Page 142 of Carnal Urges
“I already told you guys. I don’t know a Declan. Thanks for the food, though. Will I be going back to my cage now?”
He waves a hand like I’m being ridiculous. “You’ve passed the test. No need to continue the charade.”
Sitting up is a struggle, but I eventually get there.“Test?”
“Did you think we’d let one of our most valued agents get romantically entangled without a vetting process?”
“Is that a rhetorical question? Because I have some feelings to share with you if it is.”
“The answer is no. We would not. We don’t take those kinds of risks. So you were brought here for evaluation.”
I say nothing. I’m still dizzy and nauseated, and I might smell like pee. It’s hard to concentrate on what this suit is saying, or what he wants from me, because a disbelieving chorus ofDeclan is a spy?is running through my head like a song on repeat.
Gazing at me with an odd expression, the suit says, “I didn’t expect you to perform so well.”
I realize that his weird expression is admiration and get a bad feeling about where he’s going with this. “Um… thanks?”
“We’d like you to work for us.”
I have to take a moment to let that ridiculous statement sink through my throbbing skull. “I already have a job, but I appreciate the offer.”
He chuckles. “Not as a yoga instructor. In intelligence gathering.”
“In other words, spying.”
“Correct.”
To buy some time for my brain to recover from that newest shock, I say, “Who’s we?”
“The United States government.”
“You mean the CIA?”
“The particular branch is immaterial.”
“I’d like to know who I’d be working for.”
“You’d report to a handler who’d give you your assignments. That’s all you need to know at this point.”
“Would I still have to pay taxes?”
“Yes.”
“So what’s the upside?”
“You’d be serving your country.”
“I consider myself a citizen of the multiverse.”
“I’m not joking, Miss Keller.”
“Neither am I. I’d be a bad investment. When the aliens land, I’ll be the first one to volunteer to head off with them to Mars.”
He pauses to gather his fraying patience. “I’m not making myself clear. This isn’t an offer. It’s an order.”
I smile condescendingly at him. “Too bad you’re not the boss of me.”
His expression sours. “If you refuse, you’ll be administered an injection of potassium chloride that will induce cardiac arrest within seven minutes. It will be fatal. It will also be an excruciating seven minutes. Then we’ll wrap your body in a biodegradable shroud enhanced with shark attractant and dump you into the sea. No part of you will ever be found.”
