Free The Athena Factor by W. Michael Gear Page A

his lap, iron his shirts, or make coffee.”

    â€œHow long have you been with the company?”
    â€œThree years now.”
    â€œIs it a good springboard?”
    June led her out through security. “Sure. But why would I go anywhere else? My boys are in good schools, and I get paid to work my ass off. Paid well .”
    Christal considered that as they passed the ticket counters and stepped out into the warm day. A black Lincoln sat at the curb, its four-ways flashing. June pressed a button on a key fob, and the lights flashed.
    â€œYou can just leave it in the Arrivals lane?”
    â€œSpecial permit.” June stepped to the trunk, opening it so Christal could place her bag inside.
    Seating herself in the passenger seat, she looked around. Lincolns had never been her thing. She liked small, compact, and parkable. But then, she’d never had a special permit before.
    June started the engine, fastened her seat belt, and waved at a cop who stopped oncoming vehicles to allow them into traffic.
    â€œThe special permit gets you into the concourses, too?”
    â€œThis is LAX. Lymon has done a lot of work fostering good relations with the TSA team here.” She smiled and tapped her purse. “It helps that I’m a special deputy with LA County.”
    â€œDo I get a special permit?”
    â€œYou’ll have to take that up with Lymon,” June said cryptically. Then she turned her attention to driving as she accelerated northbound onto the San Diego Freeway. Christal noted that the woman held the wheel professionally and handled the big car with confident ease.
    â€œFirst class, special permits, Lincolns—you people don’t exactly keep a low profile, do you?”
    â€œIn this town, Ms. Anaya, image is marketing.” She glanced at Christal. “How is your wardrobe?”
    â€œI beg your pardon?”
    â€œDepending on the nature of the principal’s appearance, you will be required to dress in anything from professional to very formal. The problem with formal is to still look good
but have freedom of movement in case things get, shall we say, athletic.”
    â€œI don’t get it.”
    â€œHave you ever seen a Hollywood gala on TV?”
    â€œSure.”
    â€œCould you pick the bodyguards out of the crowd?”
    â€œWell, yeah, sometimes. They’re the big guys who look unhappy.”
    â€œHow about the women?”
    â€œI didn’t know there were any.”
    June smiled dryly. “That’s precisely what we’re looking for.”
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    â€œIt’s not going to happen!” Sheela’s voice carried from the dressing room as Lymon walked onto the set where the wardrobe session was in progress. At first glance he saw Paul over in the corner under a stand of lights. The driver was sitting backward in a chair, a barely concealed grin struggling to creep past his iron control.
    According to Lymon’s watch, Sheela should be halfway through her fitting session. This was the first time the costume designers actually saw their creations on the stars.
    Two assistants huddled to one side, slightly horrified expressions on their faces. Rex stood to the right, arms crossed over his belly and looking dour. Three different photographers were spotted here and there around the room with a plethora of cameras on tripods as well as hanging from straps on their necks.
    The fitting room was studded with lights and reflectors focused on a raised dais. Mirrors were positioned so that the star could get a three-hundred-sixty-degree view of herself in costume. In the rear stood rack after rack of hanging dresses, blouses, suits, and jackets.
    Lymon stopped short, seeing Sheela standing on the dais. Her face had that look of absolute disgust that he had grown passingly familiar with over the years. She was wearing a bright red sparkly gown with what he’d call “wings” sprouting
off of each shoulder. It fit glove-tight at