to see that her shirt and jeans, from where she'd thrown them on the floor, were no longer there.
Her eye caught on something hanging on the back of the chair that went with the small writing desk. It was a coat. More specifically, it was a man's coat, Seth's black jacket. She picked it up and slung it over her shoulders-it was wide enough, her chest was moderate so it covered her completely. She looked for something to tie around her waist, but didn't see anything.
The alarm that had shot through her when she didn't see her clothes made itself known when she heard the front door click shut. She took a deep breath and knew that she couldn't stand here in the dark forever, she had to go into the other room and find out what was going on. If Seth was still around, he would be expecting her to show herself. And from the looks of it, he had left his coat for her to wear.
The thought of prancing around for him in his own coat sent a mild flip-flop through her stomach. She slipped back into the bathroom and closed the door, her knees feeling strange. She had to sit down on the toilet. Her hair, which was still very wet, and had been combed only by her fingers, hung in her face in thick tendrils. She wasn't used to living like this-living in fear. Had she considered all her options? Running was out, Seth would shoot her, or worse, send Ritchie after her. Had she considered manipulating Seth? After the way he'd kissed her, after the way he'd seemed so bent on believing she was Xanny...no, she'd ruled out manipulating him. Seth didn't strike her as the type that could be manipulated by a woman. He was way to centered on himself to allow that. She thought, with a cruel twist of her mouth, that he was probably a bad lover, considering. A man as attractive as him had to draw women to him, very cheap ones, considering his environment. He had no need to be a lover. They were all probably overeager to please him. He probably didn't even know what a pussy tasted like, her evil little voice piped up. She almost laughed.
His earlier interest in Marcos had been sort of odd. Had he wanted to know about his competition? Did he even consider Marcos his competition? That idea was pretty ridiculous. But if he wanted to know about Marcos, as their deal had been, well, she was going to tell him. Every dirty little detail. Watch him squirm. Things like that would probably make him squirm. If he thought he was going to seduce her, he was going to be very, very sorry. She was highly demanding.
It was probably one of the reasons that Marcos wasn't terribly fond of her. In spite of the fact that they were going to be married. She certainly wasn't overly-fond of him. He could be so cold, so rigid--she hated having to demand things from him, hated having to be so specific about what she wanted. But they got along, their personalities, when they weren't in a sexual environment, clicked rather well, and business-wise it was a very good match. At her age, she knew her choices were limited, if she wanted to maintain her quality of life. Yeah, she could have any handsome young thing she wanted, she knew it, but what good would they do her? She didn't want a puppy, panting at her ankles. She wanted someone who could equal her.
She stood up, feeling a little calmer. Then the light tap on the door caused her heart-rate to triple again.
"Augusta?" It was Seth. "You're taking a little long, aren't you?"
"Be out in ten seconds," she said, and listened for the sound of his steps, walking away. Then she turned out the light and opened the door.
Seth was back in the other room, hovering in the small kitchen, pouring himself a glass of Jack Daniels. She had her arms wrapped tightly around herself as she walked into the room, feeling very vulnerable with all her legs exposed. It was the first time in her life she'd ever felt self-conscious about the length of her legs.
From the look on Seth's face as he turned toward her, her feelings were well-justified. "Where are my clothes?" she asked, a bit sharp.
"I figured you wouldn't want to put dirty clothes back on," he said, before sipping his Jack. "I went and washed them."
"I'm sorry?"
"Washed them. As in put them in a machine."
"This place has a Laundromat?"
"Yeah. Detergent dispensers and everything." He gave her a little smirk. "What, you don't think I know how to wash clothes? Don't worry, your expensive things won't be ruined. I put them on delicate."
She didn't know whether to laugh or thank him. And then she noticed that, without his coat on, his arms were showing. And one of his arms was covered, almost completely, with the same long black reaching spindles that reached up his neck. Against his tanned skin, the effect was quite...alluring.
