“What’ve you got in there?” I asked, so glad for the distraction I didn’t care if it was a bomb and he was about to teach me which wire I should cut if the Daring Defusers got stuck in traffic.
He looked over his shoulder. “Thor?” he said, barely managing not to snicker. “We need a little privacy here.”
“No problem.” Cole raised the limo’s mirrored window between himself, Ruvin, and us. I spared a thought for the mourners we’d abandoned, but apparently they’d carpooled with the pallbearers since they all had another gig in an hour. For their sakes, I hoped the guy in the coffin was fully dead this time.
When Bergman felt we were secure he said, “I promised you an extra-special invention.” I sucked in my breath. “Already?”
He nodded. “I’ve been working on it for a while. I was going to sell it. But… well, that client doesn’t deserve it nearly as much as you.”
I didn’t have to fake the Christmas-morning anticipation on my face when he put the bag on the floor between us. Jack gave it a sniff, pronounced it inedible, and stuck his nose back on the window.
I glanced at Vayl. “Go on; open it,” he said. “It is bound to amaze us.” Under his breath he added, “And perhaps it will take my mind off the humiliation of having to crawl inside a golf bag at two thirty this morning.”
I reached out to touch him, but a major itch on my thigh detoured my hand. I said, “I’m sorry. I had no idea that’s what the company sent. I won’t leave the arrangements to Cole again.” Now the other thigh itched. What the hell?
“Did you forget to wash your blue jeans before you put them on today?” asked Cassandra as she ran her hand down Jack’s furry gray back.
“No.”
And why do you give a fuck, Miss High-and-Mighty with your name-brand outfits and effortless elegance? All you have to do is lift your little finger and you have me outclassed.
Without looking I grabbed Vayl’s hand and squeezed. His strong fingers, wrapping around mine like a lifeline, pulled me away from the voice in my head, which faded into a slimy gray mist as I smiled at Cassandra, reminding myself firmly that my brother had recently told me she made him feel like a king.
“Guess I’m just anxious to see what Bergman’s brought me.”
She nodded eagerly. “Me too. So open your present already, will you?” After a moment’s hesitation, Vayl released my hand so I could unzip the backpack. Movement inside made me jump back.
“Jaz Parks,” Bergman said formally, “meet RAFS.”
Out of the bag poked a head with inky black ears set wide apart and two golden eyes whose vertical irises betrayed the inspiration of Bergman’s schematic. A soft whir of hidden machinery accompanied its smooth leap onto the floor at my feet.
“It’s a cat!” I said. Oops. Jack turned around, his tongue dropping as he spied the new creature sharing his temporary confinement. I swear he smiled as he realized the potential for play that had just appeared.
“Don’t you dare!” I warned, lunging for his collar. Too late.
He jumped at RAFS, who sprang onto the seat between Bergman and Cassandra.
“This is not a toy, you gigantic slobberbag!” Bergman shouted. He shielded the cat with his body while Jack tried to stick his nose into the crack between our consultant’s elbow and knee. It must’ve been a ticklish spot because, even as I snagged Jack’s leash, Bergman began to giggle. Which caused the mechanical cat to feel its shelter had experienced an earthquake of an unsafe magnitude.
It squirted out of Bergman’s clutches onto the top of the seat and, from there, jumped onto the casket.
When it stared, unblinking, at us I could’ve sworn I saw—
“Bergman? Did you actually program in cat-snooty?” I asked as I struggled to keep Jack from joining his new buddy on its smooth, wooden perch.
As I glanced from the inventor to his prize I saw him nod happily. “I did. But that was just for fun. The serious attributes will make you wish you had a whole fleet of them.”
“What’s it do?”
He reached into his back pocket and handed me a container that held fake eyelashes. “Go ahead,” he said eagerly. “Put them on.”
Cassandra dipped her hand into her bag, did a couple of mixing bowl motions, and came out with a compact. “Here, this should help,” she said as she snapped it open and offered me the mirror.
“Thanks.” I stuck the lashes onto my own, reassuring myself that I didn’t suddenly resemble my dad’s sister, Candy, who’d danced her way across the States before the poles got too slick and she decided marrying a rich old coot who could buy her bigger boobs and a cushy retirement home in Orlando might be a better plan.
Vayl asked, “How will the cat help us, Miles?”
“RAFS is a mobile surveillance system with offensive capabilities, in that I gave her claws and teeth. And grenades. But those haven’t been sufficiently tested yet, so…” I looked at the kittybot, trying and failing to figure out just how she would launch a minibomb. “You said… her?”
Bergman shrugged. “RAFS seems female to me.”
I pointed to my lashes. “What are these for?”
Vayl leaned forward, his lips twitching. “They make you look… sooty.” I could tell he wasn’t talking about chimney sweeping. Especially when his eyes dropped first to my neck, then to my chest.
I was glad nobody could hear my heart speed up, although Cassandra’s smirk showed she wasn’t unaware. Still, I tried to keep the conversation on the right track.
“Are they like our party line?” I asked. We hadn’t yet shared out the earpieces and fake moles that would allow us all to talk with each other at a distance of at least two miles, because Bergman had promised an upgrade. Who knew that he’d also bring a cat that somehow connected with me through my blinkers?
Bergman didn’t even try to hide the smug. “Somewhat. You should see them at night. Point a light at them and they glow.”
I threw up my arms. “Great, now I’m gonna look like a freak too!”
“I like freaks,” said Vayl. His eyes, shining the emerald green he saved just for me, demanded some sort of response. I wished we were still vacationing on his island so I could show him how much his comment meant to me. Instead I scratched a new itch on my shoulder and turned back to Bergman.
“Come on, spill. What do the eye gadgets do?”
He grinned. “RAFS, you are now under Jasmine Parks’s voice command.” He whispered, “Tell her to switch to video mode.”
I looked at the cat, its smooth shell made less foreign by the jet-black color Bergman had chosen for it.
“RAFS, switch to video mode.”
A holographic image of Bergman and Cassandra, as seen through the cat’s eyes, appeared before mine.
“Is it operating?” asked Bergman.
I nodded. “How does it work?” I asked.
“RAFS beams the message to receivers in the lashes, which project an image just far enough from your eyes for you to get a clear view.” I gaped at Bergman. “What?” he asked.
“Dude! You never explain your inventions!” I studied his face. “You didn’t send a clone of yourself or something?”
“No!” He chuckled. “Maybe I’m just trying to impress you with my engineering genius.”
“I’ve known you since I was eighteen. You had me the second you rigged our refrigerator to dispense Diet Coke out the water spigot.”
His smile widened. “Okay, well, maybe I do have ulterior motives. But those can wait until you’ve gotten to know RAFS better.” He nodded at the cat. “She records audio too. And when you’re outfitted with the party line, she can receive that signal. You can also access all of the CIA’s databases through her, as well as Cassandra’s Enkyklios .”