Gregory screamed, “Shit! She’s passed out. Sigrun, any blood coming out of her mouth?”

“No,” said Sigrun. “Pull her to your chest and run.”

Gregory spat out the code to Sigrun, and they ran out the back gate as it was still opening. The bus was right there. Sigrun covered them while Gregory stepped into the back of the ambulance. Sigrun had to decide. Go with the ambulance, or go back in? She thought of her wife’s clear mission: Keep Joru safe. So Sigrun shut the door and tapped on it, and the ambulance was gone. It was the hardest thing she’d ever had to do.

Sigrun ran back in and shut the gate. She heard it lock. She kept her head down and followed the wall. The sound of gunfire grew louder. And then as she listened more, it grew even louder still. Then, the sound of an engine, but not a Harley. Something like an off-road vehicle, maybe like a Jeep. She turned and slithered back to the gate. A dune buggy went flying by. Two Harleys chased it, one of them was one of those brand-new models, and one she knew well. Henry’s braid flew out from under his helmet. An arm came out, and the two motorcycles swerved to avoid gunfire. Then, just like that, they were gone.

Sigrun ran low, because she couldn’t assume the perpetrators were gone, and burst onto a scene of controlled chaos. Ex-soldiers with various artificial limbs moved among those on the ground, with med kits in hand. Sigrun put her safety on her gun and put it back in her boot, then her knife in the other boot. Staff Sergeant Tori Kym was alternately barking out orders and yelling into a headset. Sigrun ran forward, ready with her hands. Tori threw a pair of medical gloves at her. Sigrun caught them in her sprint forward, and she knelt. Bonnie was down, bleeding from her shoulder. Sigrun slid on one blue glove, then the other.

Sigrun gently pushed Bonnie against the wall, then caught a med kit that was thrown at her. “Joru?” asked Sigrun, opening the kit.

“Gone,” said Bonnie. “Her friend took her out back. I heard a motorcycle, and some weird words. Something about an ‘our’ and an ‘ugg…’”

“Or-uggr?” asked Sigrun. She grabbed a bandage and put it onto the wound.

“Yes,” said Bonnie. “And gah, like they were gargling. Two voices, both female.”

“Safe and go, in Old Norse,” said Sigrun. “The Valkyries have her. I have you. Now, I’m going to have to put pressure onto the wound, and it will hurt like a son-of-a-bitch.” Bonnie nodded, then cried out as Sigrun pressed the wound into the wall.

Tori knelt next to her and spoke on the phone. “Older female, fifties, excellent health, GSR to the right shoulder, pressure bandage applied.” She stood up. “Guess I need a list of your medications,” said Tori.

Bonnie barked out a half-laugh, half yelp. “None,” she said.

Then, as if by magic, Ghost was there, and shoved Sigrun aside. She peeked under the bandage, and applied pressure again. “You jus’ got a shoulder tap,” said Ghost. “You be fine.” She turned and yelled to Tori. “Hey, soldier lady. ETA on the bus?”

“Around the corner,” yelled Tori. “Police and FBI should be here in 3…2…1.” A number of cars, from a regular police cruiser to a black FBI car, now came barreling in.

“Hey!” barked Tori. “Get the fuck out of the way of the ambulances. Are you stupid or just insane?” She directed police cars as if she was a commander at a battle. The ambulances rode up the middle, and soon EMTs were spread out.

Sigrun took off the gloves. “No offense, ‘cause you’re probably going to end up in the same hospital, but I gotta see to my wife,” she said to Bonnie and Ghost.

“I woulda give you ma keys, but da po-leese gonna have your ass in interrogation,” said Ghost. “Running away now’ll get you shot up.”

Sigrun sighed. “I hate it when you’re right.” She took out her phone, and texted 911 to a relay. It may or may not get to Saber, depending on how deep he was under, especially if contact would get him killed.

She sent another to Bannon. Bannon called her back. “Shit,” he said.

“Gregory’s on the way to the hospital with Wraith,” said Sigrun. “She’s still in her agency, didn’t quit, so I’m expecting alphabet letters soon. Quite the shootout between someone wanting Joru dead. You know her as Anna, the victim. The Valkyries have her. Gregory went after the shootout in a green dune buggy.”

“What the fuck?” said Bannon. “We’ll track it. They’ll probably drive it into a bigger truck, though, and/or try to off-road through the desert. Henry riding an overland bike?”

“Dunno,” said Sigrun. “Still learning Harleys. I know the Soldier Pack’s been making them… looks like the one to the left of me.” She took a photo, and sent it in. “But…”

The phone was snatched out of her hand. Sigrun grabbed the offending hand, twisted it, and caught the phone. The cop dropped his hand back and stepped away.

He started to pull his gun, but a woman in a black suit stood in front of Sigrun. “You’re dumb, aren’t you?” she said to the cop. “You just assaulted a civilian.” She pointed up at the camera above them. “And, your bodycam will show the same thing.”

“Chief told me to collect cell phones,” he said, massaging his wrist.

“By grabbing them off of people talking on them? Officer… Hartley?” She took notes.

“Who the hell are you?” asked Officer Hartley.

“I’m Special Agent French, FBI.” She whipped out her credential, showed it; then stowed it. She turned to Sigrun and held out her hand. Sigrun placed the phone in it. Gregory was shouting into the phone, then calmed as he heard Frenchie’s name.

“Frenchie,” he said, “let’s talk.”

Frenchie put the phone up to her ear. “Talk,” she said.

Bonnie left, Ghost still at her side. “See ya ladies later,” she said.

“She can’t leave,” said Hartley.

“Yes, she can,” said Sigrun. “She was not here at the time of the damn shooting.”

“Hartley,” said a strong voice. “Get away from those women. You stupid or something?”

“Lieutenant Pocero,” said Sigrun. “We’ve never met, but Henry and Saber say you rock.”

“You’re a Valkyrie,” said Lieutenant Pocero, and they shook hands.

“Sigrun,” Sigrun said. “We were protecting an ex-military woman named Anna. She was… assaulted in the military, but no charges were filed against the doers.”

“More than one?” asked Lieutenant Pocero. “Charming.”

“She got out, and we looked into it for her, trying to find out where they were. I have no idea if Anna —we call her Joru, she’s a Valkyrie now. Well, I have no idea if she wants to press charges now, or not. We were just trying to find out where they were.”

“And?” asked Lieutenant Pocero.

“One of them is about to be picked up by the DEA all the way across the country from here. She shot an agent, or so Wraith told me.”

“Wraith here?” asked Lieutenant Pocero.

“On her way to the hospital. She was shot by the other doer, a military sniper.”

“One sniper didn’t do all of this,” said Frenchie, shutting the phone and handing it back to Sigrun. “He had help.”

“Anna had protection,” said Sigrun. “Some Valkyries have Anna/Joru. Wraith was up over there, in a blind, looking for weird stuff.” She pointed at the room above the classrooms. “He was shooting from over there,” she said, pointing at an office building. “That building’s not ours, it belongs to the next property over.” It was a square, glass thing, six stories tall. “Don’t know the angle. Wraith did. She shot at the shooter. Bonnie threw a wrench in the direction of the bad guy’s shots. Then there was more fire, so I tried to get everyone down. I ran for Wraith, but Gregory was there first. Got her in a bus, ran along the wall on that side of the property. After Gregory got her in, I saw a dune buggy. Bannon thinks that…”

Frenchie held up a hand. “Henry checked in with Bannon, who told me. They lost the dune buggy when it went across some desert sand, cut in and out of traffic, went over a median (opposing traffic), and over a guardrail. They drove it into a white and red moving truck, which narrows it down to several thousand vehicles.”

“Lovely,” said Lieutenant Pocero.

“Lovely is right. Henry said our suspects are the male shooter, and two females with a lot of firepower, all wearing body armor and motorcycle helmets.”

“I’ll get the tape from the building,” said Lieutenant Pocero.

“No, sorry,” said Frenchie. “Wraith is still Agency. An attack on her is met with all seriousness. We’ll do that.” She smiled at Lieutenant Pocero. “Saber said you were the competent one. So, mop this up, and we’ll find the baddies who are shooting up Las Vegas.”

“Over an assault,” said Lieutenant Pocero.

“Dumbass thought he could take out a Valkyrie on the lot of a Nighthawks motorcycle school. One frequented by Iron Knights,” said Tori, coming up to them. “Thought he could take one shot and vanish. Well, he shot an agent, so his ass is grass.”

“Staff Sergeant Tori Kym, please meet Special Agent French. Heard from Xenia up north that you are da bomb. And this is Lieutenant Pocero. The Nighthawks trust him.”

“Pleasure,” said Tori. They shook hands all around.

“You seem to be far from Reno,” said Sigrun to Frenchie.

