Gini Koch: Alien Research

“Katherine Sarah Katt-Martini.”

“Do you know the whereabouts of one Herbert Gaultier?”

“No.” My bet was Hell, but the Committee probably didn’t want to hear that.

“Do you know if he’s alive or dead?”

I hesitated. I was under oath. “I think he’s dead.”

“Do you?” The Senator in charge of the hearing leaned forward. “Is that because you killed him?”

“No. I didn’t kill him.” Christopher White had killed him. But he’d had to.

“What about Leventhal Reid?”

“Nope, didn’t kill him, either.” My husband, Jeff, had killed Reid. To save my life.

“LaRue Demorte Gaultier—did you kill her?”

“No. Esteban Cantu killed her.” Accidentally, of course, but that one wasn’t on me. “Then he was arrested. And I didn’t kill him, either.” Other bad guys had killed him, before we could get information from him.

“John Cooper?”

“Nope, didn’t do him in, either.” Charles Reynolds had killed Cooper. Again, in self-defense, defending me and himself.

“Ronaldo Al Dejahl, who killed him?”

“Um, everybody and nobody. Because my bet is that he’s still alive. But lots of us have tried to kill him, and you should be grateful.” James Reader had used the first guy we thought was Ronaldo for a body shield, Jeff had beaten up the real one, but he’d escaped, and my bet was he’d survived the beat-down he’d gotten during Operation Destruction, too, and was out there somewhere, waiting to strike.

The Committee didn’t seem impressed. I didn’t look around, but the room was huge and it seemed filled to capacity with a blur of official-looking people in politically fashion-forward suits, all of whom were giving me the Frowny Face of Displeasure.

“The entire former American Centaurion Diplomatic Corps?” the Senator in charge went on. “What about them? And Howard Taft? Antony Marling and Madeline Cartwright? Ronald Yates? And Beverly, that woman who had the most boring speaking voice in the world. Did you kill all of them and many others, including Gregory from Alpha Four, and Uma from Alpha Six, and the Mephistopheles in-control superbeing?”

Now, these were not so easy to not lie under oath about.

“Yes, sort of. Well, yes, really in the case of Beverly and a bunch of the others. I didn’t do Gregory in, though.” Tito Hernandez had done that. “I took out Moira from Beta Twelve, though.” Jeff had handled her mate, Kyrellis. Just barely, but he’d managed it. “They were all evil and trying to destroy everyone good and the Earth. By the way, how did you know Beverly was Miz Monotone?”

The Committee looked at me derisively. “We’re in your dream,” the Senator in charge said. “And we agree that whoever thought it was a good idea for you to be in such a public position was an idiot.”

“Can we sentence her yet?” one of the other Committee members asked. “Or at least ruin her husband’s budding political career?” The rest of the Committee nodded eagerly. They were all over the idea of disgracing Representative Martini.

“Can I wake up now?”

“Do you want to?” the Senator in charge asked.

“Am I hanging out with The Congressional Grand Inquisition when I wake up?”

“Not as far as any of us know. Today. Tomorrow? Who knows?”

“That’s the story of my life. By the way, as far as dream men go, none of you are what I’d like to see the next time I have a horrible nightmare.”

“Who would you prefer?” the Senator in charge asked.

“Billy Zane would be a good option, he doesn’t get nearly enough work. Hugh Jackman. Chris Evans. Really, anyone who starred in The Avengers would be acceptable. Tom Cruise, Will Smith, Nathan Fillion, pick a hot leading man of choice.”

“Sorry. You already live with the best-looking people on Earth. You’re stuck with us. See you next time, Ambassador.”

“Can’t wait.”

The Senator in charge nodded. “Tomorrow night will come soon enough.”

“As near as I can tell, only if I keep on killing bad guys.”

M Y EYES OPENEDand I looked around. I wasn’t in a big room with a lot of important people looking at me while I incriminated myself and everyone else I knew. I was lying in bed.

I’d had a version of this dream pretty much every night since Jeff had become the Appointed Representative for New Mexico’s 2nd District, starting right after Operation Sherlock had concluded.

Sure, people being murdered left and right and my somehow becoming the “adopted niece” of the two best assassins in the business could give anyone nightmares. But those situations never came up in my dreams. No, I got the nightly reminder of what I was really stressed over—my husband was now in a very public position and we had a hell of a lot of skeletons in our big walk-in closet.

Rolled over. Sure enough, Jeff was in bed next to me. Mr. Clock said it was five in the morning. Heaved a sigh of relief and snuggled next to Jeff.

He made the low growl that sounded like a purr in his sleep and pulled me closer to him. Buried my face in between his awesome pecs, rubbed against the hair on his chest, and let his double heartbeats lull me back to sleep. Thankfully, this time, dreamless.

The smooth sounds of Robert Palmer’s “Addicted to Love” woke me up. Now Mr. Clock shared that it was eight in the morning. I really wasn’t a morning person, but these days Jeff had to go to Capitol Hill most days out of the week, and Jamie liked to get up early to start her day.

However, Jeff wasn’t in bed with me. Not so unusual—he usually heard the alarm before I did.

Got up and trotted into the bathroom. No Jeff. Checked in the closet. No Jeff. Went to the nursery. Happily, I wasn’t having yet another nightmare—Jeff was in there with Jamie and all the animals, from Earth and Alpha Four both.

I received hugs and kisses from our daughter, snuggles from the furred and feathered beasts, and a nice good morning kiss from Jeff. Even when he wasn’t trying hard the man was the best kisser in the universe.

“I hear you two have a big day planned,” Jeff said as he finished helping Jamie dress and the music changed to The Pretenders’ version of “I Got You Babe.”

“Yep. Today’s my ‘be seen being all diplomatic, casual, and yet efficient’ day combined with a Mommy-Daughter day.”

“So, you’re planning to eat every meal and snack, other than dinner, out,” Jeff said more than asked.

“Yes, what’s your point?” Tom Petty’s “Yer So Bad” came on. This was the music mix Jeff had made for our second anniversary. He’d put a lot of thought into it, and I’d been using it as our wakeup music for the past two months.

Jeff grinned. “No point at all. I may be a congressman now, but I still know how to be diplomatic. If you hurry, I have time to keep an eye on Jamie while you shower.” He swung Jamie on his shoulders and gave her what she called a giraffe ride, since a horsy ride required the “horse” be on hands and knees.

“Your sacrifice is duly noted.” I took a fast shower and got dressed while ZZ Top’s “Gimme All Your Lovin’”, Wall Of Voodoo’s “Hands Of Love”, Pat Benatar’s “Never Wanna Leave You”, and Tina Turner’s “Best” played, and Jeff and Jamie romped, assisted by all four dogs, several Peregrines, and a whole mess of Poofs. The cats and many of the Poofs chose to sit this one out and instead spent their time staring at me in the shower. Animals, they truly enriched a family’s life.

In the good old days before my daughter was born, I’d have taken longer to get ready, and not because I was skimping on the lather, rinse, repeat portions or anything now. During Operation Drug Addict some of our enemies had slipped some seriously strong, power-altering drugs into Jeff’s system, which he’d then passed along to our child when I’d gotten pregnant, and she’d in turn passed along to me. We were all about the sharing around here.