Alien Diplomacy by Gini Koch Page A

again. “Trust me when I tell you that you’ve arrived just in the nick of time.”

CHAPTER 14
    S HOPPING WITH PIERRE was an entirely different experience, one I was fairly sure the boys could happily never have again but that I enjoyed on a whole variety of levels, relief being the foremost among them.
    I’d had no idea that D.C. had a thriving fashion industry, including some name and up-and-coming designers, but it shouldn’t have shocked me. There was a lot of money floating around, and that kind of honey attracted its own level of really expensive and exclusive bees.
    I sent some texts back and forth to Reader and Chuckie and was only somewhat surprised to learn that Pierre had been fully briefed on pretty much everything, including the fact that he was now working for a foreign principality—to take the term “foreign” to its most extreme form. Apparently Pierre would have been on board sooner, but Chuckie had run him through every security check he could think of and any other C.I.A. tests lying around, all of which took time.
    Per Chuckie, Pierre passed with flying colors—and at a higher rate than most of Centaurion Division. I chose not to ask any questions, particularly where I’d landed on Chuckie’s Super Secret Spy-o-Meter tests. If my luck was holding firm, I was at the bottom, with “why is she allowed security access to an ATM machine let alone more” on a Post-it next to my name.
    Because Pierre was cleared at the highest security levels now, we could discuss the exploding limo, Mr. Joel Oliver’s stealth stalkers, the NASCAR taxis, and the potential assassination attempt in front of and with him. When we were all in the limo. When we wereout of it, more time was spent on my measurements, all of them, including feet, than anything else.
    Fabrics, colors, and accessories came up, too. My input remained minimal. No one was interested in what I wanted, since all were clear that I had no idea. I knew better than to suggest something in an Aerosmith logo pattern, but nothing else I was coming up with seemed worthwhile, so I shut up, stood there, and listened to Pierre rattle off requirements like we were prepping to take to the Himalayas on some elephants and needed to look awesome doing it.
    Somehow, Pierre expected the designers to come up with a fab ensemble for me, and ones for Amy and Doreen, whose measurements he already had, in about a day. Considering Doreen was ready to give birth at any moment, I was amazed the designers were doing anything other than laughing derisively, but they all seemed unworried, so I decided to focus on the scary picture of who was trying to kill whom and why.
    Despite serious mental effort, by the last stop, I was still at pretty much zero. “My Psycho Meter is off,” I said as we left the last designer and settled back into the limo for the ride home. “I’m coming up with nothing.”
    “I’m more concerned with what we’re going to do with him,” Kyle said over his shoulder, pointing to Oliver. “I don’t know that Ambassador Martini wants him at the Embassy.”
    “I don’t know that we want to leave him wandering alone.” I didn’t. I didn’t want something bad to happen to Mr. Joel Oliver when he’d both come to warn me and then saved our lives.
    “I’m right here,” Oliver said dryly. “But I do agree with your concerns—both of them. I’m sure the ambassador isn’t going to be excited by my appearance, but I’m also attached to staying alive.”
    A thought occurred, and I called Chuckie. “Any developments?”
    “No, unless you count your husband’s blood pressure rising.”
    “Nope. We’re coming up with nothing here, too. But I wanted to ask what you wanted us to do with Mister Joel Oliver. Was his car okay?”
    “His car was burned to a crisp when we found it.”
    I made eye contact with Oliver. “I hope you didn’t leave anything important in your car.”
    He shook his head. “No. I assume it’s not safe?”
    “It’s a