"Sure, I'm in shape." I hoped.

He squeezed my hand. "I'll help, don't worry."

We trotted up the stairs, all seven hundred plus of them. Martini used hyperspeed when we weren't near anyone else, and sometimes just to give us a little boost. It helped, and I wasn't completely exhausted by the time we reached the top. And we'd been seen by a lot of people.

The view from the top of the Tower was amazing, as always. Charles and I had come here, of course, on our honeymoon. And we'd made out up here, too, also of course. Figured that Martini and my CA had, as well, since from what I'd picked up, they'd been to Paris more than once.

We were up high, it was February, the air was cold, and I wasn't dressed warmly enough. Started shivering the moment I recovered from the stairs.

Martini opened his suit jacket and pulled me in close to him. "Let me keep you warm, baby." He wrapped the jacket and his arms around me and I snuggled into his chest.

He was warm and his heartbeats were soothing, and I relaxed against him and snuggled closer, wrapping my arms around his waist, while he held me just a little tighter.

This was a great option-we looked incredibly romantic, intimate, and relaxed with each other-all without sucking face. I realized Martini must have been having the same adultery issues and worries that I was, had realized this was an option before I had, and had taken appropriate action.

Looked up at him. "You really are the greatest guy in the world, you know that?"

He smiled slowly. "I never get tired of hearing you say that, baby."

Our gazes were locked and I was reminded again of how easily I could believe my CA had fallen, and fallen hard, for this man. He wasn't trying to be s.e.xy and romantic, he just managed it naturally.

What might have happened next was anyone's guess, but we were both saved by the ringtone. Martini sighed, let go of me with one arm, and dug his phone out. Not the same phone he'd used to call Malcolm, meaning this was probably a call from someone who wasn't in the A-C Special Phone System.

"h.e.l.lo? Yeah." He moved us away to a part of the platform where no one else was. "Yes, we snuck out because Kitty didn't want this shopping trip to become a media circus. Still in Paris. At the Eiffel Tower. Because the French don't care what we do, and Kitty wanted to have an hour where we just felt like a happy, married couple, not the current black sheep of the political stratosphere."

He rolled his eyes. "Yes, I know, we've been bad. Again. Harangue me when we're home. What? No, we didn't tell them to follow us, why would we? We have our own protection and, again, it's hard to be stealthy while being trailed by your people."

His eyes narrowed, but he kept his tone the same. "Yes, as a matter of fact, I do know exactly where he is, and has been. He's with Richard and Chuck and a room full of musicians. It's a long story. One I don't want to tell you over the phone. Yes, I can get you the address, but I have to get off the phone to do so. I'll text it to you. You want us to wait here or take a gate back? Got it." He hung up and sent a text.

"Who was that?"

"Hang on." His phone beeped, he grunted, then sent another text.

"Waiting impatiently here."

"Just had to make sure I got that done. My caller was none other than Cliff Goodman. Asking me if I knew the whereabouts of all the men a.s.signed to your Secret Service night detail."

CHAPTER 56.

"WOW. He decided to cover all the bases, didn't he?"

"We're going to find out. He didn't tell me why he was trying to find them, by the way. And he didn't sound like he was trying to get me to incriminate either myself or you. It's clearly an attempt to frame Buchanan. He's normally not with us so much as tailing us from the shadows."

"You sounded fine, by the way. I had to ask who it was because it didn't sound like someone you wanted to kill."

"One small favor, but I'll take it. It's easier over the phone. No bet for how I'm going to do when we actually see him face-to-face."

"We'll worry about that when we get there. You know, in the next few minutes. So, now what do we do?"

"Cliff wants us to use a floater gate to get home right away."

"Meaning he doesn't want us to see what's at the other gates."

"That's my bet, yeah." He dialed the phone. "Hey James, sorry to wake you. Oh? Well, yeah, sorry about that, too. We need a floater. Not on my mark yet. I think it would make more sense for us to get down to the bottom of the Eiffel Tower first. Yes, I'll send you a text when we're ready. Thanks." He hung up.

"You used the tapped line for those texts and that call."

