A Spy For a Spy

by Diane Henders

  Her beautiful face lit up with maternal pride. “He just loves it, and he loves his teacher. He’s so excited to go to school every day. Poor Ivy misses her brother and she’s just dying to go to ‘real school’, so I’ve enrolled her in an advanced nursery school. They’re both doing so well!”

  Her enthusiasm made me smile despite the weight of my pain. “I’m not surprised. They take after their mom.”

  She blushed, her smile luminous. “Thanks! See you later. Have a good day.”

  “You, too.”

  She hurried out, still smiling, and I turned a bland face to Doytchevsky. “I guess we won’t need you today, either. Spider and I can handle the decryptions.”

  He out-blanded me. “I’d better stay. Without Kane, there’s nobody to pull you out of the network if you get in trouble.”

  I might have imagined the emphasis on his last three words. But probably not.

  I shrugged. Slowly and painfully. “Spider, let’s get to it.”

  My mind wasn’t fully on the decryptions, but I managed to deal with them competently enough. Thank God I could make my avatar pain-free inside the virtual reality network.

  Returning my consciousness to my body was like being hit by a truck. One moment, fine; the next, pain exploding every nerve. I swore violently, instinctively grabbing for my aching head only to recoil from the pain of lifting my arms. Slumped on the sofa, I groaned and whimpered until the pain in my head subsided and the rest of my body equalized into a throbbing ache.

  Spider’s skinny fingers rubbed tentatively at my temples, and I pried my eyes open at last.

  He leaned down to examine me worriedly. “That seemed worse than usual. Are you okay?”

  I patted his hand and heaved myself upright, wincing. “I’m okay. Thanks, Spider. I’m just tired and sometimes it hits me harder then.”

  “Okay…” He eyed me doubtfully. “I’ve got those floor plans and Sherman’s dossier on my laptop. You can go over them and I’ll give you the access codes before you meet with Stemp.”

  “Thanks.” I pulled up a chair beside him, ignoring Doytchevsky completely.

  Doytchevsky rose and strolled for the door. “I’m taking the afternoon off, too.”

  I turned to face Spider’s eager briefing, pretending to concentrate on the utterly useless information about the Knights’ office. At least the dossier on Sherman was enlightening. Now I could put a face to the remembered feel of his hands.

  I shuddered and hauled myself out of the chair. “Thanks, Spider. Guess I’ll head for my briefing now.”

  “Good luck.” He eyed me anxiously.

  Boy, was I going to need it.

  “Thanks.”

  I wandered down the hall and shut myself into the ladies’ room, my mind racing. If I went to Stemp’s briefing, he would mention Doytchevsky and it would be all over for Lola. And if Doytchevsky was telling the truth about the surveillance, I couldn’t even signal Stemp that anything was wrong.

  No options left.

  I peeped out the door at the empty corridor, and then strolled casually back to my office, my heart pounding.

  Chapter 34

  I tucked my cell phone into my desk drawer with trembling hands before hurrying down the hall. God, please don’t let Stemp see me. The only thing worse than going to his briefing would be trying to explain why I was avoiding the briefing.

  What was Doytchevsky planning? He hadn’t told me to leave my gun behind, but surely he wouldn’t let me keep it for long. And he had overheard Stemp, so he knew I’d be carrying a trank gun and restraints, too.

  I scrubbed moist palms against my jeans. If he had told me to leave my weapons behind, I wouldn’t be so worried. What the hell made him so confident? He must have some plan.

  Too bad I couldn’t say the same. God, I was so far out of my league.

  I hesitated at the door to Stores. The longer I spent in the building, the greater the chance that Stemp would catch me. But if Doytchevsky expected me to be carrying the requisitioned items, he might not believe me if I told him I didn’t have them…

  Shit.

  I ducked inside and picked up the trank gun and restraints, tucking them into my jacket pocket with a shiver. They weren’t exactly giving me warm fuzzies, but it was better to see them in my own hands than in Doytchevsky’s.

