Maybe (3 page)

Area B is where Sam Case lives and works for the government, developing a synthetic cure for the Spanish Flu, a virus so deadly it decimated one-third of the earth’s population in 1918. The thing about the Spanish Flu, there’s no cure. First time around, it nearly wiped out the planet.

Next time it’ll be worse.

And there will be a next time.

Like many government employees, Sam’s in no hurry to solve the problem he’s been hired to solve. But Sam’s motivation isn’t about steady employment. It’s about self-preservation. Sam’s life is in jeopardy, and Mount Weather is the only place on earth his enemies can’t get to him.

What you want to know about Sam Case, he’s one of the world’s most brilliant people. More than a year ago he had a thriving business and a hot wife, Rachel. His business involved moving billions of dollars electronically from bank to bank, all over the world, twenty-four hours a day, effectively hiding it for the world’s most ruthless dictators and criminals. The modest fees he charged earned him millions of dollars, and life was good.

Enter Donovan Creed.

Creed also parked a sum of money with Sam, but unlike the others, he saw an opportunity to cash in. He broke into Sam’s house, lived secretly in his attic, and eventually breached Sam’s security and stole billions of dollars from Sam’s clients.

He also stole Sam’s wife, Rachel, who’s certifiably insane.

She’s also one of only two people in the world known to possess a gene that’s resistant to the Spanish Flu.

Rachel also lives in the underground bunker in Area B.

But not by choice.

Government scientists are holding her captive, harvesting her eggs, and hoping to create a generation of children who will inherit the gene. Until Sam or some other scientist can create a synthetic response to the Spanish Flu, Rachel must remain there.

Sam considers Donovan Creed his arch enemy. Such is his hatred for Creed, he’d give ten years of his life to make Creed suffer a day.

Sam measures his life in terms of victories he’s won over Creed.

His first was separating Creed and Rachel. He orchestrated Rachel’s capture, and manipulated scientists into letting him live and work in Area B so he could be near her. Sam’s sperm is being used to create the new children from Rachel’s eggs. Having sole access to Rachel, and being the man responsible for creating children with her, Sam hoped, over time, to win back his wife’s affection.

Not that he wants the bitch. He only wants to sleep with her. And only because it would be another way to punish Creed.

Pretty sad when the victory you hope to claim over your arch enemy involves sleeping with your own wife.

But Rachel has no interest in sleeping with Sam, so that part—that one small part—is another victory for Creed.

Worse, Creed doesn’t seem overly broken up over the fact his girlfriend is stuck in Area B for what could be years.

Sam’s second victory involves Creed’s daughter, Kimberly.

Sam’s been fucking her.

What makes it particularly sweet, he’s manipulating her into loving him.

And Creed, the deadliest assassin on earth, hasn’t a clue.

The man who made this revenge possible is another of Creed’s enemies, Doc Howard. For all practical purposes, Kimberly is Sam’s car, and Doc Howard gave him the keys to her ignition.

Doc Howard expects to be compensated.

For starters, he demanded that Sam locate the Bin Laden death photos. These, like many of the world’s most sensitive documents, are stored in the underground vault at Area B.

Sam has no idea what Doc Howard plans to do with the photos, but it’s best to stay on Doc’s good side. He’s a very dangerous and powerful man in his own right.

Sam used his hacking skills to locate and copy the digital files.

He’s looking at them now, with mild interest. When he’s finished looking, he encrypts the photos, and types a code to bypass computer security for twelve seconds while he forwards them to Doc Howard’s email account.

Doc gets some stupid photos, Sam gets Kimberly Creed.

He presses a button on his cell phone.

Kimberly answers, using her alias.

“Maybe Taylor.”

Maybe Taylor (Kimberly Creed).

“HI MAYBE,” SAM says. “How’s tricks?”

“I can’t talk now,” she whispers. “I’m with my father.”

“In Vegas?”