"Regardless of your universe of origin, we just can't put anything past you, can we, baby? Yes. Cliff expected me to get him an address and call James. Nothing says 'we have our own phones you have no access to' like me making that call or sending that text from another line. James will know something's up-we only use the tapped phones if we have to, meaning he's on alert."

"So, elevator or stairs to get down?"

"Honestly, based on the waiting line for the elevators, the stairs are going to be fastest."

"Oh good. I need the exercise."

Martini chuckled, took my hand, and we started down the many hundreds of steps. Going down was always faster than going up, and again he used hyperspeed to move us more quickly when we had sections where we were alone.

Reached the bottom and Martini and I strolled off, still not looking as if we had a care in the world. Reached some heavy foliage in the park around the Tower and then he sent a text to James.

A shimmering in the air appeared before us, Martini swung me up into his arms, I buried my face in his neck, and he stepped us through.

The trip back was just as nauseating as the trip to Paris had been. Only this time I had food and drink in my stomach. Managed not to throw up, possibly because of the hyperspeeding medicine, but only just.

We landed in our apartment, which was loaded with people, including Goodman. However, nausea had given me an idea for at least a short term way to avoid Goodman. "We'll let you yell at us later, we need to check on Jamie."

Martini didn't even put me down, he just nodded and zipped us into her room. She was awake, with most of the animals on the bed with her. "Mommy, Daddy, did you have a fun trip?"

Martini put me down. "We sure did. And we brought you a present."

She looked surprised. "Really?"

Pulled it out of my purse. "Really." It was a soft stuffed striped pink cat that said "Paris, Je T'aime" in a heart on its chest. "I know it's not the same as having real kitties, but-" But it was cute and the only pink thing the gift shop had carried.

She took it from me and hugged it. "It's so pretty!" She showed it to all the animals, who sniffed it obligingly while giving me betrayed looks. Then Jamie bounded up and gave me and Martini kisses. "Thank you so much, Mommy and Daddy! I'm going to name him Stripes!"

"Great name. Let's get you dressed, Jamie-Kat," Martini said. "Mommy and Daddy have to go to work."

She frowned. "Couldn't Mommy and I go to the zoo today?"

"Actually, I think we're going to Australia today, Jamie. And you're coming with us."

"Oh, okay, Mommy! Can we go to the zoo in Australia?"

"If we have time, absolutely."

"Yay!" Jamie trotted off to her bathroom, still holding her stuffed cat.

"You stay and help her get ready," I said to Martini. "I'll handle the others. That keeps you away from certain people longer."

He grinned. "I love how you think. And Jamie really loves that toy, by the way, she wasn't pretending."

"She has lots of toys that I've seen, I'm just glad she likes this one."

He nodded. "We usually don't bring her back anything when we go on, ah, trips like we just did."

"Ah." Considered all that had happened. "You probably don't have time."

He chuckled. "That's frequently true, yeah." He kissed my cheek then followed Jamie to the bathroom.

Looked at the animals, who were still looking at me as if I was a traitor. "Having stuffed animals doesn't make anyone love the real animals any less, you know." They weren't appeased. "It's pink. None of you are pink. That's why she's so excited."

The animals chose to allow this to mollify them, and I steeled myself for the next round of madness and subterfuge. Hoped I could manage it without Martini or Malcolm around to help me.

Stepped out of the room to a sea of frowny faces. In addition to My Favorite Mastermind and those who'd been in the room when we'd left, Singh, James, Paul, Crawford, Lorraine, Claudia, and Serene had piled in. Decided pretending I had no idea of what was actually going on was in everyone's best interests. "Look, I know we were bad, but we found what I know will smooth things over with the PM couple. So, we snuck out. It's not the end of the world."

"It is for eight of your Secret Service detail," Goodman said.

"What? You can't fire those guys. It's not their fault!"

He shook his head. "No, Kitty, that's not what I mean. They went after you two-each one went to a different gate where we figured you might be. And . . ." He looked upset. I was impressed. He really was a good actor.

"And what? What happened?"

"They're all dead," Amy said, sounding horrified. Everyone in the room looked horrified, which wasn't a surprise. "Someone slit their throats."

"Oh my G.o.d. That's horrible. Who? Why?"

Goodman took a deep breath. "Frankly, the only suspect we have is someone you're not going to like."