  When I emerged from the building, Doytchevsky was nowhere to be seen. I jittered for a moment on the sidewalk, wondering if he was watching me out here, too. Probably. I held back a shudder when icy gooseflesh rose on the back of my neck, and headed for the parking lot.

  The ice spread to my veins at the sight of Hellhound’s SUV parked next to my car. He got out, eyeing me anxiously as I approached.

  Shit!

  My feet carried me closer while my mind raced frantically. How the hell could I keep him from saying anything? If he mentioned last night’s conversation or noticed the fresh wounds on my wrists...

  I covered the last few yards completely devoid of inspiration, my pulse hammering.

  “Aydan, what the-” he began, and I widened my eyes at him before silencing him in the only way that came immediately to mind.

  He returned the kiss with interest. And then some. If I hadn’t been so scared, I might have even enjoyed it.

  Goddammit, I had to think of some way to warn him not to speak. I couldn’t keep kissing him forever.

  Although…

  That was an extremely attractive option. The man was an artist. Those lips… and ohmigod, that magic tongue…

  I pulled away, trying for a light tone. “You’re ‘way too tempting. I’d better get going. See you later.”

  Apparently my act wasn’t going to win any Oscars. His smile dissolved into a worried frown.

  “Darlin’, what the hell-”

  I widened my eyes at him again and gave him a tiny, desperate headshake. He stiffened, his gaze darting around the parking lot.

  “…are ya doin’ this afternoon?” he finished with only a slight hitch in the sentence. “Can ya sneak away for a little R and R?” He pulled me closer to fondle my ass. “I got a few things I wanna whisper in your ear.”

  He leaned down but I pulled away, afraid Doytchevsky’s bug would be sensitive enough to overhear even a whisper.

  “I’d love to, but I can’t.” I almost added ‘I’m going down to Calgary’, but changed my mind at the last instant. That might alarm Doytchevsky, and if Hellhound thought I was working the afternoon at Sirius, he’d probably go and hang out with Kane. Safer for everybody.

  “I have to work,” I said instead. “See you later.” I gave him a quick peck on the lips and fled to my car.

  When I turned out of the parking lot, Doytchevsky’s car pulled onto the street behind me. Okay, at least I didn’t have to guess what he was doing.

  Hellhound’s SUV turned in the opposite direction. Thank God. He’d gotten the message.

  I hissed out a long breath and pressed my aching shoulders into the seat back, settling in for a long, uncomfortable drive.

  Heading west on the highway, I had just passed the turnoff for my farm when a flash of movement made my eyes flick up to the rearview mirror. My heart sank at the sight of Hellhound’s SUV overtaking Doytchevsky’s car to tuck in behind me.

  Dammit!

  I drove on in an agony of indecision. Should I pull over? Keep driving?

  He’d probably follow me all the way to Calgary if I didn’t stop. And Doytchevsky had likely recognized the SUV if he’d seen us in the parking lot.

  What if Doytchevsky decided to eliminate the risk? A few bullets fired from a passing car; an unsolved shooting on a deserted country highway…

  My decision was made for me when Hellhound overtook me a few minutes later and braked. For a split second I considered pulling out to pass, but decided against it. Safer to get rid of him now.

  I followed his lead as he slowed and pulled over on the shoulder. In my rearview mirror, I watched Doytchevsky do the same about half a mile back. Out of
pistol range, thank God.

  By the time I returned my attention forward, Hellhound was striding toward me. I reached for the door handle, but changed my mind.

  Stay in the car. Then even if Doytchevsky had binoculars, he wouldn’t be able to read my facial expression or gestures.

  I powered the window down and Hellhound leaned in. “Aydan, what’s-”

  “You can’t take a hint, can you?” I snapped. “Don’t you ever think about anything but sex? I told you, I’m busy this afternoon.” I jabbed a finger at my waist pouch and cupped a hand behind my ear before cocking a thumb over my shoulder in Doytchevsky’s direction.

  Come on, Arnie, get it, please get it…

  His eyes widened in comprehension. “Ya didn’t seem to mind when ya were screamin’ my name in bed,” he growled. “Well, fine then. Lotsa other chicks out there. Don’t need a goddam pissy bitch like you.”

