Blunder Woman Read online

  Blunder Woman

  Dakota Cassidy

  All rights reserved.

  Copyright © 2006 Dakota Cassidy

  No part of this e-book may be reproduced or shared by any electronic or mechanical means, including but not limited to printing, file sharing, and email, without prior written permission from Changeling Press LLC.

  ISBN (10) 1-59596-400-2

  ISBN (13) 978-1-59596-400-7

  Formats Available:

  HTML, Adobe PDF,

  MobiPocket, Microsoft Reader

  Publisher:

  Changeling Press LLC

  PO Box 1561

  Shepherdstown, WV 25443-1561

  www.ChangelingPress.com

  Editor: Sheri Ross Fogarty

  Cover Artist: Bryan Keller

  This e-book file contains sexually explicit scenes and adult language which some may find offensive and which is not appropriate for a young audience. Changeling Press E-Books are for sale to adults, only, as defined by the laws of the country in which you made your purchase. Please store your files wisely, where they cannot be by under-aged readers.

  Dedication

  With love, this is for my buddy Shelly Laurenston — a kick ass writer who gave this meeker one a kick ass plot idea. You rule, chica! And also for M, who talks me into the craziest book ideas without my knowing until it’s too late…

  Love,

  Dakota ;-)

  M: Innocent. I am innocent, I tell you! I am the heart and soul of innocence… the…well, you get the picture. Blame Dakota.

  Chapter One

  “Um, I’m who?”

  “A descendant of a great Egyptian goddess. You hold within the palm of your hand great super powers.”

  “Really?”

  “Indeed.”

  “Do my super powers entail ridding myself of the cellulite on my ass? Cuz that for sure, would be a super power in my book.”

  “No, no. No cellulite removal, miss.”

  “How about bigger ta-ta’s? I mean, in the realm of super powers, certainly that could be a perk one might consider giving me, yes?”

  “Ahem… no, no bigger…” a cough, “… er, ta-ta’s.”

  “Doesn’t that just figure? Of all the things to happen to a girl like me, I get the shitty arsenal of super powers. Somehow, it just isn’t fair.”

  “You do have other powers that are quite useful, miss.”

  “Wait — do I have to wax to wear the outfit, er, costume, whatever it is? Ooooh, please don’t tell me I have to wax unsightly hair from my bikini line! I mean, waxing is so vicious, so invasive, ya know? I had a Brazilian wax once and I don’t think I walked right for a week. I don’t want to wax. So hear me now. I’m drawing the line at the high cut, cutesy thing. Got that? Besides, my ass is in absolutely no shape to be swishing around in one of those things. I will not be mocked by fellow colleagues with aforementioned super powers.”

  “Um, I don’t believe a costume is involved, miss.”

  “What?! No costume? How the hell can I have super powers, which would lend one to believe I then am considered one of those comic book heroes, and not have a costume? It’s absurd. How do I fight for truth, justice and the — the — ”

  “American way, miss.”

  “Right. How can I do all of those things if I’m not properly garbed?”

  “I have no answer for that, miss. Perhaps you might design one yourself?”

  “Oh, and hold on one emerald lamp minute. I cannot fight evil on my — ” she leaned in and whispered, “ — ‘womanly days.’ Got that? I have a seven-day span of time where I am not chasing anyone. I don’t run or jump or leap tall anythings during that. I do hope the evil forces can wait that out. Though, I’d bet I’d be hell on wheels to toy with then. I can be fierce if I’m bloated. Which leads me back to the comic book hero costume. I prefer baggy. Something loose and flowing, you know? Not like that stupid costume what’s her name was wore. You know the one, right? The one who spun around and changed from some boring secretary to a crime fighting wonder? Her ta-ta’s were like torpedoes. That couldn’t have been comfortable — ”

  “Miss! There is no costume.”

  “I still can’t believe it. Why would you designate me a hero and not give me a costume? What were you thinking? Never mind. How about a car? Or a plane? Surely, I must have some sort of vehicle to get from point A to point B when I’m fighting evil. I can’t walk. Or do I have bionic legs? That would mean I’d have to shave more often. It would lend to growth at a bionic rate, yes? Maybe not. I don’t know. I do know, I already told you, shaving and waxing are not something I want to have to do every day. I need downtime from the girly stuff.”