“Staff training,” Frenchie said, a half-smile on her face. “And possible transfer.”

“I have to see to my wife,” said Sigrun. The two newcomers looked at her as if she had three heads. “Wraith.”

“I thought Wraith was married to Saber,” said Lieutenant Pocero.

“We both are,” said Sigrun. “We haven’t exchanged rings yet, but we are.”

The big man took a deep breath and ran his hand over his bald head. “Alrighty then,” said Lieutenant Pocero. “Let’s get a recorded statement, so go through it one more time please.”

Both Frenchie and Lieutenant Pocero took out their cell phones, gave the date, time, and location, and simultaneously recorded the interview. Then, Frenchie ran next door. Lieutenant Pocero made sure all the wounded were gone, and then secured the scene.

Sigrun grabbed her bike and took it out the back way to her wife. She remembered the code and put it in on the other side to close it. She hit her earphone and said, “Gregory, where the fuck is my wife?” He told her, and she was there as fast as she could be, without breaking traffic laws.

She parked in motorcycle parking, took off her helmet, and ran in to find her wife. She got to the right part of the emergency room by following the cursing. Wraith was steadily cursing in Norse as a nurse taped her ribs. She was lying flat with a neck brace. Rota was on one side, and Gregory the other. Rota added a word when Wraith ran out of words.

“Where the fuck is her pain medication?” Sigrun bellowed, coming to a stop. The nurse jumped.

Wraith said, “Won’ give me stuff. Worried about concussion.”

“She landed on her butt, not her head, or her neck would be broken again,” said Sigrun. “Get me the god-damned doctor, now!” The nurse jumped and ran as if she had been bitten.

“Go easy on the help,” said Gregory. “Don’t want her to quit. World needs people like her.”

“I’ll apologize once she gets her meds,” said Sigrun. She stepped forward, and Rota moved. Sigrun grabbed her hand, and Wraith clenched while Sigrun rolled her onto her side. “Did you talk to Gregory or Bannon?” asked Sigrun, looking down at her wife. Wraith’s normally pale face was ice-white, her lips pulled back.

The doctor came in. “What’s this about terrifying my nurses?”

“My wife didn’t fall on her head, she fell on her ass.” Sigrun pulled back the sheet, used two fingers to push Gregory’s face away, and opened up the hospital gown. Wraith sported bruises on her buttocks. “Now that you’ve needlessly tortured a woman by not giving her pain medication, and laid her on her back on top of her bruises, how about doing your job?” Sigrun got close to the man’s face. He had brown hair, tired brown eyes, and a bored attitude. His eyes flew open as Sigrun listed his failures. “Or, get me a doctor who can do the job.”

“I’ll… any allergies?”

“You can’t look at her chart?” asked Sigrun. “And, no.”

“I don’t appreciate your tone,” said the doctor.

“I don’t appreciate your lack of intelligence,” said Sigrun. “Now, go and find her a competent doctor. You. Aren’t.”

He whirled and flounced out, lab coat trailing behind him. Gregory stood, then stretched. “I’ll get a hospital administrator.”

“No,” said Sigrun, eyes flashing. “I will.” She spun out of the room.

“And that’s why you don’t get Valkyries angry,” said Rota, smiling widely.

By the time Sigrun came down with a cowed administrator, a nurse was giving Wraith her much-needed pain medication. Another nurse came in to brace Wraith’s head better and turn her onto her other side.

Sigrun asked when Wraith could be discharged. “She’s been shot,” said the administrator.

“She had on a bulletproof vest,” countered Sigrun.

“She needs a hospital where she can rest, and where actual competent people help her,” said the administrator.

“Home,” said Wraith. “At this point, a home health nurse is more cost-effective.”

“Whoa,” said the administrator, named Marvin Tilley. He was very short, dwarfed by Rota and Gregory. “She’s been shot,” he repeated. “And with the dose she just got, will probably not be so coherent.”

“That’s my girl,” said Sigrun, proudly. “And, she’s right. Home health care is fine for this, with a machine to give her the proper doses of medication. We have a gel bed for her bruises and we can put something more rigid at her neck area.”

“I don’t know,” said the administrator.

“She’s been shot. The guy got away,” said Sigrun.

“Damn,” said Wraith. “Building was too far away for an accurate shot.”

“We’ll keep her protected,” said Rota. Gregory nodded.

“Oh… okay,” said the administrator.

“I’ll arrange for the home health care,” said Sigrun.

“I’ll guard our lady,” said Rota.

“I’ll stand here and do nothing,” said Gregory.

“Backup,” said Rota.

He pretended to glare at her, then nodded. “I’ll be right outside.”

Sigrun talked on her headset. Rota looked at the administrator. “I’d get that paperwork ready if I were you,” she said to him. “Before Sigrun gets off the phone, preferably.”

“On it,” he said, then withdrew from the room.

“Thought the pricks would never leave,” said Wraith. “I want a sitrep.”

“Gregory’s getting one,” said Rota. “What do you want for dinner? I can get soup and salad that’s amazing.”

“Good,” said Wraith. “We can’t cook. And can ya get my wife to slow the fuck down? She seems to have only an on or an off switch, no ‘relax mode.’”

“I’ll get Skuld to talk to her,” said Rota.

Sigrun got off the phone. “I heard that,” she said. “I’ve got a week and a half left, then I’m off for six weeks.” She sighed. “I’ll tell everyone ‘no’ except for you and finishing off my projects and getting those bastards turned in.”

“Should have done that weeks ago,” said Rota.

Sigrun sighed. “Sing it, sister,” she said. She squatted down and got in her wife’s line of sight. “Forgive me for running around like a chicken and being an idiot.”

Wraith put out the hand without the needle in it and patted Sigrun’s face. “I get why you were doing it, but please stop. Just,” she said, tears in her eyes, “stop. Let me love you.”

“I miss him so much,” said Sigrun, wiping away Wraith’s tears.

Wraith wiped away half of Sigrun’s tears. “So do I. I think… it depends on him.”

“I agree,” said Sigrun. “It’s time.”

Rota stared at them, brain working overtime. Either they wanted Saber to quit, which they would leave as his decision, or… “Oh,” she said. “I’m all for it.” They all laughed through their tears.

They got Wraith into a medical transport van, with a back brace on to keep her neck straight, and slowly into a reclining seat. They took her home slowly, carefully. Gregory was there to open the door, and found Skuld inside, the lights on, and the cat in her arms. They got her in, laid her on her side in the bed, put a special contoured pillow under her head, removed the back brace, and made sure the meds machine was ready to go. The cat curled up in the pit of her stomach, purring. Wraith finally let go of the tension and slipped into sleep.

Gregory coordinated with Skuld, letting his female Soldier Pack (who were also Valkyries) onto Wraith’s protection detail. “He’s probably not coming for her specifically; I’m sure he still has Anna, I mean Joru, in mind. But, smart’s always better than stupid.”

“Stupid gets you dead,” Skuld agreed. “That won’t leave you shorthanded?”

Gregory sighed. “Yes, but if something happened to Wraith…”

“We’ll get people down from Pahrump, and they can bring the bikes they’re working on,” said Skuld. “Herja will be all over me to come anyway, and we’ve got Soldier Pack there.”

“Base of operations?” asked Gregory.

Sigrun came into the kitchen and sighed. “Here is out. Wraith needs sleep.”

“We can’t use our base,” said Gregory. “Too busy as it is.”

“My place,” said Skuld. “Ours. Rota?”

“Duh,” said Rota. “You don’t get to shoot one of us and live.”

“Walking dead man,” agreed Gregory. “You ladies set it up. I’ve got to go in. We’re behind as it is, and now I’ve got three kids at home, and a very demanding wife.”

“Heard about that,” said Sigrun. “Brought your wife home a present, to hear her tell it. Half-starved waif and her two-year-old daughter abused by the child’s drunken grandmother.”

Rota’s eyes flashed, and Skuld went very still. “That woman shows up…” said Skuld.

“My wife will kill her with a frying pan,” said Gregory.

“Slowly, I hope,” said Rota. “Anyhoo, I’ll go get our place ready. Get snacks, drinks; that kind of stuff. The Nighthawks clubhouse would be good, but right across from it all…”

“No one dead,” said Gregory. “With that much gunfire, I’m stunned.”

“Bonnie?” asked Sigrun.

“Fine, shoulder shot. Pissed as hell because she can’t teach.”

“She doesn’t need to,” said Sigrun. “Herja’s coming with her own pack of soldiers.” She whipped out her phone and sent a text to Bonnie. She got on back and laughed loudly.

“What?” said Rota.

“She said Herja had better clean up after herself.”

“That’s Bonnie,” said Gregory, laughing tiredly.

