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“Zeke.” She gave me a respectful nod and stared at the back of Lex’s head until he whipped around to stare at her. She tapped thin, well-manicured fingers on the countertop as she watched him, taking everything in appraisingly. “And who do we have here?”
“Lex.” He cleared his throat and gave a little wave before closing his cookbook and dropping the key back against his chest. “You’re Jess?”
He brushed his hands off on his chest nervously and cleared his throat yet again.
She marched around the circulation desk, lifted the counter, and slid in, crossing her arms in a way she’d picked up off of Isa, I was certain. “So, I hear you are a requisitor?”
Lex shrugged. “It’s what I’ve been told.”
She nodded. “I spoke to Ville and got the details from Isa and Zeke.”
Lex almost cowered as she reached into one of her stretched cardigan pockets and pulled out a book. With a quick gesture, she slapped it on the table beside Lex. “Let me get a feel for your gifts. This is a murder mystery novel written by a deus. They work in a US Mint. I need some cash, so let’s dive.”
Lex’s face paled. “We can’t do that; it’s illegal…”
Jess laughed. “It’s legit currency from the US Mint. Who is going to care if we steal from a book’s mint? If we take enough, it’ll change the plot or get a mention, so it’s easy to trace. The currency comes out clean, and so much money goes missing or is destroyed each year that the dozen or so registered requisitors can’t possibly make a dent as long as we don’t go over our limit annually. Besides, cash is notoriously hard to store, so it doesn’t make sense to walk away with more than six figures a year. You’ll get over it. But I like the morals you still have, cutie.”
Lex nodded slowly, and Jess leaned over his shoulder, pushing aside the cookbook before reaching to take his key and tuck it into his shirt. She opened to a few chapters in, pointed to a page, and demanded, “Read. And focus on your body—I don’t want you dragging anything weird back. Assume appearance, not anatomy, if you’re that good.”
I muttered under my breath, giving her a wary glance. “He is.”
Lex gave me a pleading look before I waved him off, and with just a few lines, he flinched as she rested a hand on his shoulder, and they flickered from existence, and the book snapped shut.
If they were diving in that book, he’d not be gone long, so I meandered off to plan a date night for us. I had found a pretty neat recipe for garlic buttered potatoes served on a crisped cheddar shell. We’d have to cook at his place; food smells lingered in the library when I cooked, and I hated it.
And despite the fact I’d only just jerked off, I caught myself dreaming of another night together.
Chapter Nineteen
Lex
The strange woman, Jess, whisked into the library and had me diving into a book, smack dab in the middle of a busy floor of a factory bailing pallets of bills.
And, like the last book, I’d arrived in worker clothes, as did she, glancing herself over in appreciation. “Smooth.”
With papery jumpsuits on, badges swinging, we walked purposefully through the floorway, waving at the odd employee who gave us a nod until we got to a packing dock where Jess investigated the piles of bills with scrutiny. “Have to be careful, sometimes only the top layer of bills are printed and the rest are just blanks.”
I twisted my hands nervously as she picked up a banded bale and thumbed through it.
Armed guards stationed along the table glanced us over but paid no mind. I was fairly certain actual mint employees would be far more suspicious. Jess tapped a stack and called a guard over. “We have a problem, officer.”
The guard popped over, and she lifted a few bills to show the blank stacks beneath.
“That’s not good.” The guard’s eyes weren’t focused, his voice generic, facial features forgettable underneath a gleaming white helmet.
She pulled a few stacks of bills and handed some to me as she pretended to inspect and choose the flawed stacks.
“We need a supervisor to sign off on this.” A soldier radioed someone with a touch to a walkie-talkie on his shoulder, asking for an escort from packing back to inspection. “May want to bring an escort over.”
She hoisted her bundles and stood still, for all the world an actor in the world having no fear of repercussions. I must have been a nervous fool because the officers in waiting eyed me suspiciously.
“What’s with him?” one asked while the other excused himself to do some ornate procedure to let someone else through via keycard system.
“Well, seeing as he’s the inspector responsible for these getting through—I’d say his asshole is working buttonholes right now.” She sniffed imperiously, fearless and feckless.
As we waited for the escort, we carried the bills and she carefully rotated some of the stacks, showing the guard and the escort the bills before we made our way to an inspection room, flanked by armed guards.
They stationed themselves outside of a glass-windowed room, panorama windows showing us several stations of work beyond our gaze, cameras pointed at us from every possible angle as she shut the door, letting the officers’ station outside.
