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As far as the end of the book is concerned, I couldn’t tell you because that was pretty much it. It ended with kids showing up to look at the giant potato chip. They didn’t look hungry…the author made a big deal of explaining that for two paragraphs on the last page. I received the paperback from the author’s agent for a Nightcrawler review so when I reached the end, looking for another page and finding none, I called the agent to ask where the rest of the book was.
He hung up on me. Super bad form…agent.
But because Nightcrawler is always fair, and rather than leave a bad review, I hopped onto the bookseller’s site and purchased an eBook copy to read the ending, just to make sure I had the whole thing. Sure enough, Mr. Staid ended it where I thought he had, leaving me mystified as to what I just read. Clearly, I can’t recommend this drivel, minus the gay (since calling gay men “homosexuals” is just icky for me), minus the romance, and pretty much minus the sci-fi, thus the
Instead, I recommend that you go out and buy a can of Pringles.
I chuckled a little as I was posting the review and nearly jumped off the couch when I heard a knock at the front door. I set aside the iPad and moved Stanley’s little head off my leg where he’d been napping against one of his favorite humans. He gave me the stink eye and moved over to another corner of the couch, curling back into a ball.
Going to answer the door, I saw three figures through the frosted glass and cursed myself for being so jumpy. I checked the ID’s through the peephole, but still cautiously opened the door until I got a good look at the FBI credentials and nodded before the three tucked them away.
“Are you Mathis or Huerta?” the compact Asian woman asked. She was beautiful with straight, shiny black hair pulled back in a low bun just touching her black suit coat.
I stuck out my hand, smiling. “Raven Mathis.”
“Special Agent Kindness Rayburn.” She took my hand, giving me a confident grip as she shook.
“Come in.” I stood aside, opening the door wide, letting them into the house.
The stunning blonde woman smiled, holding out her hand. “Special Agent Beth Michaels.” She glanced over at the big man who loomed over them both.
Bald with a Hispanic appearance, he was a solid wall of muscle and the black suit he wore fitted tightly over his biceps. “This is our partner, Special Agent Carter Perez.” I took his warm hand in mine when he smiled. I liked all of them already.
“Miguel is asleep,” I said, ushering them into the living room. “He just came home from the hospital, so he’s exhausted.” I waved at the couch. “Please, have a seat.”
They all came in and sat on the big sofa side by side. Perez immediately reached over to pet Stanley. The kitten looked up at him with orange eyes and bumped his head into the large man’s hand. Perez’s smile was warm as he scratched behind the ears. I stood there, not knowing the protocol for being a protectee, so instead, I defaulted to being a good host. “Can I get anyone some coffee or a drink? We have everything.”
“No, thank you,” Michaels said.
I nodded and went to sit on the chair across from them. I was a little nervous, not knowing what to ask, but I cleared my throat and went for the obvious. “I wasn’t expecting three of you. Cassidy Ryan said Lincoln was sending two agents.”
“Special Agents,” Rayburn said with a straight face.
I blushed. “Oh, shoot…I’m sorry.”
She grinned widely. “I’m just kidding. We aren’t married to any titles here. Please call me Kindness.” She glanced at the woman beside her.
“Beth is fine, really,” she said.
“Call me Carter, though, most people still call me Perez. I’ll answer to anything but jackass.” He smiled.
I couldn’t help but shake my head. “Raven.”
“Getting back to why there are three of us,” Kindness said, “it’s because the rest of our team is on a case out in Bakersfield. Beth and I just came from there and Perez drove. He’s not a bad chauffeur.”
“Hello,” Perez singsonged. “Marine Corps logistics officer.” He grinned at me. “They always forget how I navigate, track, and speak six languages. Procurement isn’t the only thing I’m good for.”
I had no doubt. He looked capable. “Six languages. That’s pretty amazing,” I said. “What do you speak? Spanish, French, German—”
He shook his head, holding up both hands and ticking off fingers. “I speak horrible mother-in-law Spanish, if her opinion carries any weight at all.” He smirked. “But I also speak fluent Dari, Pashtu, Farsi, broken-Arabic…and passable English.”
“That’s…super impressive. Shouldn’t you be like a spy or something?” I smiled to let him know I was kidding.
He shook his head. “Not for me. I never met a spy who wasn’t a total douche.”
I let out a guffaw of laughter before I could stop myself. In fact, I’d only met one spy that I liked but as far as I knew, Damon Thorne had retired from the CIA a long time ago. “Sorry, I just…we’re just having a problem with rogue CIA operatives, so I was just thinking how fitting your description of spies is.”
“That’s not true, Perez,” Michaels said. “Damon Thorne is a great guy.”