He followed her eyes. "Hurt like a sonovabitch. You know that the black tattooing needle is the thickest one?"
Her cheek twitched. "Actually, yeah, I did."
He chuckled, swallowing a considerable amount of alcohol. Great, just what she needed--to be alone with a drunk, half-naked man who was, to be honest, very handsome when he wasn't flinging his forty-four around into people's faces.
"I have one, too," she heard herself saying.
His eyebrows arched. "Really?"
"Yeah."
"You gonna tell me where?"
"On the small of my back. A faerie with her wings extended. Blue and purple. Shows only when I wear low-riders and a thong."
The sudden assertion of her own voice felt wrong, but it was too late. His arrogant grin reappeared and he walked back over to the couch, sat down, and patted the cushions. "Where were we?" he asked.
She curled up in the corner. Damn, she wished like hell that she had something to cover her legs. The way he stared down at them, almost hungrily...."You wanted to know about Marcos," she said.
"Yeah, your boyfriend. The one you think is in love with you."
"Well, we are engaged," she said with a sigh.
"Then where's the ring?"
"It was at the jewelry shop. Getting cleaned."
"What happened, you drop it in your caviar?"
She shot him a dirty look. "If you must know, it was damaged in a-"
He leaned closer when she stopped, and didn't start again. "In a..."
"In a fight," she muttered.
His eyes widened. "You were in a fight?"
"Some stupid idiot tried to steal my purse," she said, her voice defensive. "So I punched him. Almost knocked the diamond out of the setting."
"Oh, so you're a tough little rich girl."
"Every now and again."
"Uh huh. So does this Marcos like it when you're tough?"
"He doesn't know about it. I don't tell him things like that."
"Why not? He wouldn't approve?"
She shrugged. "I don't know. I just don't. I told him some stupid story--I don't remember it now."
Obviously he'd been drinking more than just the glass she'd seen when she came into the room, because the next question was even more outrageous than she'd expected. "Well, is he at least good in the sack?"
She gave him a sideglance. "You sure you want the truth?"
His cheek twitched. "Yeah," he said, although his tone was uncomfortable. As if he'd just realized what he'd said.
"He's good," she said. "At a lot of things. But it gets tiring, having to push him into doing what I want."
Seth just stared at her, looking a little more than just confused.
Augusta laughed, suddenly, remembering her previous thoughts. She loved being right sometimes. "You men, you must go to the same club or something...rich and poor, good and bad alike. None of you seem to realize how a woman needs a lot more... priming...before she's ready to pump."
Seth looked away. Hell no, that man was NOT blushing! She curled her legs up underneath her, even thought it pushed her closer to him. "Ah, you too," she said.
"Me too, what?" he asked, finishing his drink and pouring himself another.
"You're just a get in, get out, get on with your life kind of guy," she said. "Like those stupid Chili's commercials. You know, some men consider it a point of pride to make a woman come."
He actually shifted away from her. "You are not implying that I'm not capable of-"
"I'm not implying anything," she said, a bit too innocently. "I'm stating with perfect obviousness. A woman's sexual organs, in case you never noticed, are not like a man's. They need much more than just a drop of the pants to get them ready to go. And I seem to be doing it with all the men who somehow got the idea into their heads that we're self-lubricating."
He was really uncomfortable now, so uncomfortable that he had turned back on her--fight or flight had suddenly chosen fight. "So your man Marcos is a giver, then?"
"Not unless I make him," she said with a rather disgusted sigh. "But every girl eventually wakes up and realizes that Prince Charming doesn't exist, and if he does, he certainly doesn't already know about foreplay, he has to be trained."
It was too much for him. He leaned forward, and whether his look was of malice or lust, she had no idea, but she knew she'd gone too far. "You know," he said, his voice low, "a dog is a man's best friend. Sometimes we love them more than our wives. And dogs need to be trained. Nothing in this world comes ready-made."
She looked away, appearing bored. "Whatever."
