11BEFORE LEAVING, we each lock our case files back up in our respective safes, to keep the housekeepers from randomly stumbling upon them.It is standard operating procedure for T.H.E.M. to have operatives use a company-issued vehicle while on assignment. As I’ve already explained, I’m something of an exception to that rule thanks to my radar sensitivity, which is one of the few advantages to being forced to have Mary Sue along with me on this assignment. I don’t particularly enjoy being escorted around, but it’s definitely preferable to having to take public transportation.However, something—a mischievous glint in her eye, a slight smirk, an almost too-eager spring in her step—about Mary Sue’s attitude as we make our way down to the hotel lobby makes me suspect she is hiding something, and I suspect that something has to do with our mode of transportation. By the time we get out of the hotel and into the parking lot, she is practically bursting at the seams with bubbly excit

13WHEN WE ARRIVE back at The Hotel Dickson, we are eagerly greeted in the lobby by our friend from the night before, Tim the Bellman.“Welcome back Ms. Buchanan, Ms. Dieterle, is there anything I can assist you with this evening?” Tim asks, reminding me of a love-sick puppy dog. I can’t help if he’s hoping to get another of Mary Sue’s ‘tips.’“Easy there, Tim,” says an older, balding man wearing the same monkey organ-grinder uniform as Tim, stepping between Tim and ourselves. I assume from his reprimand that he’s a supervisor or something. “I gather you are our new long-term residents?” The balding man inquires of Mary Sue and myself.“Yes,” Mary Sue says in her thick, fake, southern drawl. “I’m Lindsay Buchanan, and this is my associate Nanetta Dieterle.”“It’s a pleasure to meet you,” the man replies—as his eyes wander over us, I can feel him undressing us and I have to refrain from visibly shuddering with revulsion. “I am Howard, the head of Guest Services here at The Hot

15I CAN’T CLAIM to be surprised Mary Sue gets a response from Clark Jr. before noon. Considering that Clark Jr. is a basement-dwelling loser, he probably has spent every day since dropping out of high school having wet dreams imagining getting such an e-mail. There’s a reason I didn’t even try to place a bet on who would get first response.“wow, ur super hawt! im total down for w/e you wanna do so hit me up babe,” I read the response from Clark Jr. over Mary Sue’s shoulder.“I guess you’re gonna be heading over to his basement to jump him right now, then?” I smirk.“Geez, Nanetta, I’m not a total whore, you know. I’m still gonna make him work for it. That’s half the fun,” Mary Sue replies—despite the sarcasm, I sense I may have actually hurt her feelings. Worst of all, I feel guilty about it. Porcupines damnit. I hate feeling guilty.“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean anything. I was just teasing.”“It’s okay, hon, we’re good,” Mary Sue replies, brushing off my apology with a

17THE DREAM, of course, continues to haunt my sleeping hours. There is, however, one significant change to the dream. Tonight, Jason’s role in the dream has been replaced by Duke. It goes without saying this change does nothing to alleviate the tension caused by my nocturnal imaginings—if anything else, when I at last wake in the morning, I am more tense than I have been so far this week.I groan, every muscle in my body straining in protest as I role over in bed, pick up the phone and make a spa appointment for half an hour from now. Take a shower, send a text message to Mary Sue letting her know I’ll be ready for breakfast in about an hour, and then head down to the spa. I’m a little disappointed to find Bill the Hunky Masseuse is not available today, but I suppose they have to give him a day off from time-to-time. His replacement this morning is a girl named Tiffany, and while she doesn’t work out all of the knots the way Bill the Hunky Masseuse would, I grudgingly admit she gets

19“WHAT THE ACTUAL FUCK?” I ask, of no one in particular.Mary Sue, who did not just have a gun pointed at the back of her head, pulls herself together faster than I do. While I’m still processing what just happened, she’s already off the bed, across the room closing the door, and dialing Zeke on her cell phone.“Zeke, we have a problem,” she says once the door is closed. “The room service waiter just tried to kill us.”I can just imagine Zeke’s incredulous response to that statement.“Yeah . . . Yeah . . . Okay, you got it boss,” and then she hangs up. Zeke is nothing if not efficient. “He’s going to dispatch an extraction team, but it will have to wait until tomorrow. By the time the team would arrive if he sent them right away, it would be the middle of the night and they’d be way more conspicuous waltzing through the lobby at that time. In the meantime, I suggest we relocate to my room for the night and you can bunk up on the pull-out sofa in my