  “Yes, miss. Of course. Downtime.”

  “So what are my super powers?”

  “You shall soon learn, miss.”

  “Oh, please. Don’t be all super mysterious with me. I always hated that when the hero on TV didn’t ask the right questions and he found all these things out by accident, instead of just demanding his right as a hero to know. Give me the scoop and give it to me now. Stop sidestepping the issue. If I’m a descendant of Hathor, then I have the right to know what my super powers are. I don’t want to find out at the eleventh hour, when I’m chained to the front of some missile while my evil nemesis maniacally laughs mockingly at me and his finger hovers over the “launch” button. A button that will launch me into the stratosphere, mind you — only to find that I have some great super power that could have helped me avoid the whole ridiculous mess by simply telling me to begin with. It’s a typical comic book hero ploy and one I can do without. Who wants to hover at the brink of death if they don’t have to?”

  “Yes, miss.”

  “Oh, wait. Do I have an evil nemesis? All heroes with super powers do, don’t they?”

  “Yes, miss.”

  “Yes, miss, I have an evil nemesis, or yes, miss, you’re appeasing me again?”

  A long sigh was let out in a whoosh. “I don’t know anymore, miss.”

  “So all this time, I thought you were the doorman here and you’re really my, my — ”

  “Guide, miss. I’m your guide into the realm of — well, of all things hero, or in your case, heroine-like.”

  Nodding curtly, she followed him out the large revolving door to her office building and past the newsstand she stopped at every day to get the morning paper.

  She waved at the woman she purchased her paper from and an odd ripple of foreboding swept over her.

  There was a very plain redhead in attendance at the newsstand and under normal circumstances she waved, but today, her face held a stony, pinched look.

  Kennedy had too much floating around in her head to give it much thought. She turned her attention back to the problem at hand.

  “So, you wanna tell me how long it was going to be before you took me from that peon job in the mailroom? Oh, and if you think for one minute I’m going to pretend to be Kennedy Smith by day — meek mailroom clerk — and turn into a kick-ass heroine by night, you’ve got another think coming. You feel me here? I’m not gonna play the game that the dude with the cape played. Wasn’t he a newspaper reporter or something during the day? It’s just ridiculous that no one knew who he was without his glasses on. I want people to know if I save their sorry asses. I want the credit, you hear me? I mean, why should I go out of my way so they can call me the unidentified crime-fighting chick with the skimpy costume and a big ass? Where’s the glory in that? Especially if I put my neck on the line. I want kudos.” She kept her tone light and teasing.

  “Of course you do, miss.”

  They strode to the parking garage to locate her car. “You can call me Kennedy, you know.”

  “Yes, miss.”

  “What’s your name again? And if you tell me Alfred, I’ll just scream,” she warned, looking over her shoulder at him, eyeing his crisp suit and tie.

  “Edgar, miss. That’s my name.” He smiled with a quick crack of lips only to return to his passive, calm expression.

  As they moved between rows of cars, she finally laughed. “Okay, so we can stop playing now, Edgar. I’m going to lunch and you’re going back to being the doorman. Thanks for the diversion. The mailroom can be so boring. You wanna grab lunch together? I go to this little place right down the corner. Great corned beef and Swiss.”

  “Miss? This is no joke.” His face held an odd honesty that she refused to acknowledge.

  Well, maybe he was just lonely. He was harmless enough. She could afford to play for a little while longer. “So what’s the deal about me having all of these powers? Do my parents have them too? Did they know I had them?”

  “I don’t think so, miss.”

  “Kennedy. Call me Kennedy and if you’re going to tell me I’m adopted or some such nonsense, I’ll flip. The caped crusader was adopted, right?”

  Edgar nodded his head in the affirmative.

  “Well, look at this hair, would you?” She held up a long strand of platinum blonde hair and shook it at him. “I get that from my father. Not a bottle.”