  His fingertips brushed my cheek in the lightest of caresses before he turned and stomped back to the SUV. Moments later, its tires grated angrily on the pavement as it roared into a U-turn and headed back toward town.

  I put my car into gear with a shaking hand and pulled out onto the highway again. My mind circled uselessly, considering and discarding plan after increasingly desperate plan. Doytchevsky could push that phone button far faster than I could draw a gun. I understood now why he had told me to leave my phone behind. I couldn’t even text Stemp.

  Maybe I should have held onto the phone instead of following his orders. How would he know?

  But it was too risky. If it was my own life on the line, I might take a chance, but Lola was too important. To me. To everybody. Her warm smile hovered in my memory.

  And anyway, it was a waste of time to second-guess myself. Too late now.

  What could I do with what I had right now?

  What if I crashed my car? It would attract attention. Take me out of the equation.

  I thumped the steering wheel with an indecisive fist. Not really an option. He’d probably leave me if I was hurt badly enough, but then I likely wouldn’t be capable of doing anything to help Lola, either. If I was only slightly injured, he’d haul me out of the wreckage and force me to cooperate anyway. No help for Lola and considerably more pain for me.

  I squirmed in the seat again, trying to ease the burning ache in my arms and chest.

  Speeding or attracting police attention in any other way would sign Lola’s death warrant when I had to explain what I was doing. Driving anywhere except the address he’d given me would have the same result.

  At last, I surrendered to the inevitable. Don’t be a hero. Just do what he wants. Still, my hand crept to the zipper of my waist pouch.

  Would he have inventoried all its contents when he placed the bug? And if he had, would he remember my knives? And would he think to take the pouch away from me and search it to make sure they were both still there?

  I eased my folding knife free and tucked it inside the front waistband of my jeans. It was probably useless. I couldn’t get to it before Doytchevsky pressed the button. But any weapon was better than nothing. If he found it, I’d cooperate and give it up without a fight. But if he didn’t…

  Despite my attempts to find a comfortable position, pain wracked my body by the time I pulled up at the address in a small semi-industrial strip mall. Groaning, I eased my hands off the steering wheel and slumped hopelessly in the seat while I stared at the storefront.

  A pottery shop? This couldn’t be the right place.

  A few large urns and some smaller bowls with vivid glazes occupied the slightly grubby front window. The illuminated sign glowed determinedly ‘Closed’ despite the printed placard on the door that insisted it was open until four-thirty on Wednesdays.

  But apparently I’d gotten the address right after all. Doytchevsky pulled up beside me and pointed, and I drove in the direction he indicated. A few moments later I clenched my teeth, watching the overhead door roll up at the back of the building.

  Maybe I shouldn’t try to keep my knife. My heart bounded into my throat. What if he found the knife and blew Lola up out of spite?

  Decide.

  The door rolled down behind us and Doytchevsky got out of his car.

  My hands tightened on the wheel. Too late now.

  A fast glance around the bay revealed little hope. No potential weapons. No places to hide. No exits other than a door at the front that must lead to the storefront.

  Some open shelves near the front of the bay held terracotta-coloured clay ware and large discoloured steel containers that looked like garbage cans. A potter’s wheel stood beside the shelves, the concrete around it liberally spattered with dried clay. A huge stainless-steel chest squatted on the opposite side of the bay under a blackened ventilation hood. Probably the kiln. The only other furnishings were a plain desk with a computer on it and a small forklift with a long extension bar attached to the front.

  Doytchevsky came up beside the car and stood several feet away, his phone in one hand, a trank gun in the other. Out of range of the door, even if I had considered swinging it open to hit him.

  Despair soured my stomach. He had been a spy for decades. The fact that he was still alive was a testament to his skill. He wouldn’t make stupid mistakes.

  “Take your left hand off the wheel and open the door slowly.”

  I obeyed, and a hot metallic smell assailed my nostrils. I must have guessed right about the kiln.

  “Keep your right hand on the wheel. Lay your weapons and restraints on the floor beside the car. Slowly.”

