Susan Mallery - Two of a Kind

She walked through the open front door and found herself in a large living room. The furniture was oversize but looked comfortable. Black leather sofa with a couple of chairs and a low coffee table. She could see the dining room beyond and a doorway leading to what she assumed was the kitchen.

She turned the other way, heading down the hallway toward the bedrooms. There was a hall bath, two average-size bedrooms. At the far end, one of a set of double doors stood open.

“The master?” she asked, even as she headed toward it.

“We, ah, weren’t sure who would, ah...” Ford verbally stumbled to a stop.

Consuelo stepped inside. There was a king-size bed, a long dresser and a desk. The attached bath was small but had everything she needed. The closet was more than adequate.

She saw the duffels by the bed and raised her eyebrows.

Ford and Angel exchanged a look and quickly put her luggage on the bed, then carried theirs out. Low conversation carried back to her. She only caught an occasional word—something like “No, you tell her,” and she smiled. It was good to be the meanest, baddest bitch in the house.

Thirty minutes later Consuelo had showered and dressed in jeans and a tank top. She brushed out her thick brown hair, thinking she should never have allowed herself to be talked into a layered cut. Her hair had a natural wave that took over if she didn’t keep her hair well past her shoulders. Now she wrestled the unruly strands into a ponytail. She slipped her feet into sandals and tucked her wallet and cell phone into her jeans pockets. She left the master and headed to the front of the house.

Ford and Angel were in the kitchen. A table stood by a window, and there were bar stools pulled up to the granite counter. Stainless steel appliances gleamed against dark cabinets. The guys each had a beer.

For a second, she felt the separation between them and her. Not just because she was female, but because at the end of the day they were warriors and no matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t see herself as more than a street kid who’d stumbled into a circumstance where she could excel.

“Want one?” Ford asked, pointing to the refrigerator.

“No, thanks. I’m meeting Felicia soon.”

She pulled a hundred dollars out of her wallet and put it on the counter. “Each of you put in the same, and we’ll get the place stocked with basics. Breakfast and snacks only. We each provide our own lunch and dinner.” She cocked her head. “Unless you two want to have one of your bets. Loser cooks for a week and the other two pay for the food. Fair enough?”

The men nodded.

“I’ll take care of the initial shopping,” she continued. “After that, we’ll take turns doing it. Make sure you pay attention to brands and sizes.” She narrowed her gaze. “You will do your own laundry, and you will not leave clothes in either the washer or dryer. In this house, I don’t work for either of you. Is that clear?”

More nods.

They would have to get a cleaning service in, but they had time on that. She’d roomed with men before and knew everything went more smoothly when she took care of the details up front. Otherwise, she was going to have to knock a few heads together, and that always meant someone getting hurt. Not her, of course, but someone.

She studied the two men watching her warily. “I know both of you. Everything’s a competition. I have no problem with that, but leave it outside.”

With that, she turned and walked out of the house.

* * *

FELICIA WAITED OUTSIDE Brew-haha. Consuelo had sent a text saying she was on her way. She watched anxiously, excited to see her friend.

During her military career and later with the security company, Felicia had mostly worked with men. Women had not been allowed in combat. Ipso facto, she hadn’t had much of a chance to make female friends. Consuelo had been one of the few on the team. She was beautiful but deadly and had often been sent on assignments that required covert contact and distraction.

There had been times when Consuelo had seduced the enemy, gained the information she needed, then killed him before disappearing into the night. A different kind of assassin, Felicia thought. Snipers took lives, but what Consuelo had done was more personal and more dangerous.

Felicia turned and caught sight of her friend crossing the street. Although Consuelo was only five foot two, she was strong. A sexually appealing combination of curves and muscle. Men couldn’t help turning to gape at her. But when they looked into her dark eyes, they usually backed off. Consuelo had perfected what she jokingly called the “don’t eff with me” stare.

Felicia had worked to copy her friend’s deadly glare, but when she tried it people tended to ask if she wasn’t feeling well. It must have been an innate gift.

Now she watched the petite fighter walk along the sidewalk. She wore jeans, a lime-green tank top and sandals. She should have looked like any other tourist, yet she didn’t. From the tip of her long, shiny ponytail to her controlled stride, she radiated confidence and danger.

Consuelo saw her and smiled. They hurried toward each other and embraced.

“Finally,” Felicia said with a smile. “I’ve been waiting what feels like forever for you to get here. Of course it’s only been three months, but missing you makes time seem to move more slowly in the context of our friendship.”

Consuelo laughed. “You are such a freak.”

“I know.”

“It makes you special and me love you more.” Her friend smiled at her. “How are you? I’ve missed you, too.”

They hugged again, then headed into the store and ordered iced coffees. After collecting their drinks, Felicia led the way outside, and they sat down at one of the tables shaded by an umbrella.

“So, tell me everything,” Consuelo said before taking a sip of her drink. “What is this place?”

“Fool’s Gold? It’s such an interesting town. Large enough to have an assortment of amenities, but still small enough for the residents to connect with each other.”

Consuelo wrinkled her nose. “It’s not natural. Have you seen the house Angel and Ford picked? It was built in the ’60s or something.”

“A ranch style. They used space efficiently, separating the living area of the house from the bedrooms. Very traditional.”

“It’s weird and I don’t like it.”

Felicia knew her resistance came from her unfamiliarity with the situation. Consuelo was used to being in the field or living in a city. Small-town America was bound to be unsettling.

Her friend looked at her. “My complaints aside, you look happy.”

“I am,” Felicia said, and realized it was true. “I’ve wanted to find a home, and I believe I have. I have a new job.”

She explained about the festivals and how she would be in charge. “I’m a little concerned about meeting everyone’s expectations.”

“You’ll do great.”

“I’m less worried about the logistics than the undefinable ‘people’ factor.”

“You do better with people than you give yourself credit for,” Consuelo told her. “Everyone has a different style. You have yours. It works. Go with it.”

“I wish...” Felicia shook her head. “I understand the futility of wishing.”

“That doesn’t make the need to do it go away. Look at the bright side. At the end of the day the worst anyone is going to find out about you is that you’re even smarter than they first thought. After that, it’s all easy.”

Felicia understood the unspoken part of her friend’s statement. The worst someone could learn about Consuelo was what she’d done in her past. Those who didn’t live in the gray area of black ops and covert missions might judge her or be afraid. They might not see that behind the attitude and killer reflexes was a lonely woman who simply wanted to belong.