  “Indeed, I’m sure you do, mi — erm, Kennedy.”

  “I’m tall too for a girl. Almost six foot. That comes from my dad as well.”

  “I’m sure it does, miss.”

  “Okay, so how did this happen again? How did I inherit super powers no one knows anything about?”

  “It’s rather tedious in explanation, miss. Some of the powers come from an item you must always wear. It isn’t necessarily something that just happens,” he informed her
when they approached her car. His eyebrows, salted with a sprinkling of white, rose. Obviously because her car wasn’t exactly new.

  Honesty be had, it wasn’t even from this decade.

  But it was hers.

  Edgar pulled on the door of the car to open it for her and it wouldn’t budge. He frowned, his slender face forming a grimace while he yanked at it.

  “Wait. Watch this for super powers, Ed.” Kennedy kicked the lower panel of the driver’s side door with the spike of her pump and pulled hard on the handle. It popped open with a groan and a long, ear-splitting creak.

  “Impressive, miss. I think we’ll have to do something about this car…”

  Smiling, she motioned for him to get in. “Pacer, Ed. It’s a Pacer and I got it for two hundred bucks from my cousin in Peoria.” She patted the dome-shaped back windshield that resembled a bubble with affection. “Get in,” she said pleasantly as he moved around the car to the passenger side.

  “It’s blue, miss. Sky blue.”

  “I know, I painted it myself,” she said with pride.

  “We’ll have to see what can be done about that,” Edgar said, hunching down in the passenger seat, wiping at the crease in his trousers.

  “You’re gonna pimp my ride?”

  His lean, deeply lined face remained still, but his blue eyes questioned hers.

  “You know, fix it up. Put some crazy speakers in it and maybe a flat screen TV.”

  “Oh, indeed. It will be, er, fixed up.”

  Kennedy patted his arm and smiled. “That’s good to know. Okay, so, where do we go from here? The Super Mysterious Cave?”

  Edgar’s chuckle took them both by surprise. “Not quite a mysterious cave, but a place just as secretive and certainly not shared in mixed company.”

  Her stomach was grumbling now. It was time to cut this delusional moment of Edgar’s short. “Oh. Nice. Does this mean I can quit my stupid day job?”

  “I’m afraid not just yet.”

  She snorted. “Why do all heroes have to have a crappy day job? I won’t need the money, will I? Don’t I get a cut of this hero thing? Like don’t big corporations lavish us with money to protect them?”

  Edgar’s snort was equally abrasive. “I’m afraid not, miss.”

  “So I have to keep working in the mailroom? That’s absurd,” she muttered.

  “For the time being.”

  “Do I get a cool crib?”

  “Crib?”

  “Yeah, you know, pad, lair, whatever heroes call their digs.”

  “Oh, well, no, not exactly. You will have to attend a hero boot camp, so to speak. I’ve put in for your vacation time. They won’t expect you back at FSB for three weeks’ time.”

  “Three weeks? How the hell can I be gone for three weeks if I only get a week off, without pay?”

  “I have my connections.” His solemn assurance sent a chill up her spine.

  “Huh, who knew? You being the doorman and all.”

  “Indeed, miss. Who knew?”

  “Okay, so directions. I need directions to this place that’s a secret and I’m supposing I’m not supposed to tell anyone about it, right?”

  He nodded his sleek gray head. “Correct.”

  “How do you know I won’t tell?” she asked, playing devil’s advocate.

  “You have a good heart, Kennedy. That’s how I know.”

  She twisted her body to align with his. “Have I stopped to say how insane this is? Have I once, in all of my ramblings, stopped to say this is crazy? There is no such thing as a comic book hero and you are a nut. I’ve indulged you in that insanity of yours, haven’t I? I think it’s time we stop this now. You’re a doorman, Edgar, at FSB. I’m a mail clerk and you — ” she pointed at his pristine, black lapel with her index finger, “ — have obviously forgotten to take the little yellow pills for delusions today. That’s okay. I like you just the same as I did yesterday when you opened the door for me and I wasn’t a hero, er, heroine.”