  I carefully laid out my Glock, the tranquilizer gun, and the nylon restraints. No sudden moves. Just like he said.

  His finger hovered over the phone button and I swallowed hard. Thank God his hands were steady. Unlike mine.

  “Take off your pouch and lay it down, too.”

  Holding my breath, I unfastened it and lowered it to the floor.

  “Now step out of the car. Keep your hands in sight.”

  I hoisted my trembling hands and hauled myself out of the car. God, I should have eaten something before I left. Even if I did manage to get a gun into my hand, I’d probably miss just because I was shaking so badly.

  “Nice and slow. Pull the chair into the middle of the floor and sit on it.”

  I was just sinking into the chair when a doorbell sounded. Doytchevsky glanced at his wristwatch, his eyes flicking down only for a fraction of a second before locking onto me again.

  “He’s early. You will follow my instructions to the letter. You’ll walk out into the store and let him in the front door. You’ll tell him Sam is back here. You’ll lock the front door behind him and send him back here ahead of you. If you make any sign or warn him in any way, I’ll blow your little granny to hell. Clear?”

  I nodded, heart racing, and began to rise.

  “Hold it!”

  I froze, my legs locked at an awkward half-seated angle.

  Doytchevsky laughed. “Oh, very good. I’m glad you’ve decided to be so cooperative. You may stand up.”

  I straightened slowly.

  “If it’s anyone else, get rid of them.” He jerked his chin a fraction of an inch in the direction of the door, the phone and trank gun still rock-steady in his hands. “Go.”

  Chapter 35

  The doorbell sounded again as I walked stiffly into the store, trying to hide my quivering knees. Outside, a tall, skinny silhouette made my heart leap into my throat.

  Oh, God, no, Spider!

  A moment later relief nearly melted my knees. It wasn’t Spider. The bearded young man thumped on the door a couple times before spotting me. His frown lightened and he waved and pointed to the placard on the door.

  “Sorry, we’re closed,” I called.

  He frowned, gesturing and mouthing something unintelligible outside the glass.

  “I said, we’re closed!”

  Come on, buddy, just fuck off.

  No such luck. He rattled the door handle vehemently. />
  Doytchevsky’s nasal voice floated out from behind the door. “You have ten seconds. Ten…”

  I lunged for the door and shoved my face up against the glass. “The store is closed! We’ve had a death in the family! Show some respect!”

  He stepped back uncertainly, and I turned and strode for the rear of the shop.

  Just leave, buddy, come on, please. Just go away.

  Thank God, he did. When I glanced back over my shoulder, I could see his disconsolate figure wandering away, scratching his head.

  I eased the door open, not wanting to surprise Doytchevsky. “He’s gone.”

  “Good. Back in the chair.”

  I sat. Several minutes of silence made me wonder if I was supposed to be engaging him in conversation or something. What would a real agent do? Try to talk her way out of trouble?

  Somehow I couldn’t see that happening. He needed me to suck Sherman in, so he wasn’t going to let me go. And I seriously doubted he’d gloat like a movie villain and spill all his dastardly plans.

  But I had to try. “Do you own this shop?” I ventured.

  Silence.

  “The glazes are beautiful on those pieces in the front window,” I tried again. “Do you just paint them on?”

  “How stupid are you?” he snapped. “That’s raku.”

  Okay, if he wanted to insult me, fine. As long as it got him talking.

  “You mean it’s… spaghetti sauce?”

  “You’re pathetic.” He peered down his nose at me. “I said raku, not Ragu. R-A-K-U. It’s a complex glazing and firing technique.”

  “It’s spectacular. How do you get those metallic patches?”

  He drew himself up, smirking. Unfortunately, neither his gun nor his phone wavered in the slightest. “It takes a great deal of practice and expertise, and even then I never quite know how they’ll turn out. Each piece is a surprise.”

  Well, what do you know? Doytchevsky had a hobby.

  “They’re beautiful. Tell me about the firing technique.”

  Oops, maybe that was a little too obviously chummy.

  He glared and jabbed the phone in my direction. “Shut up.”