Once Burned, Twice Spy

by Diane Henders

  Hellhound grunted. “Hell, I never thought of it, either. I just knew ya needed to keep talkin’ if ya were gonna make it, an’ if anybody can keep ya talkin’, it’s Nichele.”

  I laughed. “You’ve got that right…” I jerked upright. “Headlights!”

  A glow brightened the whiteness, slowly widening and separating into twin points of approaching light.

  “Reggie,” I snapped. “Get ready to fire just in case. The rest of you, stay low. That should be our ride, but I’m going to go and check it out.”

  “Not by yourself, ya ain’t,” Hellhound growled.

  “Okay, let’s go.” I threw my hood up and muffled my face in my wet scarf again.

  The headlights had halted by the time we stepped out of the Hummer into the biting wind. Shivers seized me instantly, long hard paroxysms that twisted my stomach and rattled my bones.

  The headlights were surrounded by dozens of yellow lights that outlined the shape of a highway tractor, and a muffled figure swung down from the cab and stumped toward us with Dave’s familiar stiff gait.

  I drew a breath of relief and eased my grip on my Glock. “Dave! You found us!”

  “’Course.” He gave me a quick hug, patting my back, then pulled away. “You’re shivering. You should get in where it’s warm.”

  “Yeah, that’s what I keep tellin’ her,” Hellhound agreed. “Go on an’ sit in the Hummer, darlin’. Dave an’ I’ll do this.”

  I was shivering so hard that my revolting fruit drink was threatening to reappear in a spectacular fashion, so I nodded and hurried back to the Hummer.

  Reggie lowered the P90 as I slipped into the driver’s seat.

  “All good?” he inquired.

  “Y-yep.”

  “Do I need to hide this?” He hefted the weapon.

  “D-Dave w-won’t ask questions. B-better k-keep it handy until we’re b-back on the road. J-just in case.”

  He nodded and laid the gun in his lap before reaching into Hellhound’s duffel with his good hand. “Here, have another hot drink.” He passed me another foil pouch and envelope and scowled, the prosthetic half of his face disturbingly serene beside the angry expression on his right. “I’d do it for you, but this fucking hand is even more fucking useless than what I’ve got under it.” He made a disgusted gesture with his cosmetically-enhanced left hand.

  “C-can’t you m-move it at all?” I asked cautiously as I tore open the heat pack.

  “I can move it a bit, but it’s no damn good for anything.” He demonstrated, moving the forefinger and thumb together and then apart. The other fingers remained immobile. “I can’t grip worth shit. I might as well not have a hand at all when I’m wearing this fucking thing.”

  “Th-that sucks…” I hesitated.

  Should I change the subject? He’d be furious if he thought I was trying to pussyfoot around him, but if I said the wrong thing he’d bite my head off.

  I chickened out. Maybe I could throw somebody else under the bus.

  “S-so whose idea was the d-disguise?” I asked.

  “Stemp’s, who else? Fucking asshat. When he showed up with this fucking… face…” Reggie spat the word with disgust as he gestured at his head. “…right after I hired on, I told him if he had such a problem looking at my fucking deformity, I’d quit right then and save him the trauma.” He bared his teeth. “He handed me some bullshit line about how he thought I might want to avoid attention sometimes. Yeah, right. Stemp, the fucking Sensitive Guy. As if.”

  My heart squeezed at the thought of Stemp labouring over his tools and molds to get Reggie’s face just right, only to have his efforts angrily rejected.

  “He p-probably meant well,” I ventured. “I c-can see where you’d b-be mad if you thought h-he was implying your own f-face wasn’t good enough, b-but…”

  “Meant well, my baked ass,” Reggie spat. “You know what he’s like. You’re the one that’s always getting reprimanded for calling him a dickhead. And didn’t I hear a rumour about you jamming a gun under his chin and threatening to blow his head off?”

  I winced. Neither Kane nor Stemp would have disclosed that. Holt must have let it slip, dammit. What else had he blabbed about me?

  “Well, yeah, b-but there were extenuating c-circumstances,” I explained. “I don’t h-hate Stemp. He’s just… s-sometimes he’s not so g-good with human interaction. I d-doubt if he m-meant to insult you.”