Sigrun walked up to him, hugged him hard, and kissed his cheek. “You saved our wife. You need anything…”

“Sleep,” said Gregory. “And my day’s not finished.”

Gregory left the women and hauled ass to the front gate of the apartment complex. Thandie picked him up. “Gunfire, boss?” she said. “Really?”

“Not all it’s cracked up to be,” he said. He replied to a half-dozen emails while Thandie took Vegas traffic as if she’d been born to it.

“Well, fuck,” she said, as she drove into the company garage. A client was in the garage, screaming into Bannon’s face. She pulled up, deliberately squeaking the tires, right in front of them.

Gregory got out in one fluid moment, hair mussed, jacket scratched. “May I be of service?” he said.

“How many rounds expended?” asked Bannon, turning his head away from the short man with a bright red face.

“Quite a few,” said Gregory. “By me, none. Got the principal in the ambulance. Under fire.”

“Go,” said Bannon.

The red-faced man took a step back as Gregory took a step toward him. “Sir, may I be of service?” asked Gregory, his voice like butter, his face a controlled menace.

The man said, “I have been denied access to my ward.”

“School trip,” said Bannon.

“Two days,” agreed Gregory. “My own daughter’s on it with her. Mimi’s seventeen. She’ll look out for her.”

“Well,” said the man, fussing with his tie. Wonder why he doesn’t melt with that three-piece suit on in the desert, thought Gregory.

“If that’s all,” said Gregory, “I have a report to make. We need to order ammunition. The shooter escaped.”

“Yes,” said Bannon. He nodded at the fat man. “I will have a report later in the week,” he said. “Goodbye.” The men stepped toward the elevator, Thandie in tow, Sayan ready with the door. They got in, and all gave the fat man cold stares.

“That’s Sarah Ryse he’s talking about,” said Thandie. It wasn’t a question.

“Guy’s all set to loot her trust fund. I got a power of attorney paper out of her and hired a forensic accountant to watch him. Got him all hot and bothered. He’s raided several other clients’ accounts. I’ve hired the forensic accountant and the Financial Crimes Unit of the Las Vegas Metropolitan Police Department to approach his clients and ask pointed questions about where, exactly, their money is located. I’ve cost him the house on St. Tropez, so far.” Bannon grinned evilly as the elevator stopped on their floor. Gregory barked out a laugh.

Jaime was ready with folders. “Thank you for getting rid of that odious man. Rica Sledge, Conference Room One. The lady who wants to protect her magician daughter that won the contest.” He handed Bannon a blue folder.

“On it,” said Bannon. “Gregory, get cleaned up, and see Trevor. He’s here with the… things.” He handed over a red folder. “Get the order in, and we’ll stack up the next three, get them out so you can eat.”

“What’s eating?” said Gregory. He took the folder and hurried toward his own office.

Trevor came in nearly seven minutes to the second. Gregory was seated, folder open. “So, you want us to start a small war for you?” Trevor asked.

“Just supply the weapons,” said Gregory. He used his tablet to project the order onto the screen.

They fiddled with it. Gregory was supplying ammo to both the Valkyries and the Nighthawks. They agreed on an order, everyone signed, and the file went into Richland’s waiting hand. The next three clients streamed through, and then everyone met in the conference room for a sitrep, followed by sandwiches, chips, and soda for dinner.

“A three-letter-agency agent was shot today, and the Nighthawks’ Harley training facility was shot up by a sniper and his minions.” Bannon gestured, and Jaime put the picture of two soldiers onto the screen. “Lieutenant Yonck, a sniper, hit his terrain specialist on the head, raped her with his spotter, this woman.” Yonck was trim, with slicked-back, jet black hair, brown eyes, and movie-star good looks. Zim was standard military, bulging biceps and brown hair caught in a bun. “Charges were never filed because she was concussed and in shock from being rapped on the head and abandoned in the desert, and because some brass worked to cover it up.” Several people in the room hissed at that one. “Zim’s out of the picture as of about an hour ago. Shot a DEA agent, got shot in the head as they closed in on her location, a crack house in New Jersey where she was hiding. Yonck found out that someone was trying to find him, one of our assets.” Bannon looked up. “He’s a contract killer. He’s been hiding his movements behind an affair with a rich woman, one who is allowing him access to private planes.”

Gregory stood up. “At lunchtime today, he tried to kill his victim. An agent was shot at his location. She did a pretty good job, got into his blind, but no blood, so she didn’t hit him. Found some leather, so she nicked him.” Everyone laughed. “He broke down his weapon and went in closer. The Nighthawks and some Iron Knights were there, among them some cops, a firefighter, and two ex-military people taking their Harley course. They laid down suppressive fire. The Valkyries got the principal out the back. Bonnie got a shot through the shoulder.” More hissing was heard. “Everyone else got behind concrete walls, and/or crawled to safety.”

“What did you do?” asked Sayan.

“Ran toward Wraith, our sniper. She was shot. She had on a bulletproof vest, but she had been in a truck versus motorcycle assassination attempt and was still recovering from that. I got her to an ambulance.”

“Under fire,” added Bannon. “Our sniper has two co-conspirators. They were all wearing bulletproof leather jackets and reinforced motorcycle helmets.” Bannon showed various clips of the firefight, taken from various cameras, including those from the elevator taking them up to the blind and to the escape. “No faces, but we’re under attack. The Valkyries are pissed, the FBI is involved. Some of you will have to be at two places at once as we guard Wraith and protect our principal.”

“We’re ready,” said Thandie. Everyone else grunted or said, “Oo-rah.”

“Assignments are on your pads,” said Gregory. “Get grub, eat, drink. Then, dismissed.”

Hunters and Hunted

Motorcycles roamed Vegas. Valkyries, Iron Knights, Nighthawks. They were all circulating, on main roads and side roads. The FBI was all over the hotels, and the clubs fanned out to help too. They then went to rentals and even homes that had been rented out, but no dice. The shooter was in the wind. They swarmed like angry bees. Sonic did great business.

Wraith slept for two days. The nurses kept the meds on high to give her time to heal. They put Anna/Joru in Wraith, Sigrun, and Saber’s home. She slept on Sigrun’s bed, with Tori in a chair with a gun, guarding her. She was a combination of terrified and furious.

“I didn’t mean for this to happen,” she said, stealing a fry from Tori.

Tori snorted. “Dude’s a contract killer. You know what he and his spotter did. He needed to be taken out, one way or the other.” She pouted her lips in disgust. “He’s gone and started a war with the wrong person,” said Tori. “Or the wrong group. He shot an Agency woman, at a Nighthawks event, while shooting at a Valkyrie, while Iron Knights were there. He’s dead. The thing is, we gotta get to him before he gets to anyone else.” She snorted. “He and those bitches with him. Wonder what he told them?”

“You know anything about him that can help us catch him?” asked Sigrun.

Joru groaned. “The FBI asked me that. The DEA and the ATF asked me that. The LVMPD asked me that. Hell, even Henry asked me that. The man was arrogant. Most shooters are. Arrogant assholes.”

“Nope,” said Tori. “Just arrogant. Most want to get the job done, then do it again somewhere else.”

“Anyway, he didn’t say more than a few words to me in the eighteen months I knew him, and he was moved around, you know?”

“Yeah,” said Tori. “I get it. He went where the high value targets were.”

Joru put her head in her hands. “Now I’m a high value target.”

“Not really,” said Sigrun.

“Hey!” said Joru, feeling the words.

“You cannot testify about something you can’t prove. No rape kit, the idiot bastards. So, not so much value. But, this guy’s obsessed with how great he is. You went against the ‘code’ of no one speaking out against him,” said Sigrun.

“Most of us have dated someone like him. These assholes think of people as possessions,” said Tori, plainly. “And they’re about an eleven on the danger scale.”

“Fear,” said Sigrun. “That’s the tactic sons of bitches around the world try to use. Doesn’t work on Valkyries though.”

Joru took a deep breath and stood up. “With your shield.”

“Or on it,” finished Sigrun. The women grabbed each other on the back of the necks and touched foreheads.

“That never gets old,” said Herja, on the couch, exhausted after doubling the women she was training, and keeping an eye out for assassins all day.

“You guys are creepy,” said Tori with a half-smile. “But, I get it.” The other women laughed.

* * *

Henry sighed. It was a long damn day. He still had motorcycle-class clients; not a single one had canceled, despite the shootout. They had the cops take away the spent bullet casings, repaired the masonry, and kept going. Gregory still taught evade and escape classes, now dubbed “E & E.” He had kids to teach across the way, slipping off when he could. The parents still sent their kids in, since Gregory had them picked up in bulletproof van. A lot of Nighthawks and Soldier Pack saw fit to hang out in the club, planning trips, or happily shooting the breeze. All were armed to the teeth. He took the bike home, always keeping an eye out. He had a bulletproof vest, ready for anything. Getting too old for bullet wounds, he thought.