"And," Seth added, "men do get bored doing all the giving if they're not getting anything back."
"Men get plenty back-"
"Oh, sure, you think we do. But tit for tat, it's only fair. And how many times have you put a dick in your mouth?"
She glared at him. "Probably not as many as you," she growled.
He leaned over, grabbed her hair, which was still wet, and squishy between his fingers. Damn, it hurt, the way it pulled. Then, as if realizing what he was doing, he let her go.
"You know, I really did want to keep this polite," he said, after a few long seconds that were filled with nothing but the sound of them both trying to regain their breath.
"That idea sort of got thrown out the window the second you asked me about my sex life," she replied.
"True enough." He looked at her, again, finally, and seemed genuinely contrite. "I'm going to go put your clothes in the dryer. Be right back."
%%%%%%%%%%
Marcos was angry. He threw down the papers on his desk, the profile of Seth and Richard Gecko staring back at him from their black and white mug shots. There was a brief rap at the door before it opened, and a head topped with blue hair appeared.
"You wanted to see me?" she asked. "It's getting a little late, isn't it?"
"You know, if you're going to be a member of this family," Marcos said, his voice a bit louder than he intended, "you're going to have to realize that you need to be honest. About everything. So I'll forgive you this once. But I want to know why you didn't tell me how dangerous these men were."
Xanny stopped, blinked, looked at his desk, then back at him. "You didn't know they were dangerous?" she asked.
"Almost every hostage they've ever had has wound up splattered across a hotel room wall because Richard Gecko is a psychopath sex offender."
"Yeah, and you wanted me to bring that up and make you worry about Augusta even more?"
"It would have been the truth."
There was a heavy silence. Xanny sat down in one of the soft leather chairs in front of Marcos' desk. "You already have an office in her house?" she observed, but it sounded more like a question.
"This was her father's old office. She lets me use it. I've been staying here since...with Aunt Anette..."
"Yeah," Xanny said, surprised the conversation switch worked. "You want me to tell you the truth, then, about Seth and me?"
Marcos sat down, and the distance between them, although wide, with the large chairs and even larger desk, felt much smaller. "Tell me," he said.
"As long as Seth believes she's me, which we don't know if he still does, or if he's figured it out or not, Ritchie won't try anything. But as soon as they know she isn't me, I can't make any promises. All we can hope is that some sort of sentimental attachment will keep him from leaving her alone with Ritchie. But I should warn you, Seth is a little bit in denial about the extent of his brother's craze on harming women."
"And how strong is this sentimental attachment? You two didn't part on the best of terms."
"In a way, no, but in another way, yes. I mean, it was because of me that they managed to escape. But Seth thought he was in love with me. He was very angry at me for leaving him."
"And were you in love with him?"
"I thought I was. I realize now that I wasn't. As for him...who the hell knows? Seth's whole life has been about violence and who can shoot first and who can walk away from a fight. It's not like he's really ever been in touch with his sensitive side. But I doubt he'll hurt Augusta himself. It's not his way. He never even slapped me in all the years we were together, and considering how many fights he gets into regularly, that does say something for his character."
"Character. The character of a thief and a murderer."
"Yeah, I know. He always says that he doesn't kill when he doesn't have to, but that doesn't go for much, does it?"
Marcos shook his head, the first lines of worry appearing on his face. "I'll kill them both, personally, if they've hurt her."
"You know," Xanny said, after a pause, "while we're being honest here, I think I should tell you something else."
"What?"
"I've gotten a sense of your fiancée, Augusta...my twin, if that's who she really is. And from what I can gather, I think she might be more capable of taking care of herself in this kind of situation than you might think."
"What do you mean?"
"That side she keeps from you? Yes, Carl and I talk, we always share information," she added, when Marcos looked a little taken-aback. "We suspect that--and please don't think this is too far-fetched--that maybe she and I might have more in common than just a face."
"Well, I hope, to a certain extent, you're right," he said, and then seemed deeply troubled. "Although what the hell all of this is going to do to our lives when she comes back, I don't know."