  “Sure he did. He insults people all the time just to rattle their cages. To see if he can find some leverage to manipulate them.”

  “T-true,” I agreed reluctantly. “It’s his j-job to be a d-dickhead sometimes, b-but I don’t th-think he enjoys that p-part of it. He’s b-basically a good g-guy.”

  “Bullshit.” Reggie slouched back, crossing his arms. “He makes me wear this getup to conferences ‘so nobody will recognize me’, he says. More like he thinks that if I don’t wear it people will be so creeped out by my freak-face that they won’t be able to concentrate on my presentation. Asshole.”

  I pressed my lips together to keep from pointing out that it sounded more like Reggie’s attitude problem than Stemp’s, and busied myself ripping open the pouch of hot liquid. An involuntary shudder shook me as I swallowed the first mouthful of sickly sweetness. “G-God.” I shuddered again. “It’ll be a m-miracle if I c-can keep this down.”

  “Just shut up and swallow.”

  I cocked an eyebrow at him. “Said the typical man.”

  He snickered, and I relaxed at the return of his usual sardonic humour.

  The driver’s door opened and Hellhound poked his masked-and-hooded head in along with a blast of icy air. “We’re hooked up, an’ Dave’s gonna start pullin’. Roll your window down so I can give ya steerin’ directions.”

  I complied, and a few minutes later the Hummer was on the highway again, windows closed and heat blasting.

  “Well, that was anticlimactic,” Melinda remarked, and I could hear the smile in her voice.

  “It felt pretty climactic to me,” Murray murmured, just loudly enough to be audible.

  “Ignore them,” Reggie advised me. “Don’t even look back there unless you want to know what they’ve been doing under that blanket all this time.”

  “Don’t want to know,” I agreed.

  A tap at my window provided a welcome distraction, and I powered it down to greet Hellhound again.

  “We’re gonna go get the Forester now,” he said. “I’ll take the duffels back with me. If we can’t get my truck out, I’ll bring everythin’ back an’ we can all go together, but I’d rather go with the original plan if we can.”

  “Sounds good,” I agreed. “Good luck.”

  Forty minutes later Hellhound’s Forester was back on the road. After another check-in call to Stemp, we moved off. Dave’s highway tractor pushed through the drifts ahead of us while I hugged his taillights, unable to see anything else in the whiteout. Behind me, Hellhound’s headlights were barely visible even though I knew he was only a couple of car-lengths back. The wind shrieked and tore at the Hummer, and my arms ached with the effort of holding it on the road despite its power steering.

  Reggie glanced at his wristwatch. “At least we missed the fucking meet-and-greet.”

  “Maybe not,” Murray spoke up hopefully. “I’m sure it’ll go on for a few hours. The Brits will be getting their second wind because of the seven-hour time difference, and the Aussies and Kiwis will party no matter how jet-lagged they are.”

  I groaned. “Can’t we just skip it?”

  “No chance,” Reggie said sourly. “We have to drop off the weapons at the secured facility, so we’ll be walking right through their stupid party.”

  “Well, I’m looking forward to it,” Melinda said. “It’ll be nice to interact with our colleagues in a less formal setting.”

  Murray murmured agreement.

  “It’s a fucking waste of our time,” Reggie snarled. “This isn’t a fucking social club, it’s a top-level national securi
ty meeting. Damn Nora Taylor. Good old Howie Coleman would’ve bitten his own tongue off before he’d make small talk. But no, put a woman in charge and all of a sudden we’re having tea and making pinky-friends.”

  Prying a hand momentarily off the steering wheel, I gave him a backhanded smack on the shoulder. “Nice attitude, asshole. And you were whining about Stemp being a dick?”

  He rubbed his shoulder, the good side of his mouth curling into a smirk. “You know I’m only rattling your chain.”

  “Coleman was a curmudgeonly old fossil, and you’re his younger evil clone,” Melinda said without heat. “It’s no wonder you liked him, but nobody else did. Nora Taylor is a much-needed change, and I’m looking forward to meeting her. And the meet-and-greet wasn’t entirely her idea, anyway. I heard that Brad Wilson was all over it, too.”