  Again, his eyebrow did that thing it did when he was being condescending. She had seen him do it on several occasions since she began working at FSB. Just one, neatly trimmed eyebrow rose with indignation. “Oh, miss. I can see I’m going to have to show you the pretty gadgets to prove to you I’m telling the truth.” He tsked.

  “I’m disappointed, Kennedy. You really led me to believe that this time, my job would be so much easier. Ah, well,” he said on a sigh, reaching into his jacket.

  “This time,” she questioned with a tinge of fear. “What do you mean, this time? Do you do this sort of thing all the time, Edgar?” Now she was afraid. Really afraid.

  “Far more than even I am able to count.”

  “Really?”

  “Really, miss. Now, if you’ll just indulge me for a moment, I’ll show you I’m telling the truth and then, we can get you settled.”

  She ran her tongue over her bottom lip. “Wait, don’t do anything too fast. How do I know you don’t have a gun? People who claim to be guides to other people with super powers are nuts and nuts, well, they usually have guns.”

  He yanked a pair of glasses from his breast pocket and shoved them in Kennedy’s direction. “No gun. Put these on and you’ll see I’m telling the truth.”

  Kennedy held the horn rimmed, thick glasses in the palm of her hand and eyed Edgar suspiciously. “Glasses? Glass-es? What kind of super power is a pair of glasses?”

  “Put them on and see, miss.”

  Which meant, quit flappin’ your gums.

  She rolled her eyes and held the glasses up, looking through them with a skeptical glance, but too afraid to upset Edgar should he flip.

  “Put them on, Kennedy,” he insisted, folding his arms over his chest.

  Sliding them on, she figured it couldn’t hurt to put some glasses on. Kennedy inhaled a sharp gasp.

  “Do you see, miss?”

  “No way! No way can this be happening. Did you put something in my coffee, Edgar?”

  “You don’t drink coffee.”

  Oh, right.

  Kennedy sat motionless, unable to pull her eyes away from the man who was standing at the car in the next row. He had a nice car. A black Cadillac. Sweet indeed and he used that Caddy for unsavory practices. The hair on the back of her neck stood up and fury, swift and thick, coursed through her veins.

  The fucker cheated on his wife.

  A lot.

  He was a serial cheater. Bastard!

  How she knew that, she couldn’t say, but for the glasses which thrummed with a slight vibration against her temples. Her mouth dropped open and she narrowed her gaze, making the lying, cheating puke but a pinpoint of blurry scum. “He cheats on his wife,” she stated with an uncanny knowledge that came from nowhere, but drummed in her head with clarity.

  “Does he then? I’d have surely pegged him for armed robbery. Must be I’m getting old. Nonetheless, the glasses reveal those of an unsavory nature. Some worse than others, I fear.”

  “Yeah, he sure does, the freak. He picks up hookers in that nice Caddy. Jack off,” she said almost to herself, lost in the wonder of the glasses. Her grip tightened on the lenses and her mouth pursed. “I should follow him home and tell his wife what a prick he is,” she growled.

  “No, no, you have much bigger fish to fry, miss. Give me the glasses,” Edgar demanded with calm composure. He held out his hand, wiggling his long fingers.

  “No, if my job is to catch bad guys, cheaters are high on my list of priorities. He has a really nice wife and two children. They deserve better than him.”

  “Kennedy,” he said once again, but this time she was sure she detected clenched teeth and some grinding. “Give me the glasses, now.”

  “Can we come back and get the pig another time?” She held the glasses to her chest like a bribe.

  “Of course, if you wish.”

  “I wish,” she confirmed with an assertive nod, handing over the glasses.

  “I think it’s time we leave for the — uh — the Bat Cave, miss.”

  She shoved the key into the ignition and pressed hard on the gas. A loud chug, then a lurch and a puff of black smoke, followed. She gave Edgar a sheepish grin. His knuckles were already white from clinging to the shoulder belt. “Sorry, it’s an old car, but it still runs pretty good. Well, sometimes if it’s too cold, she can be temperamental, but for the most part, it’s a smooth ride.”