"Cart before the horse, buddy," Xanny said with a light grin, standing up. "Trust me. No, are we all set for the morning?"
"Carl gave me your list. A motorcycle?"
"Good for cutting across rough terrain. I don't like to be stuck to roads. And the rest?"
"All ready and waiting." He stood up. "I'll be coming with you."
She stopped in her tracks, which had been heading for the door. "Excuse me?"
"I'm coming along," Marcos said, very causally as he scooped up his papers. "I am paying for this, I want to oversee it personally."
"I don't think that's a good idea," Xanny protested. "Things could get ugly-"
"And Augusta isn't the only one with a hidden tough side," Marcos said, his grin slightly cocky.
Xanny shook her head. "You're crazy. And crazy in this way could be dangerous. I'll only allow it on one condition."
"You'll ALLOW," Marcos echoed.
"Yes, ALLOW," she shot back. "Or we can quit and walk off the case."
"You wouldn't do that-"
"I would, before I'd put innocent people in danger."
They stared at each other for a long moment. Then, Marcos sighed. "Yes, your condition?"
"You follow orders. If we tell you to duck and cover, you do it. We tell you to run, you do it. We tell you to sit down when you pee, you do it. Got it?"
He stared at her, his earlier shock returning. No one ever talked to him like that, not even Augusta. And it bothered him that he sort of liked it, coming from a woman with very blue hair and Augusta's face, but without her cold eccentricity. "Within reason, and you have a deal."
"Sitting down when you pee isn't reasonable? We women have to do it," she said with a smile. "Now, I'm going to bed. See you at five."
When Augusta came out of the shower, she only then realized how good she felt. It was amazing, the therapeutic value of a shower. The way physically cleaning the body seemed to make everything else seem so minor, so trivial, nothing to be bothered with. She hadn't realized how awful she'd felt until she didn't feel awful anymore.
The towels were pathetic. They didn't cover her, and she really didn't want to put on her old clothes. She didn't have any choice with her underwear, but to have that shirt back on her skin, it was just icky.
With her underwear back on and the towel firmly wrapped around her chest, she cracked open the door to the bathroom. Ritchie was still asleep on the bed, and the room was pretty dark from the thickness of the drawn curtains. However, it was plain enough to see that her shirt and jeans, from where she'd thrown them on the floor, were no longer there.
Her eye caught on something hanging on the back of the chair that went with the small writing desk. It was a coat. More specifically, it was a man's coat, Seth's black jacket. She picked it up and slung it over her shoulders-it was wide enough, her chest was moderate so it covered her completely. She looked for something to tie around her waist, but didn't see anything.
The alarm that had shot through her when she didn't see her clothes made itself known when she heard the front door click shut. She took a deep breath and knew that she couldn't stand here in the dark forever, she had to go into the other room and find out what was going on. If Seth was still around, he would be expecting her to show herself. And from the looks of it, he had left his coat for her to wear.
The thought of prancing around for him in his own coat sent a mild flip-flop through her stomach. She slipped back into the bathroom and closed the door, her knees feeling strange. She had to sit down on the toilet. Her hair, which was still very wet, and had been combed only by her fingers, hung in her face in thick tendrils. She wasn't used to living like this-living in fear. Had she considered all her options? Running was out, Seth would shoot her, or worse, send Ritchie after her. Had she considered manipulating Seth? After the way he'd kissed her, after the way he'd seemed so bent on believing she was Xanny...no, she'd ruled out manipulating him. Seth didn't strike her as the type that could be manipulated by a woman. He was way to centered on himself to allow that. She thought, with a cruel twist of her mouth, that he was probably a bad lover, considering. A man as attractive as him had to draw women to him, very cheap ones, considering his environment. He had no need to be a lover. They were all probably overeager to please him. He probably didn't even know what a pussy tasted like, her evil little voice piped up. She almost laughed.