  “I don’t trust that fake-tanned asshole any farther than I can throw him,” Reggie groused. “He’s a fucking politician, not a scientist. Doesn’t have two brain cells to rub together. I can’t believe the U.S. made him their fucking Director of Weapons Research. Idiots.” He shot me a look. “And it can’t be a coincidence that the research directors of both the U.K. and the U.S. want a meet-and-greet for the first time ever, and that they both asked for you to be there.”

  I had thought I’d used up my worry quota for the day, but apparently not. Anxiety clutched at my throat. “This meet-and-greet isn’t business as usual?”

  “No. They’ve got some agenda, I guarantee it. Better watch your back.”

  Chapter 8

  By the time Calgary’s streetlights stained the night sickly orange, I was vibrating with tension and fatigue. The Hummer’s tires slewed through the heavy snow, following Dave’s highway tractor into a gas station.

  Hellhound’s Forester navigated the corner with even less finesse, drifting sideways and flinging up a white flurry before straightening at the last moment to slide to a halt.

  Dave swung down from the cab and slogged back toward the Hummer while Hellhound converged from the rear. I rolled down the window as they arrived.

  “Where to?” Dave inquired.

  “Thanks for rescuing us, Dave, but we’ll take it from here,” I said. “You need to go home. Nichele will be worried.”

  “Talked to her already,” he countered. “She’s fine. Tell me where you want to go and I’ll break trail.” He shot a disgusted look at the snowy streets. “Plows are taking their time as usual.”

  “Actually, we need to go it alone from here,” I said. I gave him a shrug and a significant eyebrow raise. “You know.”

  His face lit with avid interest. “Oh. Secret location?”

  “Yeah.”

  “’Kay. I’ll tell Nichele you’re tied up in business meetings. Stay safe. And Aydan…” He leaned in the window, his faded blue eyes serious. “You call me if you need help. With… anything. Okay?”

  I patted his mittened hand. “I will. Thanks, Dave.”

  “No problem. Anytime. You know that, right?”

  “I know. Thanks.”

  “’Kay.” He gave Reggie an awkward nod before straightening to glare at Hellhound. “You watch out for her, you hear?”

  Fortunately Arnie didn’t take offense. “I will. Thanks for gettin’ us here. That was some heavy-duty drivin’.”

  Dave frowned as though trying to figure out where an insult might be lurking in the compliment. After a moment he grunted, “You’re welcome,” and turned to stump rapidly back to his truck.

  Hellhound took his place leaning into my open window. “Lead on, darlin’. I’ll watch our six.”

  “Thanks. See you there.” I craned my neck to give him a kiss, ignoring Reggie’s disgusted snort beside me.

  When I had churned the Hummer back onto the street, I raised my voice to address my passengers. “Everybody keep your eyes open. I’m ninety-nine percent sure nobody’s following us through this shit, but watch for anything unusual just in case.”

  Murmurs of assent came from the back seat, and Reggie snorted again. “You mean ‘unusual’, as in somebody actually being dumb enough to be on the road tonight?”

  “Yeah, something like that.”

  I concentrated on driving, wishing the other drivers would all just go the hell home. Ahead, an SUV described a graceful one-eighty before sliding in slow motion into the side of a half-ton. I eased the wheel over and drove around them.

  “Wait, we just witnessed an accident,” Melinda protested from the back seat. “We have to stop.”

  “I didn’t see it,” I growled. “Reggie, did you see anything?”

  “Nope.”

  “Didn’t think so.” I kept driving. Behind me, Hellhound did the same.

  “But…” Melinda began.

  “We’re carrying classified weapons to a national security summit,” Reggie said. “Trust me, we didn’t see anything.”

  “But what if-”

  “No,” Reggie and I chorused.

  “Sorry,” I added.

  She sighed and subsided.

  After a few minutes of silence, Reggie spoke again. “So what’s the story with Dave?”

  “I got backed into a corner on an op and he saved my ass, but in the process he figured out that I’m not exactly the civilian bookkeeper I’m pretending to be. I’ve never given him any details and he doesn’t expect me to; but he loves to help and he’ll keep his mouth shut. And Stemp cleared him, so it’s all good.”