She works her way out of the den, onto Callie’s balcony. “Okay, I can talk now. Yeah, I’m in Vegas.”

“I miss you,” Sam says.

Maybe smiles. “That’s ridiculous. It’s only been a day.”

“Seems like forever.”

She likes being the one with power in the relationship. It lets her be cool, lets her say things like, “Don’t fall in love, Sam.”

Which forces him to say, “Sorry. Too late.”

“Are you still planning to divorce your wife,” she says, “or was that something you said to get in my pants?”

“We’re definitely divorcing. The papers are being drawn up this week. She’s already agreed to sign them.”

“Don’t do it hoping to marry me,” she says.

“Why not?”

“We’re never going to be a couple.”

He changes the subject. “I’ve found a guy to do your boob job.”

She laughs. “I hope it’s a doctor and not just some guy.”

“Don’t worry. Your boobs will soon be in the hands of a highly-skilled surgeon.”

“Odd way to put it,” she says.

“It seems insane to pay another man to put his hands on your body. He should pay
you
for the privilege.”

“Hmm. Maybe I should charge
you
next time!”

“If that’s what you want, I’ll gladly pay.”

“Assuming there’s a next time,” she says, then smiles, noting his silence. Maybe loves being able to manipulate
him
for a change. For the past year he’s been a demanding, judgmental father figure. Now, after one night in the sack, she’s turned him into a lovesick puppy. Sam spent a year scrambling his voice, manipulating her over the telephone, and all that time he thought he was in charge. Now he’s met her, had sex, and his power has crashed and burned. He’s fallen head over heels for her, and she loves it.

He says, “There has to be a next time.”

Maybe can hardly contain her joy. In truth, she expected he’d probably never call after getting what he wanted. That’s happened more than once with boys in the past, so she assumed a grown man would be even more aloof.

Especially a married man like Sam.

But as it turns out, she has the power to make him happy or sad. It’s an amazing feeling, one she’s never experienced.

Sam says, “I have to have you again.”

“Why?”

“Excuse me?”

“What’s the big deal?”

He sighs.

She loves it when he sighs. He’s frustrated, working hard to win her affection.

“You’re the best I ever had,” he says.

“The best what?”

“Lover.”

She smiles and says, “That can’t be true.”

“I’d take a lie detector test on it.”

“You’re older, wealthy, and married. This is all about you getting a little strange on the side. You probably fucked me, thinking of your wife.”

“That’s not true, Kimberly.”

“Wrong name, Sam.”

“Sorry.”

“You expect me to believe I’m the best you ever had?”

“Absolutely.”

“Have you forgotten my sexual issues? You had to inject my vagina with Botox to get it open. I felt nothing. It can’t have been a pleasant experience for you.”

“It’s not just the act, it’s the whole experience. It’s being with you, holding you, touching you. Helping you achieve sexual comfort. I know it sounds absurd, but I’ve never felt this way in my life. If you don’t like me calling it love, I’ll call it passion, though it’s love, passion, and a hundred other things combined. I’m not trying to push you, honey. But I have to have you. And yes, you’re the best I ever had.”

“The best what?”

“I already told you.”

“Say it again. Be vulgar.”

“The best fuck.”

“Say it again, with feeling.”

“
You’re the best fuck I ever had!
”

“Thanks, Sam.”

She feels something warm and exciting stirring within her…

And likes it.

“When can I see you again?” he says.

“I’m not sure. I’m working for him.”

“Who, your father?”

“Yes.”

“Have you told him about me?”

“He still thinks you’re a post-Rapture pet salesman.”

“Have you told him my real name?”

“He asked, but I refused. We’re still calling you Chuck.”

“If he demands to know my name, what will you say?”

“I’ll tell him to fuck off.”

“He’s your boss now,” Sam says.

“I freelance. I work for him, I work for you. If someone else comes along, who knows?”

“Prove it.”

“Prove what?”

“That you work for me.”