Henry was at a light when the woman came out of the convenience store. He noticed the expensive jacket, and the obvious motorcycle helmet. He tapped his cell and pinged Gregory at the same time he pulled his gun.

She pulled hers as well, dropped the bag she was carrying, and ran at him. “Tell us where she is!” screamed the woman. She had a coppery face and thick red lips; the faceplate was up on her reinforced helmet. “And I’ll let you live, old man.”

“Fuck you,” said Henry, putting up his foot and revving the motor. He felt the Harley growl in response.

They shot their guns at the same time, and Henry bent backward. He heard the ping as the bullet hit a car behind him. The woman with the gun went flying, and his Harley crossed the crosswalk with the bike cutting off a blue truck. He pulled up and pointed his .45 at the woman. “You move, you die,” he said.

Motorcycles came roaring up from both sides. Gregory was on one, on his own way home. Rota was on the other one. All three of them now had pointed guns at the woman. She held up her hands. Gregory kicked away her weapons, pulled out a plastic tie, and arrested her ass.

They got the helmet off and patted her down for weapons. “He’s close, this bitch has groceries,” said Gregory.

“I’ve got her,” said Henry. “Go-go-go.”

“Within two blocks,” said Gregory. He ran one way, Rota the opposite, screaming into her own mic. They whipped around opposite corners.

Henry kept his gun on the woman. She had wiry black hair and chocolate eyes. “Save some fucking time and tell us where he is,” he said.

“He who?” she asked.

“The rapist who took a potshot at a woman he raped years ago. Then, he shot a DEA agent. He ain’t getting older, woman,” said Henry.

“Gary’s no rapist,” said the woman.

“Wrong name,” said Henry. “His name is Edwin Mulger Yonck. Now, let’s start over. Where is the man who raped our friend?” Motorcycles came, stopping there, and across the street. They parked in lots, on the sidewalk, got off, and, with guns at their sides, fanned out.

The woman sputtered. “He… he’s a contract guy.”

“A contract killer,” said Henry. “And a rapist. And apparently, as much of a compulsive liar as he was with his ex-spotter Zim.” He smiled. “So, you like hanging out with contract killers?”

She shrugged. “The money’s good. The bath salts are better,” she said, referring to dangerous drugs that looked like colored salt.

An Iron Knight rode up. “I’ve got her,” he said.

“Thanks,” said Henry. “Woman here’s a prostitute and drug user. Took a shot at me.” He looked over at the very-stunned man, now out of his blue SUV, screaming at someone on the phone. “Shot that guy’s car instead.” He waved down at the woman. “You just took stupid to a whole new level, woman,” he said, and ran, gun at his side.

Frenchie was three blocks over, talking into a throat mic. “No, Ma’am, do not call the locals. We’ve got three motorcycle gangs on the street. Don’t want anyone on the blue side getting shot.”

Henry waved two fingers at her and pointed up where a curtain twitched. A second later, he shoved her; hard, as a rifle came out. Glass exploded from the building behind them, a breakfast restaurant, closed since five. Henry helped Frenchie up, and they split.

“Shots fired!” yelled Frenchie into her mic.

“Got him, Gregory,” said Henry into his still-open mic.

They split up; he left; she right. He ran in front, as he was the one wearing the bulletproof vest, and he wasn’t sure if Frenchie was. He hit all the buzzers at once, and someone let him in. He ran toward the stairs. Gregory’s beast of a bike, his brand-new Harley, roared. Shots came down from the window, and Gregory’s .45 barked back. Henry ran up to the third floor, following the sound of gunfire. Terrified residents ran past him.

Gregory found the right door; a woman in a motorcycle jacket and a helmet fired at him. His gun barked twice. She fell; her collar wasn’t up right, and he got her in both the neck and the left knee. He stepped back as she got off one more shot before she breathed her last. A mother with a child in her arms ran back into her apartment, screaming wildly.

Henry didn’t have to kick in the door, it was already open a crack. He pushed it in and heard the bark of a gun. It wasn’t the rifle Yonck had; that had a distinctive sound. “FBI!” he heard. Then he heard the sound of a body hitting the ground.

“Nighthawks!” he said, hoping not to get shot. Yonck had dragged his expensive sniper rifle backward and had been trying to make it out of the second bedroom. He wasn’t wearing a motorcycle helmet, and Frenchie had gotten him right between the eyes. “Nice shooting,” said Henry. “Want to come in?”

Frenchie was on the fire escape, both hands on the gun, in the classic FBI firing position. “Sure, why not,” she said. “Stand down,” she said into her phone, as he heard Gregory say the same thing into his. There was the sound of running feet, and Harleys roared as their owners got on them and rode away, making a deafening sound through the open window.

“Damn,” said Henry, “I liked this gun.” He put the safety on. “Now the police are going to have it as evidence.”

“FBI,” said Frenchie. “And, I’ll buy you another one myself.”

“Gregory,” said Henry, into his still-open mic. “Anyone shot down there?”

“A lot of stucco and some brick,” said Gregory.

“The other one dead?” asked Frenchie.

“What do you think?” he said, as Henry went over to give her a hand into the apartment open window.

“I think we’re damn lucky I wasn’t the one you had in your sights,” said Frenchie, swiping glass out of her long hair.

“Same here,” said Henry.

The FBI, DEA, and ATF showed up. Gregory and Henry were the only ones that stayed to talk to the alphabet soup of agencies. Frenchie didn’t let the interrogations go on long; after all, all three agencies had been looking for the dead man.

Henry and Gregory stood on the steps of the Federal Building. “Let’s go tell Joru ourselves,” said Gregory.

“Then food, then home,” agreed Henry.

Joru wasn’t at Wraith’s. The men got hugs and colas from Sigrun. They went to Skuld and Rota’s place, and found nearly every Valkyrie right there, and on guard. They were hailed as heroes and given chocolate silk pie and more cola. The women listened to female singers screaming, and danced with a wild abandonment, happy to end the siege, and relieved that the rapist and killer was dead. The men escaped before their eardrums burst.

“Steak,” said Gregory, mounting his bike.

“Moo,” said Henry. Gregory laughed.

They found a steakhouse and worked their way through some onion rings before, bit by bit, the Nighthawks, Soldier Pack, and Iron Knights (who were involved in the chase) arrived. Bannon showed up with the day shift, and they ate steak, shrimp, ribs, baked potatoes, and vegetables, taking up two long tables in the back, meant for parties. Some had beer, some wine, but only one, as they were all driving home. The rest had colas or teas.

Bannon stood and said, “We got the bastard!” Everyone raised their glasses. “To Gregory, who didn’t stop, and Henry, who took two out of the three. And,” he said, as an exhausted Frenchie came into the room, “appropriately, a woman took out our rapist. Success!”

Someone put a glass of merlot in Frenchie’s hand. “To killing the bad motherfuckers,” said Frenchie. They cheered. They made room for Frenchie and dined like kings and queens.

* * *

The next day, Joru woke at dawn. Tori stretched, rolled out of her own pod, and the two women took turns in the bathroom. They got on their bikes and rode down to Lake Mead. They stood there on a rock, the hot desert wind in their hair, and smelled the water. They sat and gleefully put their feet into the water.

“Later on, I’m gonna work with the street girls, get them out,” said Joru. “I shouldn’t have let it go. I should have ranted and raved and showed up on their doorsteps at three am until someone put those bastards away.”

“Yeah, you should have,” said Tori. “Every single damn time it happened, if we went after the fuckers, they’d stop. They’d be too terrified to hurt us.” She sighed. “That includes me. Wasn’t an officer. Was a boyfriend. Hit me. I was only fourteen. I didn’t stop him. I hated him. I… eventually, I wised up, got out of it. Two years later, he did it to Chelsie, a girl in my class.” She grinned. “Her dad beat the living daylights out of him, and her mom watched. From what Chelsie said, her mom stood over him, a lighter in one hand, a beer can in the other. Threatened to light his balls on fire if he ever touched another girl; woman, or whatever. Guy started drinking like a fish, got in a car accident. Dead before I signed up.” She sighed. “Wanted to be badass like Chelsie’s parents, so I joined, became a soldier.”

“Oo-rah,” said Joru. They bumped fists. “I’m a fucking mess,” said Joru. “Those two fucked up my head real-bad. Gotta get it screwed on straight. Become a Valkyrie. Defend every little girl that comes to me for help.” She stopped, swallowed. “I wanna adopt kids someday. I do. But, need a head screwed on straight first. Then I’ll do lots of shit. Make my life count.”

“Valkyries have two psychologists,” said Tori. “I’ve got one, Kate. You should use her.”