His earlier interest in Marcos had been sort of odd. Had he wanted to know about his competition? Did he even consider Marcos his competition? That idea was pretty ridiculous. But if he wanted to know about Marcos, as their deal had been, well, she was going to tell him. Every dirty little detail. Watch him squirm. Things like that would probably make him squirm. If he thought he was going to seduce her, he was going to be very, very sorry. She was highly demanding.
It was probably one of the reasons that Marcos wasn't terribly fond of her. In spite of the fact that they were going to be married. She certainly wasn't overly-fond of him. He could be so cold, so rigid--she hated having to demand things from him, hated having to be so specific about what she wanted. But they got along, their personalities, when they weren't in a sexual environment, clicked rather well, and business-wise it was a very good match. At her age, she knew her choices were limited, if she wanted to maintain her quality of life. Yeah, she could have any handsome young thing she wanted, she knew it, but what good would they do her? She didn't want a puppy, panting at her ankles. She wanted someone who could equal her.
She stood up, feeling a little calmer. Then the light tap on the door caused her heart-rate to triple again.
"Augusta?" It was Seth. "You're taking a little long, aren't you?"
"Be out in ten seconds," she said, and listened for the sound of his steps, walking away. Then she turned out the light and opened the door.
Seth was back in the other room, hovering in the small kitchen, pouring himself a glass of Jack Daniels. She had her arms wrapped tightly around herself as she walked into the room, feeling very vulnerable with all her legs exposed. It was the first time in her life she'd ever felt self-conscious about the length of her legs.
From the look on Seth's face as he turned toward her, her feelings were well-justified. "Where are my clothes?" she asked, a bit sharp.
"I figured you wouldn't want to put dirty clothes back on," he said, before sipping his Jack. "I went and washed them."
"I'm sorry?"
"Washed them. As in put them in a machine."
"This place has a Laundromat?"
"Yeah. Detergent dispensers and everything." He gave her a little smirk. "What, you don't think I know how to wash clothes? Don't worry, your expensive things won't be ruined. I put them on delicate."
She didn't know whether to laugh or thank him. And then she noticed that, without his coat on, his arms were showing. And one of his arms was covered, almost completely, with the same long black reaching spindles that reached up his neck. Against his tanned skin, the effect was quite...alluring.
He followed her eyes. "Hurt like a sonovabitch. You know that the black tattooing needle is the thickest one?"
Her cheek twitched. "Actually, yeah, I did."
He chuckled, swallowing a considerable amount of alcohol. Great, just what she needed--to be alone with a drunk, half-naked man who was, to be honest, very handsome when he wasn't flinging his forty-four around into people's faces.
"I have one, too," she heard herself saying.
His eyebrows arched. "Really?"
"Yeah."
"You gonna tell me where?"
"On the small of my back. A faerie with her wings extended. Blue and purple. Shows only when I wear low-riders and a thong."
The sudden assertion of her own voice felt wrong, but it was too late. His arrogant grin reappeared and he walked back over to the couch, sat down, and patted the cushions. "Where were we?" he asked.
She curled up in the corner. Damn, she wished like hell that she had something to cover her legs. The way he stared down at them, almost hungrily...."You wanted to know about Marcos," she said.
"Yeah, your boyfriend. The one you think is in love with you."
"Well, we are engaged," she said with a sigh.
"Then where's the ring?"
"It was at the jewelry shop. Getting cleaned."
"What happened, you drop it in your caviar?"
She shot him a dirty look. "If you must know, it was damaged in a-"
He leaned closer when she stopped, and didn't start again. "In a..."
"In a fight," she muttered.
His eyes widened. "You were in a fight?"
"Some stupid idiot tried to steal my purse," she said, her voice defensive. "So I punched him. Almost knocked the diamond out of the setting."
"Oh, so you're a tough little rich girl."
"Every now and again."
"Uh huh. So does this Marcos like it when you're tough?"
"He doesn't know about it. I don't tell him things like that."