“How?”

“Kill him.”

“Who, my father?”

“Yes.”

She laughs. “I’d kill you before raising my voice at him.”

“I know. I was just kidding. But I think I’ve made my point. You obviously don’t work for me.”

“I’m not sure you understand what free-lance means, Sam. It means I get to accept a contract if I want it.”

“But if you work for me…”

“As I said, I work for both of you. But he comes first.”

Maybe smiles, knowing he’s pouting. Sam’s got it bad for her. It’d be so easy to take advantage of the situation.

She says, “Give me another way to prove my loyalty.”

“Kill someone for me.”

“Who?”

“I don’t care. As long as it’s someone your father knows.”

“He knows Doc Howard.”

Maybe notes the complete absence of sound on the other end of the line.

Finally, Sam says, “Did you say Doc Howard?”

“Yes.”

“You think you can kill him?”

“He’s already dead.”

“
What
?”

“One of my father’s people killed him. I just heard about it. Apparently he was far more than a skilled surgeon. He was one of the most powerful people in government. My father called him Darwin. He was my father’s boss.”

More silence.

And still more.

Finally Sam says, “Kill someone else your father knows. I want details.”

Maybe removes the phone from her ear and stares at it a moment while frowning. Is he serious? She puts the phone back to her ear.

“You seem to have forgotten the financial component,” she says.

“It’s all about the money to you.”

“That’s right.”

“Pleasing me means nothing to you?”

“Don’t pout, Sam. It’s a turn off.”

He sighs again. Then says, “Fine. Pick out a victim. Someone your father knows. Tell me who it is, and the connection, and I’ll formulate a price.”

Creed, Callie, and Gwen are sitting in the den, talking. Maybe watches them through the sliding glass door, and allows her gaze to settle on Callie. Creed certainly knows Callie. But Callie’s as deadly as Creed. And anyway, she likes Callie. She’s beautiful, smart, and cool, everything Maybe wants to be. Callie’s not a candidate for killing. There’s still too much to learn from her.

Gwen, on the other hand…

She looks at Creed, looking at Gwen.

Maybe’s not jealous of Gwen, doesn’t mind Creed looking at women that way. She wants her father to be happy, and bedding sexy women seems to make him quite happy.

If he’s happy, she’s happy.

She’s also not jealous that Gwen’s prettier and sexier than she is, and has great hair and a better body.

What she doesn’t like about Gwen is her disrespect.

Callie and Creed deserve to be respected. They’re elite killers. Gwen’s a twenty-year-old widow and former stripper. She’s got no right to disrespect Callie or Creed.

And yet she disrespected both of them.

Earlier, in the kitchen, Gwen made a nasty remark about how Creed tricked her into having sex with him. Callie’s eyes narrowed, and Maybe could tell it was a sore subject, though Gwen hardly seemed to notice or care.

Gwen cheated on Callie with Creed.

On the phone, Sam says, “You still there?”

“Yeah. Wait a sec.”

Maybe watches Gwen working it for them, licking the frosting off her fingers and lips like a porn star might do.

She’s center stage, full of herself.

Thinks she’s hot shit.

It’s disgusting.

Maybe didn’t notice it before, but Gwen’s wearing a particularly revealing outfit. Creed noticed. He’s noticing it now.

You know who’s a better match for Callie?
she thinks to herself.

Creed!

Callie’s prettier than Gwen, and tougher, and she and Creed are in the same business. They work together, respect each other. Callie’s sexy, but doesn’t throw it all over the place like Gwen. With Gwen out of the way, Creed and Callie might find happiness, despite Callie’s apparent preference for women.

Maybe imagines holding a gun on Gwen, forcing her to her hands and knees.

Bark like a dog!
she’ll say, and Gwen will bark.

Louder, bitch!
and Gwen will howl.

Kiss my feet!
she’ll say, and sexy, hot-shit Gwen will kiss Maybe’s feet.