“Okay,” said Joru.

Tori took two sodas out of her vented summer motorcycle jacket, popped the top on one, and handed it to Joru. She popped the top on the other one. “To being a total badass,” she said.

“Badasses rock,” said Joru. They touched cans and relaxed in the sun.

* * *

Wraith sat up very carefully in her recliner. She was still in her neck brace, because her flight through the air had strained her neck muscles. She was so glad she didn’t hit the floor or a wall with her head. She knew damn-well she was lucky to be alive.

“Lay back,” ordered Sigrun. She complied. “Gregory and Bannon are our friends.”

“What the fuck?” asked Wraith, as both men sat, and pulled up chairs.

“We know who’s been saving us time and money,” said Gregory. “The secret’s out.”

“We want you to be our secret weapon, hiding in your lair,” said Bannon. He handed her an envelope.

She took it and opened the flap. “That’s… a lot of zeros,” she said, looking at a contract.

“We want to ask you, when you feel ready, to say bye-bye to the Agency and hello to us,” said Gregory. “We’ll move you to our insurance when…”

“I already quit,” said Wraith, “Two weeks’ notice. By then, I should be better, and off the meds.”

Gregory and Bannon stared at her earnestly. “We hope you accept our offer,” said Bannon.

“We could throw in a company car, but we hear you love Harleys, and that one of the Soldier Pack is building one for you,” added Gregory. “And,” he said, his voice filled with hope, “if you want to take over my Evade and Escape classes…”

Wraith laughed. “I didn’t evade so well. And, it will be months until I can ride. Cannot strain anything else. Ever.”

“If you don’t want to…” said Gregory.

“Oh, I want to,” said Wraith. “No one should have to go through this. So, give me some time.”

“All the time you need,” said Bannon.

“Bullshit,” said Gregory. “We need you to be our secret weapon in your lair. We’ll install screens, and get a faster computer…”

“We’ll ask Daisy Chain to teach you stuff,” said Bannon. “Woman asks for top dollar, but her work is superb.”

Wraith laughed again. “Done. Now, go away and buy me some screens or something.” The cat jumped on her lap. “I have a cat to pet.”

“Yes,” said Bannon.

“On it,” said Gregory. They stood up.

“I’m kidding,” she said. “I’ll order my own damn screens. And set my own budget. I promise, I’ll make back every penny in new clients.”

“Okay,” said Gregory.

“Excellent,” said Bannon. They rushed out the door before she had time to make more demands.

“You were a little hard on them,” said Sigrun, getting them each a glass of iced blackberry tea.

“I was!” she said, laughing. “And they have clients coming out their ears. Got to keep their current ones happy. I think some of the Soldier Pack are coming along nicely. One or two might make excellent associates.”

Sigrun dropped off the tea and sat down. “You think big.”

“I think there are people out there that need help. Bannon and Gregory can help them.”

“Where the fuck are we going to put computer screens? And, no, you can’t have my bedroom.”

“I’ll think of something,” said Wraith. She turned on the television. “Now, go finish the last two projects so we can watch TV.”

“One’s drying and the other one is a group mural. Can’t go painting on it now. No light.”

“Ooh, painting party. I’ll give you the card, let you order pizza. Knock that thing out.”

“Alrighty then,” said Sigrun, stealing the remote. “Shall we watch sexy men put out fires, or sexy people in a hospital?”

“One after the other,” said Wraith, “of course.”

“Of course,” said Sigrun, snuggling in.

* * *

Henry awoke to a tug on his hair, a gentle one. He opened one eye, and found Damia looking at him, eyes serious. He rose up on his elbows and looked at the clock. He wanted to groan; but knew it might alarm Damia. It was several hours past his normal wakeup time. His body felt bruised. He’d run around like a maniac on a Harley for days now, being shot at, and shooting people. He resolved to sing his taking of a life later.

He said, in a quiet voice, “I am fine, little one. Just tired.”

Damia smiled that brilliant smile of hers, the one they thought they’d never see. It clutched at his heart and made him feel like sunshine itself, simultaneously. “Inola got a new pony.”

He wanted to lay back down and sleep, but Damia needed to show him something. “Let me wash up, and we will go to see the pony together.”

Damia nodded, her blonde curls bobbing. Henry sat up, put his feet on the floor, and shuffled to the bathroom like an old man. Once inside, he stretched, popping his spine and knees, and did his morning ablutions. His sun song could wait, especially since the sun had been up for hours. He dressed in underwear, socks, jeans, and a tee, and followed the little girl down the stairs.

In the kitchen, Vi smiled but didn’t say a word. She put a biscuit with sausage and egg into one hand, and a huge lidded cup of coffee in the other. “Bless you, sister,” he said, kissing her cheek.

She blushed prettily. At the door, he put one leg up, then the other, like a flamingo as Damia put his boots on for him. He stumbled out onto the porch and saw the pony. His heart clutched again, but not in a good way. The poor thing was in the paddock with the farrier, working to cut off its too-long hooves and oil them. The little pony was a patchy one, matted brown and white, with a tan nose and forelock, and a black mane and tail. Inola had already shaved off the mess and was now handing the pony little bits of their extra-calorie feed. The pony, a mare, delicately took the feed from Inola’s hand.

Henry remembered to eat; he needed his hands free. He ate the sandwich, wiped his fingers, and pocketed the napkin, while he took sips of the scalding coffee. He put the coffee down on a post and walked to the animal with its ribs showing. He sang then, of sunshine and sweet grass, moonlight and clear water. He ended up with his hand on the pony’s head while the farrier, Tim Robb, finished.

“I never get over how you two can calm an animal,” said Tim, straightening out his lanky frame. He put away his tools and the hoof oil, and stretched, elongating his already-long spine. “And your songs make them happy.”

Damia reached out and stroked its shoulder. “Her name is Blaze,” she said, clearly. “She needs food and water, and vet care. Vet Varner is on her way.”

Robb knew damn well that Damia had autism. He hadn’t heard two words from the girl. He took off his cowboy hat, ran a hand through his floppy brown hair that was cut short on the sides and back, and put the hat back on before he spoke. “That’s exactly right, young filly,” he said, playing the cowboy to the hilt. It worked; that bright laugh sounded out over the paddock. Inola and Henry locked eyes, merriment in Inola’s, joy in Henry’s.

“I’m not a girl pony,” said Damia, clearly. “I’m a girl… a big girl.”

“That you are,” said Robb. “So, don’t let the vet look at your teeth. Make sure she looks at the pony’s teeth instead.”

That bright laugh came again. “Vet Varner doesn’t look at my teeth,” she said. She snapped her jaw like a snapping turtle. “I’d bite her if she did.”

That one made Robb laugh. “I bet you would, little filly. I bet you would.” He took a chance and took some straw out of her hair. “There, now. Time to clean up before the vet comes.” Inola handed over a credit card, and he ran it through his phone attachment and gave it back. “If you don’t mind, I’ll run that card the other direction. I want two bags of that young man Alo’s feed, for horses, and one for rabbits. My wife done got it into her head to make a rabbit condo like yours, raise us up some of those soft, furry rabbits. Angora style.”

Inola took his card and ran it through her own phone attachment. “I’ll help you put it into your truck.”

“Do you want to see our rabbit condo?” asked Damia.

“Yes, please, little filly,” said Robb. Inola gave him his card back, and a receipt. He took it, put it in his wallet, and followed Damia to the rabbit condo. The rabbits had food, water, shelter, and a little cooler to keep them cool in the desert heat. They stayed in their warren, coming out to hop around, but only at dusk and dawn, being wary of owls.

Inola and Henry stood there, gaping, as David, who had been watching from the porch, joined them. “What just happened?” asked Inola.

“I think our singing is working,” said David. “She is healing, and coming out of her shell, bit by bit.” He nodded. “I am very thankful for the doctors that taught us how to enter her brain and break the locks. Now, I am also thankful for our songs and for love, and for also allowing her to live as she is most comfortable.”

“Let’s sing over this pony some more,” said Inola. “It is powerful medicine.”

“Yes,” said David. “It will calm the horse, for when the vet is here.”

All three of their voices rose, melding in the summer morning. People working inside the house turned off the air conditioning and opened the windows. Robert and Triesta came out, a wrench in each of their hands, to listen. Little Nico, who had been crossing over to visit with Richard to learn more about motorcycles, ran back in and told everyone to come out. Robert and Triesta both put down their wrenches and passed a cloth back and forth to wipe their fingers. They stepped out into the sunshine and walked to the paddock. Robb stayed, without knowing why, after Damia finished showing him the rabbit condo.

