I Hear Voices(2)

Calling Uncle Aldo, I explained the situation, told him what I needed and asked for his help.

“Si, Zelda, of course I will help you,” he replied in his heavy Italian accent. “It will be good to sharpen my skills and make fools of la Polizia.”

“Grazie, uncle, I’ll see you at noon.”

When I quit the family business, I borrowed one of Uncle Dante’s special effect computers which

made unbelievably real holographic images. You never knew when you might need a diversion. Like pulling a heist at a crowded, heavily guarded museum. A realistic Montezuma appearing out of thin air with smoke and sound effects should do the trick. But first, I had to do a little recon.



Forking over my last twenty dollars to a bloated old woman with Yoda-like eyes at the box office; I trailed after the way too perky guide as she chirped on and on about the mysterious Aztecs and their blood thirsty ways. Her incessant giggling made me want to smack her upside the head. What the hell was funny about human sacrifices?



I quickly ditched the tour by ducking behind a large potted plant. How had that twit landed a job when I couldn’t even get hired as a dish washer?

Fate was an evil, twisted bitch.

My attention was drawn to two hulking, armed security guards escorting a big guy wearing a Fedora around the exhibits. Aw c’mon a Fedora?

Did the dude really think he was Indiana Jones? I strolled closer for a better look. Yep, it was the Tomb Raider. His silver eyes swept over my size body, lingered for a minute on the cleavage exposed by my turquoise tank top and immediately dismissed me.

Guess I wasn’t his type. Men like him were more into the Barbie doll bimbos who wore a size zero and have breast implants bigger than their IQ.

Dating a guy like him would be like dating my Uncle Dante, who had slaughtered his first and second wives just for looking at another man. I wasn’t into merciless predators who’d sell their own mother if there was a profit to be made.

The Tomb Raider’s nervous escorts kept fingering their guns. I couldn’t really blame them, he had menacing down to an art form.

Sloan’s square chin was covered by several days’ growth of bristly black beard. His ebony hair brushed the collar of a horribly loud orange Hawaiian shirt. The man had to be color blind. I mean, my God, who buys something with big yellow parrots on it?

My eyes skimmed down Sloan’s khaki shorts to his long, very muscular legs. Hoo boy, the guy was ripped. Made you want to lick him all over.

I smacked myself in the forehead. What the hell was wrong with me? Okay, it’d been awhile since I had a date. A depressed sigh broke from me.

So long in fact that I had probably forgotten how to kiss properly, but I certainly wouldn’t mind using him for some practice. Too bad I had to get Indiana Jones arrested.

Shaking off my sudden longing for a little romance, I hurried over to the display with my medallion in it. I held my hands an inch above the case, opened my psychic eye and reached out.

A flurry of images scrolled across my mind. A small metal sign with Hieroglyphic Canyon etched on it. The ominous Superstitious Mountains loomed

over a large Saguaro cacti covered in white flowers. One large spine pointed down a rocky path.

A large, callused hand touched my arm.

“Ma’am, you okay?”

Ma’am? I was barely thirty. I opened my eyes and blinked. A garish Hawaiian shirt filled my vision. Crap. It was Indy. Tilting my head up, I met his suspicious gaze and pasted an adoring smile on my face. “I appreciate your concern, sugar. Dinner would certainly make me feel better.” I stroked a hand down his massive chest. “Much, much better.”

A dark brow shot up incredulously and his mouth tightened. “Some other time, sweetheart.”

I grinned as Sloan beat a hasty retreat. This was going to be fun.

My dapper Uncle Aldo gave me a slight nod as he squired two beaming elderly women around the displays. His ivory cane was a work of art. It contained a super duper spy camera equipped with a scanner that would pick up the frequency range of the museum’s security system. It also had a cool electromagnetic pulse feature that fried all electronic devices. With one press of a button, the alarm systems, cameras, lights and cell phones would be put out of commission, permanently. I loved technology.

I watched the security guards hustle Sloan out of the building and dump him next to a battered

old silver Hummer. Hmmph. The car matched his eyes. Was he that vain?

A feral smile twisting his mouth, Sloan got in his Hummer and drove off. Guess he had done his surveillance, too.

The psychic image of a black clad figure entering the darkened museum flashed across my mind. The sneaky bastard planned on hitting it tonight. The Indiana Jones wannabe was going to be in for a nasty surprise. Hope he had a good lawyer.



