Chapter 1

Running in really tight boy shorts and chunky boots through streets and alleys in the seedy part of town was not my idea of fun. The job I’d been assigned had taken a turn for the hilarious and insane when the man I was sent to kill turned out to be a drag queen who made the fat lady who sang seem skinny by comparison. I’d never had to deal with shit like this in the military.

I was going to seriously maim my “friends” when I got back to the agency. They were probably laughing their asses off right now. Why did I always get the junky assignments? And the crazy people?

When I’d done a bit of recon in order to understand just exactly how out of control this could get, I’d discovered that my target had rope as a part of his act and used one of the many go-go dancing boys—one of whom I’d impersonated since they all wore masks on stage—as his “horsey.” My back would never forgive me.

I’d had to get creative with the three-hundred-pound Patsy Cline impersonator, who’d also been the head of an underground sex trafficking operation, kidnapping boys from the streets and selling them to the highest bidder. M.A.L.E. had been brought in to infiltrate the club and rid the world of the scumbag, once and for all.

“Patsy” had attacked me with a still-hot curling iron since I’d interrupted him in the middle of preparing one of his wigs after the last show. The end result, following lots of sweat and strain and getting singed in uncomfortable places, was smothering him using one of the many blouses with tassels hanging in the makeshift closet in his dressing room. Red, I think it was. My muscles still ached from the strain.

And now, I was pumping my legs for all they were worth, speeding toward my car to get the hell out of town before bad shit happened. Thankfully, no one followed me, though I didn’t expect it since there was too much activity at the club for anyone to notice right away. Most people hated the late drag queen’s guts, as it was.

Finally, I arrived at my beat-up truck and hopped in, tearing down the freeway toward home and not looking back.

* * * *

“It’s not funny,” I groused, marginally pouting as Jackson, Grant, and Mickey, the other members of M.A.L.E., laughed themselves silly after listening to my report.

It had taken me three hours to drive back to the agency, and as it was almost five o’clock in the morning, I was ready to do a face-plant on the nearest flat surface. Actually, a wall would work, too. I’d gotten used to our odd work schedule. It was nowhere near a nine-to-five. Some days we worked twenty-four hours, sometimes, it was twelve. Night or day, we were always on shift, or at least on call.

“Oh, God, a curling iron?” Grant said, trying to catch his breath in between cackling.

“I interrupted his nightly routine,” I replied, resigned to their mockery as I leaned back in my chair at the conference room table, arms crossed on my chest. “The man was very meticulous about his look. Aside from being a despicable human being, he was actually really good at impersonating Ms. Cline.”

“I bet,” Mickey said, still snickering. “Did you get up close and personal with Patsy?”

I glared and said nothing.

“You need to see a chiropractor, Jer?” This came from Grant, who was still giggling like a pre-teen girl.

“Shut up, already. I got the job done. I’d like to see any one of you do better.”

“You did good, Jerry,” Jackson said, wiping his eyes now that he’d finished chortling. “Seriously, that was incredible, considering what you had to work with. None of us would have been able to pull off being a go-go boy. You’re the prettiest, after all.”

I sighed. “If you could keep a straight face while saying that, I’d believe you.” I ran a hand through my overlong black hair. “Do you think you guys could give me one of those assignments that didn’t involve dancing around a pole or being chased by a guard dog or something?” Yes, that had actually happened, and I was never more grateful for all those miles I ran four days a week to keep in shape.

“But you’re so good at them,” Grant said, and I rolled my eyes.

“Seriously, Jerry,” Mickey said, “I know it may seem like you get the weird stuff, but you’re the most creative one among us when it comes to thinking outside the box. We all have our strengths, and this one is yours.”

“Yeah, yeah.” I knew that, but it still felt like I was the butt of a really bad joke half the time. I stood and stretched. “I’m gonna go home and crash, but I’ll be back a little later. Don’t call me unless the agency blows up or something.”

Someone said, “Jerry, come on, you know we—”

I ignored them and left the room. I was tired, hungry, and I needed to get the gel out of my hair.