"Why not? He wouldn't approve?"
She shrugged. "I don't know. I just don't. I told him some stupid story--I don't remember it now."
Obviously he'd been drinking more than just the glass she'd seen when she came into the room, because the next question was even more outrageous than she'd expected. "Well, is he at least good in the sack?"
She gave him a sideglance. "You sure you want the truth?"
His cheek twitched. "Yeah," he said, although his tone was uncomfortable. As if he'd just realized what he'd said.
"He's good," she said. "At a lot of things. But it gets tiring, having to push him into doing what I want."
Seth just stared at her, looking a little more than just confused.
Augusta laughed, suddenly, remembering her previous thoughts. She loved being right sometimes. "You men, you must go to the same club or something...rich and poor, good and bad alike. None of you seem to realize how a woman needs a lot more... priming...before she's ready to pump."
Seth looked away. Hell no, that man was NOT blushing! She curled her legs up underneath her, even thought it pushed her closer to him. "Ah, you too," she said.
"Me too, what?" he asked, finishing his drink and pouring himself another.
"You're just a get in, get out, get on with your life kind of guy," she said. "Like those stupid Chili's commercials. You know, some men consider it a point of pride to make a woman come."
He actually shifted away from her. "You are not implying that I'm not capable of-"
"I'm not implying anything," she said, a bit too innocently. "I'm stating with perfect obviousness. A woman's sexual organs, in case you never noticed, are not like a man's. They need much more than just a drop of the pants to get them ready to go. And I seem to be doing it with all the men who somehow got the idea into their heads that we're self-lubricating."
He was really uncomfortable now, so uncomfortable that he had turned back on her--fight or flight had suddenly chosen fight. "So your man Marcos is a giver, then?"
"Not unless I make him," she said with a rather disgusted sigh. "But every girl eventually wakes up and realizes that Prince Charming doesn't exist, and if he does, he certainly doesn't already know about foreplay, he has to be trained."
It was too much for him. He leaned forward, and whether his look was of malice or lust, she had no idea, but she knew she'd gone too far. "You know," he said, his voice low, "a dog is a man's best friend. Sometimes we love them more than our wives. And dogs need to be trained. Nothing in this world comes ready-made."
She looked away, appearing bored. "Whatever."
"And," Seth added, "men do get bored doing all the giving if they're not getting anything back."
"Men get plenty back-"
"Oh, sure, you think we do. But tit for tat, it's only fair. And how many times have you put a dick in your mouth?"
She glared at him. "Probably not as many as you," she growled.
He leaned over, grabbed her hair, which was still wet, and squishy between his fingers. Damn, it hurt, the way it pulled. Then, as if realizing what he was doing, he let her go.
"You know, I really did want to keep this polite," he said, after a few long seconds that were filled with nothing but the sound of them both trying to regain their breath.
"That idea sort of got thrown out the window the second you asked me about my sex life," she replied.
"True enough." He looked at her, again, finally, and seemed genuinely contrite. "I'm going to go put your clothes in the dryer. Be right back."
%%%%%%%%%%
Marcos was angry. He threw down the papers on his desk, the profile of Seth and Richard Gecko staring back at him from their black and white mug shots. There was a brief rap at the door before it opened, and a head topped with blue hair appeared.
"You wanted to see me?" she asked. "It's getting a little late, isn't it?"
"You know, if you're going to be a member of this family," Marcos said, his voice a bit louder than he intended, "you're going to have to realize that you need to be honest. About everything. So I'll forgive you this once. But I want to know why you didn't tell me how dangerous these men were."
Xanny stopped, blinked, looked at his desk, then back at him. "You didn't know they were dangerous?" she asked.
"Almost every hostage they've ever had has wound up splattered across a hotel room wall because Richard Gecko is a psychopath sex offender."
"Yeah, and you wanted me to bring that up and make you worry about Augusta even more?"
"It would have been the truth."
