bottom right corner. The number was printed so small it was barely visible.
The gist of the unusual conversation was simple. Jordan spelled out a national security scenario starring special individuals with outside the box talents. Arnie was flabbergasted to learn his scores from the weird tests put him on the upper end of a super-secret curve.
At no time was he given anything resembling a choice. Whatever it was about him that got their attention had to rank right up there with X-ray vision, and superhuman strength because they were not interested in the word no.
Jordan and the black suits had all sorts of rules about secrecy. Right from the start, he was ordered not to say anything to anybody. He told them rather bluntly where to go, and they didn’t act surprised when he pushed back. In the end, he shared what the hell was going on with just one person. He told his dad.
In the time it took to blink, the university fast-tracked his studies and handed him a specialized psychology degree in sensory forensics. Then the government stashed him in a secure compound for nine months with a hundred other patriots possessing eyebrow-raising skills. Under the direction of Dr. Hadley Ortoma, they were each put through an intensive, supersensory boot camp. When it was over, Arnie saw the world differently.
On paper, his government assignment was intelligence research. They stashed him at the Department of Justice because there was no Department of the Weird and Unusual. He was given a top secret clearance and had special access to everyone except the president. His expertise was infiltration under deep cover. To employ his unique skills, he had to be inside where it was happening. The government called what he did immersive psyops. As time went on, his assignments got more and more intense. He had serious resources at his disposal, and at the end of the day, he knew far too many secrets.
He stuck with it as long as he could—until his soul was nearly sucked out. In those days, Dorothea Anders was his DOJ handler. Arnie had a lot of handlers, all of whom he told to fuck off at one time or another, but Dottie Anders was special. They became friends and grew close. Was she a mother substitute? Abso-fucking-lutely. She knew it and was fine with the role.
When she threw a fuck it, suddenly retired, ditched Washington, and surfaced in New York as Dottie Quick, he didn’t know what to do with himself. Luckily, she had a plan.
She took a management role with a security startup called NIGHTWIND, and after tirelessly promoting him for a position to the CEOs, former Navy SEAL Kingsley Maddison and Delta Force vet Jon Weston, they agreed to an interview without much understanding whatsoever of what he did. They hired him on the spot once he explained his unconventional talents.
In many ways, NIGHTWIND saved his sanity. He was close to King and Jon. They were great guys with no hesitation whatsoever about the “What does Arnie do?” farce.
Sixteen years lay between the present and the fateful moment he called a number on a flyer. He’d been involved in a lot of shit over the years and knew the location of several graveyards filled with the skeletons of some crazy secrets.
Though the present was calmer, he was still cautious about boundaries and was careful to keep his personal relationships deliberately superficial. This chance encounter with a young, vivacious girl shouldn’t make him wobble, but it did.
The whole restaurant applauded when strolling mariachis celebrated a guest’s birthday with lively music. Arnie raised his glass and added his best wishes.
As the excitement died down, he spied the golden-haired beauty walking his way carrying two platters. She was framed by a halo of pink light. A trail of rose gold sparkles followed in her wake.
He took a sharp, deep breath. What was going on? It wasn’t normal for him to see a stranger like that. Someone he hadn’t had time to get to know. Ignoring her was impossible.
The closer she got, the bigger her smile was. She looked straight at him and didn’t break their eye contact.
There were no warning bells. No sense of caution held him back. The freedom took him by surprise.
“One grandioso Baja taco platter with a tower of sides,” she drawled. “Off the big kid’s menu.” Her stifled giggle did strange things to the area around his heart.