Damia ran back to the paddock, let herself in, and then, to everyone’s shock, joined in the song, with her voice just under Inola’s. Robert had the presence of mind to take out his cell phone, open the camera app, and record a video. Robert and Triesta waited, then Robert sang counterpoint in Zuni, Triesta winding her voice with his. They went back and forth, in Ute and Zuni, changing songs twice. The vet arrived, took out her equipment, and hauled only a little of it, as Little Nico and Tam rushed out to help her. She kept her mouth shut. Being half Paiute herself, she relished the songs.

The last notes faded away. Doctor Lucy Varner stepped forward, and Little Nico opened the paddock to let her in the gate. Damia said, “Vet Varner! Blaze needs immu…”

“Immunizations,” said Varner. “Long word for a short girl. Let’s take a look, shall we?”

David and Henry got out of the way, holding hands, walking back up to the house. Henry snagged his coffee cup on the way. He was startled by a hug from Robert. “Glad you made it home alive,” he said.

“With this to come home to?” He paused, working on not crying. “I will come home,” he said, looking into Robert’s eyes, then into David’s. “I will always come home.”

Ivy worked to take the video of her daughter’s singing and conversation calmly. An overly-emotional reaction would send their entire house of cards tumbling down. She held Kiya, bounced her, and let the triumphant tears flow. Aiden beat on a plastic drum with a rubber drumstick, and with the hand not clutching the stick.

“You go, little man,” said Ivy. “Taking after your mama, I see.” She looked back on all the things she had to do to get there, to their house with the soft blue kitchen walls, the glass backsplash, the sanded wooden floors of the living room. She sat down on the rug and played with her babies.

Callie came up, saw her wife’s tears, and stopped short. She’d been upstairs cleaning while Ivy did the downstairs, the laundry, and did baby-carrying with each task (to keep them engaged and happy).

“What happened?” she said, developing a knot in her stomach. “Is everyone…”

“Fine,” said Ivy, and passed over the video. Ivy snatched a ball from Kiya’s hands, making it squeal, and rolled it back in-between Kiya’s legs. Kiya squealed again.

Callie watched the video once, then again. Tears streamed down her cheeks. “That’s… beautiful.”

“At first, I was resentful,” said Ivy. “A real asshat. How can other people get my daughter to open up, and I can’t? I’m her mom. I should have the magic key or something. Then, I realized two things. First of all, I didn’t resent the doctors and therapists that worked with her on the ranch. Why would I? They were unlocking her, slowly. Then, I realized, we all have keys. What I was really resentful about was that I didn’t have all the keys. I should be overjoyed that we all had them, and that we could all open one of her five million locks. So, then, I became,” she paused to wipe her eyes again, “grateful for all the people here with keys.”

Callie wiped her own eyes and gave her wife and herself tissues. They finished crying, and Callie knelt, and hugged her wife from behind. “Where are those Owl Pack people? We need a babysitter.”

Ivy grinned and sent a text. Soon Chogan Little Deer, the Apache elder and medicine man (visiting to help with the Wolfpack and learn the strong medicine of the ranch) was there. Josh and Nick, Nantan and Chayton’s boys, were with him too. He sat on the floor, and the boys made a ring around the babies.

“Go,” he said. “When I heard the strong medicine this morning, I knew you would need time together.”

“Thank you,” said Callie. He nodded and made a shooing motion with his hands.

Callie took Ivy’s hands, helped her stand, and both moms kissed the babies before running upstairs. Callie ran the bath while Ivy undressed. Then, Callie undressed. They both tucked their hair up and climbed into the hot water. They both cried their eyes out.

“Turn around,” said Callie. Ivy did, and Callie washed her back. It turned into a massage that made Ivy groan.

Ivy laid her head back on her wife’s shoulder. “We are so damn lucky.”

“We are,” said Callie. She held her wife close, then began running her fingers over her breasts.

“Mmm,” said Ivy. “You can stop that… never!”

Callie’s hands wandered down, then stroked her wife’s stomach, her back, her thighs. Ivy arched and groaned. Callie slid her fingers in, and Ivy pressed against her wife as Callie’s fingers went in and out. Callie kissed Ivy’s neck, her ear, then wantingly thumbed her clit, until Ivy came in a rush. Callie let Ivy float while she washed her, from face to toes. She rinsed her off, held her one more time, and pushed her gently to the side.

“You need lunch before work, and so do I.” Callie watched her wife’s gorgeous backside as she rose and levered herself out of the tub. Callie finished washing herself and smiled.

“I wish I had time to do you,” said Ivy.

“Too short of time,” said Callie. “You must do it tonight.”

“I will,” said Ivy. “Love, I will.”

Nefarious Plans

Sigrun and Wraith figured out where to put the home office. They found a corner, put black shoji screens all around it, and hung three monitors on the wall they got (cheap as chips) from Daisy Chain. Daisy sent over an amazing desk, that had drawers where they could directly plug in hard drives, with its own power and cooling system, and USB and HDMI ports built in everywhere.

Daisy hooked her in and got everything set up, by sending her main setup man, Dave, along with the screens, desk, and truck. Dave was a black-haired little person, and a setup genius. He used a stool to get around, and soon had a lightning-fast system.

“Gaming,” he said, pointing to one screen. “VR,” he said, pointing to glasses. “Do you want your dashboard on the right screen, or the middle?”

“One more screen, just below,” said Wraith.

“I’ve got it in the van,” said Dave. “Gonna cost you.” Wraith handed over the company credit card Gregory had messengered over, and Dave was quick to run it. He came back and set up the screen below.

“You are a setup god,” said Sigrun.

“I know,” said Dave. “The drink holder is for covered drinks only. You spill, you die. I will kill you myself with my smallest screwdriver. Not a good way to go.”

“Understood,” said Wraith. Sigrun held up her fist. “With your shield.”

“Or on it,” said Wraith.

“Valkyries are weird,” said Dave. “The ottomans open up for storage. One red, one gray.” He handed them over, and soon the bags were torn open and the flattened cubes made into boxes. Wraith and Sigrun put the padded tops on. “Double chairs, both top of the line, was the first order, but then I heard you were poly, so three.” He pointed to the three black chairs with levers on each side for movement up and down, and back and forth. “We have a pneumatic piston system for earthquake areas.” Wraith and Sigrun didn’t know if he was joking, so they wisely said nothing. “Battery backup system.” He pointed into the drawer. “And here, the two backup hard drives, all three with encryption.” He opened a silver, lightweight laptop. “Let me walk you through it.” He did, to the point that both women were screaming for algorithmic mercy by the end. “Never store any passwords where someone can see them. There is such a thing as industrial espionage. All of this is Agency-level encryption, firewalls behind firewalls. Any questions?”

They were both sweating and slightly sick to their stomachs. They both shook their heads, and Dave left in a hurry, in his van with his dual toolboxes, large and tiny, before they could recover. They didn’t have time to wave out the window or thank him as he drove away.

“Ohmigod.” Wraith carefully lowered herself onto the couch.

Sigrun went to the refrigerator and came back with two sodas. “That was… disturbing.” They drank Coke in silence.

“What the fuck do I need on my dashboard?” asked Wraith.

“What do you want to measure?” asked Sigrun. They took out their tablets, made lists, and compared them. Wraith’s was far more detailed. They narrowed it down. “Number of current clients, number of clients per day, number of operatives working with clients per shift. Should that be a matching function? Number of operatives per client per shift? Vegas is a 24-hour town. Then cost per client. Just gives an idea of what to charge, do not want to cut corners with people’s safety. Shift rotation, who’s on what shift. Be sure everyone’s fed, with snacks and liquids all day. Desert heat is unforgiving.”

“What the fuck. So, clients and operatives matched with them per shift, with food/water/snack times, and the cost per client. Will that include hidden costs, like gas for the bulletproof vehicles?” asked Sigrun.

Wraith raised her eyebrows. “Someone’s been talking to Lily.” Sigrun preened. “Actual and hidden costs. The whole shebang. We have to know what to charge clients. And where all the money goes. And no skimping on food, liquids, snacks, or safety.”

“Okay,” said Sigrun. “Let’s call Daisy Chain to…”

“Already got code from her for it. Just gotta plug in numbers that change in real time from different sources,” said Wraith. She stood, stretched, arms and legs only, careful to keep her torso from moving. “Okay, potty break, then dashboard. Then Thai chicken pizza and cherry waters.”

“Deal,” said Sigrun. “I’ve got a mural to paint.” She brought out two more colas, took one, and gave the other one to Wraith. “Good luck,” she said. “Frequent rest breaks, or I’ll come back and send you to Valhalla myself.”

“On it,” said Wraith. She picked up the cola as the door shut, and then made her slow way back to the desk. She added a part for resources they used and needed to replace, like ammo, then used the restroom, and sat down to work.

