The Whole Truth (The Supercharged Files Book 1) Read Online Free Page A

desk.
    “Just don’t rinse Boris,” I
called after him. The glass door swung shut behind us with a hiss. Watercolor
prints of flowers adorned the walls; a matching silk arrangement perched atop
the IBM-grey computer console. On the desk calendar, somebody had written “C.G.—si,
1t, by YC” on today’s date.
    John blinked in the nearly
blinding sunlight streaming through the glass, not quite awake. “Everything you
need is inside. Food, cat box, change of clothes, and”—John sniffed—”bagels, I
believe.”
    “How about a chiropractor?”
    “Do you need a chiropractor?”
    I pointed at “Dr. Spivey”
airbrushed on the glass door. Dr. Spivey worked from ten to four Tuesday
through Saturday, and it was eight a.m. Saturday. “Won’t the doc be here in a
couple hours? Maybe he could work this kink out of my spine.” I sidled my
ribcage back and forth.
    John’s gaze dropped to my cleavage,
where I’d unbuttoned my blouse to get more comfortable in the car. He might
have unidentified super powers, but one of them wasn’t the strength to avoid
staring at women’s breasts.
    Well, I did have impressive
ta-tas, and better my breasts than my crazed tangle of mousy hair or the
perma-wrinkles in the ass of my skirt. Some women say they hate being treated
like sex objects. I like it, myself, because those guys lie to me less than the
ones who try to ignore my big chest and bottom.
    I noticed Samantha hobbling out
of the car so I halted John’s exhaustion-dazed ogling. “John.” I snapped my
fingers in his line of vision. “Is this or is this not a chiropractor’s
office?”
    Samantha kicked the bottom of the
glass, Natasha’s carrier in her arms and a scowl on her face. John hurried to
open the door. Natasha’s low, simmering growl preceded Samantha into the
office.
    “If I ever travel with another
cat,” she began, but shut her mouth when she noticed my smirk. Hey, she could
have been next to Boris the pisser instead of Natasha the slasher.
    “This isn’t a full-fledged
office,” John explained.
    “What if we get walk-ins? Since
I’m, ah, staying here, do you expect me to give them an adjustment?”
    Because, no.
    “We have somebody to take care of
that.”
    Samantha shoved the carrier at
John and stomped behind the beige wall. I followed, John beside me. A short
hallway with an exam room on one side and a file room on the other ended in
what looked like an employee break room. Samantha thumbed the coin return
button on the drink machine, punched the “Diet RC Cola” label, and the snack
dispenser rolled aside to reveal a passageway.
    “This is more like it!” I
followed the scent of Boris’s pee down another beige hallway, fully expecting
to see a massive spy hideaway with guys in white lab coats and crazy machines.
    Instead I got a studio apartment
with a single, grey-glassed window, a kitchenette the size of my bathtub, a
tightly made bed, and a nineteen inch television with rabbit ears. Alfonso had
deposited a skanky, noshing Boris in the kitchen in front of a bowl of dry
kibble and was trying to rinse the carrier in the shower stall, only he was
almost too big to fit into the tiny bathroom.
    “Nice headquarters,” I commented.
“You invested your budget in the revolving snack machine, I see.” If we had the
big meeting to poke and prod me here, where would everyone sit? Or was the tale
of a mysterious boss man with all the answers a true untruth to get me here?
    “This isn’t the office, this is
our guestroom. The main entrance is behind the pizza place.” John set Natasha’s
carrier on the ground, opened the latch, and barely avoided the streak of white
that hissed out of the crate and under the bed.
    I laughed, but nobody else did.
“Seriously?”
    “The pizza’s not bad. We don’t
deliver, though.” Samantha flopped on the bed and spread her arms. Her black
hair fanned out like a half moon. Underneath, Natasha moaned her hatred of her
nemesis, the trip, her new quarters, you