A short time later, I adjusted my way too tight borrowed maid’s uniform. Who knew I could still squeeze into a size ? I know I had put on a little weight. Okay, who was I kidding? Twenty or so pounds were a lot but working for Aunt Sophie had driven me to chocolate. I’ll freely admit I’m a chocoholic but it was the only thing that kept me sane.



The downside of my sanity was the ugly brown shirt squashed my breasts and I was afraid if I breathed too deeply the buttons would pop off. But hey, I could actually say I still wore a size .

Kinda.

Pushing the maid’s cart down the hallway to room , I inserted the pass key Uncle Aldo had made me and slipped inside Sloan’s hotel room.

Whoa! The room was fit for royalty. The elegant sitting room had a terrific view of the city and double doors opened onto an enormous balcony

complete with comfy lounge chairs. The opulent bedroom was a playboy’s wet dream with a bed big enough for an orgy. He’d better enjoy it now. The Tomb Raider’s next accommodation would be a six by eight cell with a metal toilet.

Pulling on my latex gloves, I planted schematics of the hotel and museum’s security system in his luggage, stuffed burglary tools under the bed and hid a radio frequency jamming gun in the air duct.

Once Uncle Aldo liberated the million dollar diamond necklace from the penthouse safe, I’d call the police with an anonymous tip about where they could find the stolen loot. Yep, room .

I passed the wet bar and a plate of warm chocolate chip cookies drew me like a magnet. The Hilton did know how to treat its customers. I grabbed one and took a bite. Omigod! Could you have an orgasm from chocolate? I took another bite. Ooooh yeah.

No sense in leaving them. I mean, guys weren’t into chocolate, right? Stuffing the cookie in my mouth, I grabbed the plate, opened the door and stepped into the hallway.

The elevator doors dinged and Sloan strolled out. Holy shit! Talk about bad timing. I sucked in a deep calming breath. It’ll be okay. All he’ll see is an overweight Hispanic looking maid doing her job.

Setting the plate of cookies on the cart, I pushed it calmly down the hallway.

His cocky stride had me gritting my teeth.

Macho creep.

Sloan’s cold silver eyes zeroed in on the plate of cookies as he walked towards me. They were mine and there was no way he was getting his grimy paws on them.

The top button on my shirt suddenly shot off like it had been propelled by a rocket launcher. I watched in horror as it smacked him right between the eyes. Omigod!

Sloan stopped dead and stared at me. “Helping yourself to my cookies, sweetheart?”

His sweetheart sounded more like a cuss word than an endearment.

When I didn’t respond he added, “Do you know you have my chocolate on your mouth?”

His chocolate? I quickly swiped at my lips. “Muy bien, senor.” I winced, my Mexican accent really sucked.

Sloan’s gaze narrowed. “Do I know you?”

“No comprende, senor.”

“Those eyes, I’ve seen them before.”

My pale violet eyes were a bit unique. “No comprende,” I repeated, pushing the cart faster.

Another button rocketed off and whacked him in the nose. Sloan’s gaze settled on my ample cleavage. “What were you doing in my room, Angel?”

Oh shit, I should have never worn that tank top. The angel shaped birthmark on my upper right breast was unforgettable and marked me as a demon slayer. “No hablas Ingles.”

“The hell you don’t.” He grabbed for me.

I shoved the plate of cookies in his face. He wanted them. He got ‘em.

Sloan growled like a rabid pit bull and lunged at me.

I ducked under his outstretched arms, slammed the cart into him and ran for my life.

“You little bitch. You’re after the gold, too!”

“Ya think?” One glance at the chocolate smeared predator on my ass and I went to plan B.

Yanking the fire alarm, I dropped a smoke bomb and hauled ass down the stairs.

I was wheezing like a stranded guppy when I finally made it to the parking lot. Twelve flights of stairs in less than five minutes had to be a record.

Sirens wailing, several fire trucks and cop cars squealed to a stop in the front drive. A large crowd of panicked people poured out of the front doors.

I’d say my diversion was a success.

My calf muscles protesting loudly, I hobbled over to my gold Sonata and climbed in.

The door to the staircase flew open and the enraged Tomb Raider barreled out.

I waved all friendly like at him and started the engine.

He mouthed, I will find you.

Flipping him the bird, I mouthed back, not a chance.

His fists clenched, Sloan sprinted towards me.