Wraith found herself exhausted by pain and by trying to focus through the pain. She made her slow way to the kitchen, took a tablet, washed it down with cherry water, and zapped the pizza. She took it out, cut it up with a pizza wheel, and ate it standing up. She rose up and down on her toes, then touched her toes, to stretch out tired muscles. She put the rest of the pizza away, finished off the cherry water, cleaned up, and went to the bathroom to brush her teeth. She then went to the bedroom and stared at Saber’s empty side of the bed.

“Shut up,” she told her negative self. “He’ll be back when he’s damn good and ready, and not a moment before.” She slid under the sheets, put on her eye mask, and was asleep in moments.

She woke up to snoring. Not Sigrun’s delicate snorts. It was the buzz-saw snoring of a truly exhausted… man. She couldn’t turn her head, but she could stroke the arm around her waist. He’d showered. The hairs on his golden arm were slightly damp. She held his arm, stroked his hand. She fell asleep again, something in her shoulders began releasing, some tension in the pit of her stomach now also melting away.

When she woke again, Sigrun was jumping up and down, trying not to cry out with excitement. She moved the arm holding her, and Sigrun helped her sit up, then stand up. “Feed us, then we’ll…”

“Yes,” said Sigrun. The women padded into the kitchen. “I love you,” said Sigrun.

“I love you too,” said Wraith. Both women embraced, tears running down their faces. “Thank you for all your help. You have been wonderful.” Although Sigrun had showered, she still smelled of paint and turpentine, and warm air and desert dust. “You finish your mural?”

“Yes,” she said. “Outlined it, painted it, cleaned up, then pizza. Had over twenty of us. Lovely scene, horses and desert air, with Lake Mead shimmering in the background.”

“You drew it?” asked Wraith, letting her go.

“I did,” said Sigrun. “It’s the farm, with a lot of poetic license.” She turned and pulled the still-warm fettuccini (with chicken in an alfredo pesto sauce) from the oven.

“Save some for our love,” said Wraith.

“Bought two. He’ll heat it and eat it later, probably at three in the morning when he wakes up.” She pulled out a half loaf of garlic bread and cut it up. Wraith got out the forks and soup spoons for twirling pasta, and two cherry limeades.

“Good,” said Wraith. “Let’s eat before I eat you.”

Sigrun tinkled a laugh. The women sat, and they held hands a moment, thankful to the gods for their husband’s safe return. “Saber looks thinner,” said Sigrun. “Have to fatten him up.”

“He always looks that way on a job,” said Wraith, taking a hunk of the crusty bread. “He usually plays junkies. He sometimes bulks up for hitmen. I saw him once wear a suit and play a banker, another time a CEO.”

“That’s what the Armani is for!” said Sigrun. “Wondered why that was in the closet of a biker.”

“You didn’t see mine?” asked Wraith, spearing a piece of chicken.

“Saw it,” said Sigrun. “Just thought you had really good taste.”

Wraith choked, swallowed, then laughed. “True, but, sadly, I’m usually playing a junkie whore, or a gunrunner, or a cartel bitch. Not so much with the Armani.” She sighed. “Used to.” She held up a hand to collect her thoughts, ate more fettuccine, chewed, and swallowed again. “It’s a game you have to get out of, go into management, eventually. I have no urge to go into management. None whatsoever. At all. Sending people out into situations where they have a high chance of dying. Making cases that stick in court. Mopping up fuckups and badly planned raids. Dealing with the locals and other agencies.” She rolled her eyes. “Just shoot me.”

“Isn’t that kind of what you are doing now?” asked Sigrun, taking her own pasta and bread.

“Sort of is, sort of isn’t,” said Wraith. “We usually just do protection. Our operatives generally want to stand out. We can hide them, but probably won’t take the prostitute or junkie path.” She laughed. “Or prostitute AND junkie path. Some of them would shoot me if I tried.” She laughed again. “No, probably pretend to be band members, or groupies, or… wait, too old. Managers, hangers-on. CEOs.”

“Does the fact some of them have blades for legs and robotic arms interfere with anything?” asked Sigrun.

“Nope, makes it easy for people to underestimate them, actually.” Wraith speared a piece of bell pepper. “So much better than hospital food. Thank you for breaking me out.”

“Home health nurse was great,” said Sigrun. “Let’s remember her. Georgia Dasker?”

“Yep,” said Wraith. “Once she figured out I understood how to move and what not to do, she trusted me. Believed in me. Few do.”

“It’s like they have checklists in their head, and if you correct their mistaken beliefs, they just keep going down the checklist, ignoring you,” said Sigrun. She shuddered. “I want my drugs, and to lay still. Got it. Everything over that is just silly.”

“Yes,” agreed Sigrun.

“She should be by in half an hour to check the wrappings and the meds,” said Wraith. “Murder movie marathon?”

Sigrun shook her head. “Nope. Sexy medieval people.”

“Good choice,” said Wraith. They finished. Wraith got her plate to the sink, then said, “Thanks for doing the chores, baby.”

Sigrun fed Roxie (the smoke-gray cat) her treats, one at a time. “All part of the deal,” she said. She filled up the refrigerator and then the dishwasher, she brought over some peach teas, and the two of them got comfortable and settled into their chosen show.

There was a knock at the door, and Sigrun let in Georgia. She was short and plump, her dark skin pleasantly contrasting with the plum scrubs she wore. “Stop the show,” she said. “Haven’t hit that episode yet.” She came in with a medical bag.

Wraith stopped the scene, mid-sword swing. “I sat or slept all day. Kept my brace on. Stretched legs and arms only. Ribs are only cracked this time, but they hurt like a son-of-a-bitch. Ass bruises are fading.”

“And your pain level is?” asked Georgia. She checked the wrappings around Wraith’s ribs.

“Seven to nine without the meds. Two with the meds.”

“Good,” said Georgia. “Show me the bottle.” Sigrun brought it over while Georgia took her vitals. Georgia peered in. “Excellent. Take one more in an hour. I know you feel annoyed because you’re sleeping so damn much; but do it anyway. Better to sleep now and get the healing over with, than to stay up late watching those two fight all night.” She pointed at the screen, then made a note on her tablet. “Now, love, lay down so I can see the bruises.” Wraith showed them to her. “Sorry that recliners don’t have a laying-on-your-side option. Why not lay your head down on your wife’s lap?” Georgia knew they were poly and didn’t care.

“Lovely idea,” said Sigrun.

“Makes it hard to drink my peach tea,” said Wraith. Sigrun stood, went to the kitchen, and brought back a covered cup with a straw.

“See?” said Georgia. “Crisis averted. Now lay down, eat a pill in an hour, and go to bed about an hour after that.” Sigrun poured the peach tea into the cup, put the cup on the floor, and sat down again.

“Yes, Ma’am,” said Wraith. She put her recliner up, and Georgia helped her slowly tilt into Sigrun’s lap. The cat leapt up and laid curled up next to Wraith’s belly.

“I’ll see myself out,” said Georgia. “Got two more patients to see before I get to sit down to the show.”

“Thanks,” said Sigrun. The door shut. “I gotta lock it, babe,” said Sigrun.

“I’ll do it,” said Saber. He was wearing blue shorts and nothing else. He locked the door, came back, and kissed them both. “I smell garlic.”

“Fettuccine alfredo with chicken and garlic bread,” said Wraith, pointing toward the kitchen. “Sigrun is a cooking goddess. I worship her.” Sigrun laughed.

“She is,” said Saber. He walked lightly on his feet. Both women watched him, looking for damage, physical or mental. None was apparent. He heated the food and ate silently. They put their program back on.

Saber put the dishes in the dishwasher and went to the bathroom to brush his teeth. He brought in a Coke and put it in the hole in the arm of the double recliner. Wraith moved her feet, and Saber sat. He took the mint foot lotion out of his shorts pocket and rubbed her feet.

Wraith groaned. “Don’t ever stop,” she said.

They watched for an hour, then Sigrun pointed to the medicine bottle. “She needs a pill. She managed to get shot with her vest on. Caught her at a weird angle from very far away, or she’d be dead,” she said conversationally.

Saber dropped his jaw, then closed it. “What the fuck happened?”

Wraith and Sigrun took turns telling the story of the expanding Soldier Pack, Joru, the rape, the coverup, the assassin, and Gregory and Henry’s update on the dead killer, plus Frenchie’s version that Wraith had gotten when she got home from the hospital.

“Good-god,” he said. “Did we find out who covered it up?”

“Frenchie, Gregory, and Bannon are on it,” said Wraith. “When they find out, his ass is grass.”

They watched two lords having it out in chambers, then Sigrun said, “What did you do this time?”