There was a heavy silence. Xanny sat down in one of the soft leather chairs in front of Marcos' desk. "You already have an office in her house?" she observed, but it sounded more like a question.
"This was her father's old office. She lets me use it. I've been staying here since...with Aunt Anette..."
"Yeah," Xanny said, surprised the conversation switch worked. "You want me to tell you the truth, then, about Seth and me?"
Marcos sat down, and the distance between them, although wide, with the large chairs and even larger desk, felt much smaller. "Tell me," he said.
"As long as Seth believes she's me, which we don't know if he still does, or if he's figured it out or not, Ritchie won't try anything. But as soon as they know she isn't me, I can't make any promises. All we can hope is that some sort of sentimental attachment will keep him from leaving her alone with Ritchie. But I should warn you, Seth is a little bit in denial about the extent of his brother's craze on harming women."
"And how strong is this sentimental attachment? You two didn't part on the best of terms."
"In a way, no, but in another way, yes. I mean, it was because of me that they managed to escape. But Seth thought he was in love with me. He was very angry at me for leaving him."
"And were you in love with him?"
"I thought I was. I realize now that I wasn't. As for him...who the hell knows? Seth's whole life has been about violence and who can shoot first and who can walk away from a fight. It's not like he's really ever been in touch with his sensitive side. But I doubt he'll hurt Augusta himself. It's not his way. He never even slapped me in all the years we were together, and considering how many fights he gets into regularly, that does say something for his character."
"Character. The character of a thief and a murderer."
"Yeah, I know. He always says that he doesn't kill when he doesn't have to, but that doesn't go for much, does it?"
Marcos shook his head, the first lines of worry appearing on his face. "I'll kill them both, personally, if they've hurt her."
"You know," Xanny said, after a pause, "while we're being honest here, I think I should tell you something else."
"What?"
"I've gotten a sense of your fiancée, Augusta...my twin, if that's who she really is. And from what I can gather, I think she might be more capable of taking care of herself in this kind of situation than you might think."
"What do you mean?"
"That side she keeps from you? Yes, Carl and I talk, we always share information," she added, when Marcos looked a little taken-aback. "We suspect that--and please don't think this is too far-fetched--that maybe she and I might have more in common than just a face."
"Well, I hope, to a certain extent, you're right," he said, and then seemed deeply troubled. "Although what the hell all of this is going to do to our lives when she comes back, I don't know."
"Cart before the horse, buddy," Xanny said with a light grin, standing up. "Trust me. No, are we all set for the morning?"
"Carl gave me your list. A motorcycle?"
"Good for cutting across rough terrain. I don't like to be stuck to roads. And the rest?"
"All ready and waiting." He stood up. "I'll be coming with you."
She stopped in her tracks, which had been heading for the door. "Excuse me?"
"I'm coming along," Marcos said, very causally as he scooped up his papers. "I am paying for this, I want to oversee it personally."
"I don't think that's a good idea," Xanny protested. "Things could get ugly-"
"And Augusta isn't the only one with a hidden tough side," Marcos said, his grin slightly cocky.
Xanny shook her head. "You're crazy. And crazy in this way could be dangerous. I'll only allow it on one condition."
"You'll ALLOW," Marcos echoed.
"Yes, ALLOW," she shot back. "Or we can quit and walk off the case."
"You wouldn't do that-"
"I would, before I'd put innocent people in danger."
They stared at each other for a long moment. Then, Marcos sighed. "Yes, your condition?"
"You follow orders. If we tell you to duck and cover, you do it. We tell you to run, you do it. We tell you to sit down when you pee, you do it. Got it?"
He stared at her, his earlier shock returning. No one ever talked to him like that, not even Augusta. And it bothered him that he sort of liked it, coming from a woman with very blue hair and Augusta's face, but without her cold eccentricity. "Within reason, and you have a deal."
"Sitting down when you pee isn't reasonable? We women have to do it," she said with a smile. "Now, I'm going to bed. See you at five."