  “But his wife is a friend of yours and she doesn’t know anything?”

  “His fiancée; and she’s my best friend. And no, she doesn’t know anything.”

  “That must get complicated.”

  “Oh, hell yeah. But Dave covers for me. It’s good to have friends.”

  “Hm.” Reggie crossed his arms and sank his chin on his chest.

  The rest of our trip was completed in silence. When we wallowed around the corner into the underground parkade nearly an hour later, I drew a breath of profound relief at the feel of dry pavement under our tires.

  Reggie ducked involuntarily as we drove under the height restriction sign. “That was close.”

  “Yeah, it’d just make my night if I jammed this thing in the parkade,” I agreed. “But I checked the height spec as soon as I found out we were getting a Hummer.” Navigating through the public part of the parkade, I steered onto the down-ramp. “I think this is the first time I’ve ever been glad to be going down into the bowels of the earth,” I added. “I hate these basement parkades.”

  “You really should do something about that claustrophobia,” Reggie chided.

  “Yeah, and while I’m at it I’ll just will myself a couple of inches taller and bulletproof.”

  “Any taller and you’ll have to duck when you go through doors,” Reggie disagreed. “Better just stick with ‘bulletproof’.”

  “Smartass.” I stopped in front of the heavy steel garage door marked “Executive Parking Only - Private” and powered down the window to present my face for the retinal scan.

  The scanner chirped its acceptance and the door rolled up. I drew a long breath and drove forward. Behind us, the door clanged down with the deadly finality of a steel trap, and I reminded myself to breathe while I wound down the narrow ramp into the concrete depths.

  I could get out. I wasn’t trapped.

  Breathe…

  I pulled into a parking space on the bottom level and got out, trying not to think about the tons of concrete hanging over my head. My knees threatened to give way and I clung to the Hummer’s door until they deigned to hold my weight.

  Suck it up. Super-spy Jane Bond would breeze through hypothermia and a blizzard and a concrete coffin and still be ready to take on a dozen enemies. How pathetic would I be if I fell flat on my ass from fear and exhaustion?

  Hellhound’s Forester cruised down the ramp and parked a couple of slots away, and it was all I could do not to stagger over and fall into his arms. Instead, I tottered around to the back of the Hummer to peel off my st
ill-damp ski pants and swap my heavy Sorels for lighter hiking boots while my passengers disembarked.

  A glance at my wristwatch doubled the weight of my fatigue, and I sagged against the vehicle. “God, it’s eleven-thirty. Eight and a half hours to make a two-hour drive.” A jaw-cracking yawn seized me, stinging my dry eyes with involuntary tears.

  “At least the damn party should be over,” Reggie muttered. “Come on, let’s deliver these weapons and call it a night. God knows how long it’ll take to get to the hotel in this shitty weather.”

  The thought of getting back in the Hummer and braving the snow again was almost enough to bring real tears to my eyes. Suppressing the urge to curl into fetal position and stay that way until spring, I blew out a sigh and followed him to the Forester.

  Hellhound was already standing at the rear hatch, stretching his shoulders and rolling his neck.

  “How’s your arm?” I asked.

  “’Bout ninety percent.” He raised both arms over his head, the right lagging only slightly behind the left. “Still buzzin’ like a motherfucker, but it’s gettin’ better.”

  “Good,” Reggie snapped. “Then grab those duffels and let’s pack in this shit-show for the night.”

  “Sounds good to me,” Hellhound agreed, effortlessly shouldering the three duffels and lifting out his guitar case.

  I heaved an envious sigh. He would be safely indoors for the next twelve hours, maybe more. I still had to go out in the storm tonight, and then again the next morning to come back for the conference.

  Maybe they had extra beds here…?

  That optimistic thought carried me through the next security checkpoint behind Reggie and Hellhound, and into the depths of the facility.

  As we opened the final door, the sound of music and chatter made my heart plummet.

  “Jesus Christ!” Reggie snarled. “What the fuck is the matter with these people?”

  “Clear the way!” Melinda sang out. “Party animals coming through!” She and Murray shouldered past us, ducking into the coatroom only long enough to shed their coats before hurrying ahead.