“First, I got farmed out. Took down an asshole money launderer that the FBI Financial Crimes Unit has been after for a while. Razzled and dazzled the admin, then the FBI took over and turned her to bring down her boss. The admin got a plane ticket out of state. Then, I laughed my way through a job as a comedian. I kid you not. The club owner was dealing drugs and guns out of the basement. Ecstasy and military-grade weapons. Nailed him trying to leave the country in his Maserati, was actually going to drive it onto the plane.”

He had to stop while Sigrun laughed and Wraith wrapped her arms around her middle, trying not to laugh. He told a few terrible jokes but had to stop when Wraith got too sore and kicked him.

“Then, went under deep. Too deep. Messiah guy, kept everyone in prairie clothes and literally hit people with Bibles. Sick fuck he was. Building an army of believers, complete with machine guns, wanted to take over the town in the valley below where his people scratched out a living on a hillside, bunkers carved into the rock, I kid you not. ATF and FBI didn’t want to hurt the teens —most of them were teens, on the run from drugs, abuse, or prostitution. His way of life was a step up from where they came from. I came, I believed, I showed initiative and promise. Then, I got the women and the babies out through the secret tunnel. Lied to them, told them the orders came from their messiah-guy. Turned out he was spiking their ‘fresh spring water’ with compounds that keep you highly suggestive. He suggested his followers should suicide. Some did before I shot his ass. Twice. He’s alive, but not by much. FBI and ATF brought in deprogrammers, got his followers to some deprogramming farm. Most of them can’t go back to what they used to know, which was usually the street. David Harvest, the jerkoff.” He laughed without mirth. “Thought his name was given to him by God to harvest the souls of the unbelievers.”

Sigrun helped Wraith flip over and put her head in his lap. He stroked her hair, careful with her neck. Sigrun took over the foot rubbing duty.

“The thing is, if he had cared about anyone other than himself, he could have been a great leader. He really did save those kids, gave them a new path.” His voice grew hard, his eyes shadowed. “But then he decided to repopulate the world from the standpoint of having to end it and start over, and he started raping fifteen-year-olds and calling them his wives.” His voice vibrated with anger and pain.

“What can we do to help them?” asked Wraith. “We’ve got the ranch…”

“And Wolfpack coming out of their ears,” said Sigrun.

“Land,” said Wraith. “We need it to do an identical program. With the Valkyries. Girl rescue.”

“Kinda being done with Ghost’s program, but I don’t think hers is official,” said Sigrun. “Was going to look into it this week.” She snorted. “In my copious free time.”

“A preggers or gay program. Or tranny, any of the above,” said Wraith, slowly.

“Anything for you, love,” said Saber, “But some of that may be mutually exclusive. Some preggers girls are running from religious-right families, and have been taught all their lives that gay, trans, bi, all of that is horrible. Not their fault. Anyway, wouldn’t want the two bouncing up against each other, rubbing each other raw.” He sighed. “Plus, money, logistics. House parents. Relocation into new lives. Angry teens that need serious counseling.”

“Turn them Wolfpack,” said Sigrun. “Those kids are paying for their own educations, apprenticeships, vehicles, apartments, what have you. They keep inventing new businesses. Lily had to hire a virtual assistant and bring another accountant into her business. Give them control over their own lives.”

Saber leaned back his head and gave out a sigh. “Can we work on this tomorrow? Or next week? Sigrun, are you through with your projects?”

“The oil has to dry, but yes. Turning in the entire semester’s portfolio and defending it tomorrow.”

“Then, let’s go to bed. I’ve got about twelve more hours before my biological clock resets to normal. Sneaking around all night in a bunker isn’t good for the sleep pattern.”

Sigrun helped Wraith up and led her to bed. The cat squawked but followed. Saber took all the drinks into the bedroom and put them along the shelf, just above the padding. Saber got the middle. He started with Wraith, because she needed sleep even more than he did. He kept his weight off her, raising her legs and kissing her thighs. She came twice even before he started pushing her button, wiggling his finger, then striking with a tongue like a wild, purposeful snake. Sigrun held her, one leg over her middle, and prevented Wraith from bowing her back with pleasure. She came in great guttering gasps and sobs. Sigrun handed over the wet wipes, and Saber cleaned them both up.

Sigrun helped roll her onto her side so she could kiss or touch. Then, Sigrun grabbed Saber by the balls, rolled on a condom, and guided him inside. “I’m so wet,” she said. “Now.”

He groaned as he slipped inside her. He put his hands on the sides of her face and thrust into her again and again. They both released with a yelp and a cry. Saber rolled over, spent, and Sigrun took the condom and cleaned them both up. She herded everyone under the sheet, except the cat, who wanted to snuggle at Wraith’s belly. They laid there for a long time, kissing and gently stroking. Exhausted, wanting to sleep, but unable to keep their hands off each other.

“I got a new job,” said Wraith, kissing Saber’s shoulder.

“What?” said Saber. “Lead with the important stuff, woman… not just the getting-shot bullshit you like to get into.”

Wraith laughed. “I work for Bannon and Gregory now. I’m running the business from home, freeing them up to actually, really help people. Doing the keeping-track-of-everyone’s-shit, getting new clients, but they don’t need many more. Bannon’s gotten into this record label, indie, for teen girls, protecting them from the industry, getting a stream of clients that way too.”

“What the fuck?” said Saber. “I go away which, I might add, was for only a few weeks this time, and I come back, and everything’s changed.”

“Feels like you’re adrift on the sea,” said Wraith. “Got to find your lighthouse again, or a new one. I hated that, being a new person all the time, and coming back to having the deck heave under my feet. Like living on a houseboat, going out in a sub, then coming back to find the houseboat’s moved.”

“What the… damn,” said Saber. “That’s exactly it. And, it went downriver, or to a lake, or to a new ocean entirely.”

Sigrun nodded. She was drifting off. She hadn’t gotten a nap that day. “Umm. But, it’s still your houseboat. Bigger cat is all.”

“Damn thing grows every day,” said Wraith. The cat purred loudly, making them all laugh.

“I got off the sub,” said Wraith. “Now, I direct other people’s subs, but keep them close to home. More like… sailboats.”

Saber smiled. “Okay, enough with the nautical metaphors. Well, one more. Do you want me to go out, or stay home?”

“Up to you,” said Wraith. “I get it, but my body, mind, and emotions just won’t do it. Not anymore. I turned a corner, became someone else.”

“Up to you,” said Sigrun. “We miss you, but we love homecoming.” She snuggled in closer.

“Not ready to… stop going out on the boat yet,” said Saber. “But, I’m getting closer.” He reached up and pulled the three ring boxes out from under his pillow. He opened the first one, took out the ring, and put Sigrun’s hand on his. He took Wraith’s hand and slipped the ring on. “With this ring, we pledge our troth,” said Saber. Sigrun repeated his words, tears streaming down her face. “We will love, treasure, and hold you, fight at your side, raise our children as one, and walk into the sunlight forever, together.”

He took out the second one, took Wraith’s hand, and slid it on Sigrun’s finger. This time, Wraith said the words with him, her voice strong. Then, Wraith opened the third box, grabbed Sigrun’s hand, and they slid the ring onto his finger, and pledged their troth to him. They held each other for a long time, tears streaming down their faces.

Sigrun and Wraith both looked at the rings, silver carved with a complex interlocking pattern. “Gorgeous,” said Wraith.

“Amazingly lovely,” said Sigrun. They passed around the wet wipes, then Sigrun said, “I have to defend my portfolio tomorrow, then start a thesis project tomorrow. We need to sleep.”

“Wait, what’s the thesis project?” asked Saber. “And, you’re an undergrad.”

“Starting my graduate school. Those little feather things you see tied to doors? I designed those, then some ladies at the res put them together for me. Regina and some of her friends. Selling them by the case, not just in Vegas, but in Reno and Tonopah, and Pahrump too. Selling replacement feathers and nontoxic glue to attach them, as well. Going to Tahoe on a ride with the Sisters, bring some to sell then. Anyway, paying off my debt as fast as I can. Going to start my master’s degree. Gonna design and print cool 3D hands for kids without them. They’ll need them every year as they grow. Students from our college, the other one, and the university. They are literally all on board. Someone donated the printers and enough supplies for the year. The college donated the room. I’ve also been working on coding, learning how to make my designs a reality. Looking into drafting, anatomy and physiology, and also drawing limbs. I may do some work with the Soldier Pack, too, designing better artificial limbs for soldiers more cheaply,” said Sigrun. “Kind of making up my own major here, but it will be fun. I can really, really help people.”

“New houseboat,” said Saber. “Definitely a new houseboat.” He kissed her. “A lovely new houseboat.”

“Stop with the nautical metaphors,” said Wraith. They all laughed, and fell asleep, arms and legs over one another, with Roxie the cat purring with pleasure at having all the family back together.

“Doing things over and over again and expecting different results is insanity. It’s also boring.”