"He thinks Buchanan did it," Christopher snapped. "However, I don't believe it."

Points to Christopher. "I don't, either, in no small part because Malcolm was with us the entire time. He wouldn't let us leave without being right there with us, Richard, and Chuckie the whole time. As far as I know, he's still with Richard and Chuckie and several other people. Malcolm was never out of our sight until Jeff and I went to the Metro station. We got Jamie a present, and then," I shrugged, "well, I just wanted to, you know, have a little time where no one was yelling at me."

And points to me, because no one in the room, Goodman included, looked like they didn't believe my story. Which was, essentially, true, so go team.

"We've confirmed with my dad that Buchanan, and Reynolds, were basically never out of his sight. Neither one of them have hyperspeed, so there's no way they did some side trip, and before you try to suggest it, my dad didn't, either." Christopher was snarling. Had the distinct impression he didn't like Goodman. Good. It would make revealing the truth, when the time came, a tiny bit easier.

"There's no way Richard would do something like this," Paul said. "Ever."

"Neither would Reynolds," Crawford added. "And, frankly, Buchanan wouldn't kill anyone who wasn't a threat to Kitty or Jamie." The Three Beauty Queens nodded their agreement.

"I think it was the Mastermind," Amy said. "It sounds just like him. He must have been trying to do something against Jeff and Kitty and wanted their Secret Service detail out of the way."

My jaw dropped. I hadn't credited Amy with anything like this level of ability to think. "You think so?" I managed.

She nodded. So did everyone else, including Goodman. "Actually . . . that makes sense." He looked ill. "But that means . . ."

"What?" I asked. Wanted to see where he was going with it.

"The only being able to kill eight people at different locations basically at the same time would be an A-C."

The whole room gasped. I didn't, but I managed to slap a look of worry on my face.

I was, frankly, h.e.l.la impressed. In one minute Goodman had managed to take an utter frame-up failure and turn it into something that was now going to have every person in the room suspecting every A-C on the planet. No wonder everyone was having trouble figuring out who the Mastermind was-he was manipulating every success and every failure to his advantage.

"Okay," I said slowly. "But five minutes ago you were convinced it was Malcolm. He's not an A-C. How would he have done those eight murders?"

Goodman nodded. "That's a good question, Kitty. What I'd kind of a.s.sumed was that Buchanan had followed you and Jeff and lain in wait for whoever was coming after you. Killed one, realized others weren't coming, and then gated to the other obvious gates in Paris to take care of the others."

"Ignoring the entire 'why in the world would he do that' question, how would he, since he's not an A-C?"

Goodman looked sheepish. "I guess I didn't think it through."

Meaning he'd hoped to make the frame-up so convincing that no one would ask the obvious questions until it was too late-like after Malcolm had been shot dead for "resisting arrest" or similar.

"In this country, we demand a little thing called proof," James said.

"And we want proof before you accuse anyone else of this heinous crime," Singh said. His voice wasn't soothing-it was quite crisp and official. Had a feeling he wasn't happy with anyone right now. Considering he was in charge of PR, could feel his pain.

"Kitty's question's the key one, though," Crawford added.

"A smarter way of doing it would be to kill them here," Amy suggested. "You know, kill them right at the gate, then shove them through to their respective locations."

"Wow, you've given that a lot of thought?" I asked because it seemed amazingly logical and also a likely answer for how the agents had been killed. Pondered how someone would do that quickly without any of the victims, especially victims two through eight, suspecting. A disguised piano wire at neck height would do it, especially if the killer was able to manipulate the gates quickly. Which again indicated an A-C. Decided to keep this theory to myself for now.

She blushed. "Sort of. There are so many people trying to kill us so often, I've tried to come up with all the ways they could, so that we can counter them."

"Well done."

She brightened up. "Thanks, Kitty!"

"The love in the room is nice," Goodman said dryly, "but I have eight dead Secret Service agents and no clue for who the culprit is, other than that he or she is either an A-C and/or lives in the Emba.s.sy. And, that means I actually have to hold all of you for questioning, because Amy's explanation makes logical sense."

c.r.a.p. He'd once again turned the tables and gotten exactly what he wanted. Only more so.

CHAPTER 57.