Oh man, I would kill to be offered a position. “Well, I can’t take credit for the idea,” I said. “My dissertation advisor recommended this talk. I think the research may relate to my study. A comparison of hearing protection devices in an industrial environment.”
She smoothed her short brown hair as she looked at me amiably. “And how is your study coming along?”
I was so not in the mood for professional small talk. Actually, I wasn’t in the right mindset for any sort of lecture either, but at least I wouldn’t have to participate.
“All set to go,” I said. “I have a local manufacturing facility lined up to participate, and approval from my dissertation committee. I’ll begin gathering data in a couple of weeks.”
“Good. Keep me apprised of your progress.”
I nodded in answer. A moment later I pulled my own small notebook and pen out of my bag and readied it in my lap, hoping the presentation would cut off our chat shortly. Thankfully, the room did begin to quieten as the host moved to the podium. I felt myself relax a little when the lights dimmed. I could be alone with my thoughts again.
I tried to focus on the research. I really did. It was important for me in myriad ways. Unfortunately, I didn’t hear a thing that was being said.
I immediately began to replay the train incident in my head over and over, trying to make sense of it. It could’ve just been a crazy person. I might have believed that before last week. But some strange things had happened since then.
Given that the last bizarre event also involved a staring stranger, I pondered the possibility that this one was delivering yet another message. A secret message—who am I? I felt unhinged even considering it.
I reached into my bag and discreetly removed the receipt for coffee and pie I had placed for safekeeping. I studied it quickly in my lap, then returned my eyes to the speaker to look engaged. Meanwhile, my mind was whirling.
Is this the second part of the message? He gave me a time. Maybe the receipt was the place. And I was supposed to go to the diner. At eight p.m. sharp. Tonight?
It seemed plausible, if anything did.
I would have to at least check it out, as farfetched as it seemed. If I hurried, I could probably get my car and make it there by eight o’clock after the lecture. But the idea of just showing up, without any idea of what I was walking into, made me uneasy. Was it still some secret admirer? More likely a serial killer.
No, I would prefer to scope the situation out ahead of time. Then I could abandon the plan if anything looked questionable. But I had to know. I couldn’t possibly not know.
I also couldn’t waste any more time at this lecture. All I could think about was figuring out the mystery. My boss is going to be disappointed. But I had to take my chances.
I would have to fake an illness and hope for the best. I had never been so devious before.
I began my ruse by holding my hand to my stomach. After a moment I drew a sharp breath and squeezed as if in pain. Then my other hand moved to my mouth and lingered while I breathed slowly. I ended the show with a quiet gagging emphasized by a slight jerk of my shoulders. I removed my hand and turned to Dr. Seymore, a pained and apologetic look on my face.
“I’m sorry. I’m not feeling well,” I whispered. “I have to go.”
She nodded in sympathy. I grabbed my bag and hustled out of the auditorium. I took a deep breath when I exited the building, mentally wrapping my head around the deception I had just committed. And the enigmatic situation I was about to throw myself into.
I truly didn’t recognize myself.
Three
It was just getting dark when I neared the diner. I pulled my car into the lot of the mini-grocery next door, giving me a perfect view of the diner entrance. My car was well-camouflaged by the surrounding cars. I was pleased with my cunning. All that mystery reading is paying off.
I turned off the engine and cracked the window for a little air. The diner was again quiet, with only a handful of cars in the lot. No shady characters lingering. No creepy staring men so far.
I watched and waited, anxiously checking the time on my phone at regular intervals. Barely anything moved.
With ten minutes to the designated time, I finally spotted movement. A woman was approaching by foot. She was wearing a stylish black trench-style jacket, dark jeans and heels. Her dark hair was pulled back in a long ponytail. I couldn’t make out her face at this distance and wished I had some sort of binoculars.
She headed down the front sidewalk toward the entrance. But just outside the door, she stopped and perched her leather shoulder bag on the dome of a large trash receptacle. She began digging through the bag as though searching for something. But while her hand was busy, her head tilted up slightly and rotated, as though she were scanning the surroundings instead.
Suspicion tingled the back of my neck. In a flash of inspiration, I grabbed my phone and snapped a picture, allowing me to zoom in on the distant figure in the photo. Her face was now clearly recognizable.
It was the girl from the bookstore.
I knew it. Deep down, a part of me had suspected she could be behind this all along. But I still had no idea what this was.
I continued watching closely through the zoomed camera, now filming. The girl stopped pretending to search her bag and extended an arm carefully into the opening and to the side, as though accessing the void surrounding the actual trashcan.
Her hand reappeared with a manila envelope. She quickly stuffed the envelope into her bag. With a final glance around her, she threw her bag back over her shoulder and continued on into the diner.
A hidden envelope. What have I gotten myself into?
My mind starting piecing together everything I knew so far. A mysterious stranger caught me snooping. And has brought me on some kind of weird chase, using clues that revolve around allusions to spying. And now she is clearly collecting the fruits of espionage.
Obviously she is a spy of some sort. I thought back to old movies. The spies are generally spying on a foreign country—and I saw her speaking Russian! Maybe I’ve been following the instructions of a KGB agent.
No, no, no. Surely that was implausible. Run-ins with spies aren’t something that happens in normal life.
What about all the shipyards and huge Navy presence here? Maybe it’s not so crazy.
I’m outta here. I was reaching for my seatbelt when a knock on my window made me jump.
I looked up to see the trench-coat-wearing witch-slash-Russian-spy. “Fancy seeing you here,” she said, grinning widely.
I tried to maintain my composure as my pulse began to race. I stared back at her, unable to come up with a response.
Her brow furrowed. “You okay?”
Don’t let on! “I’m fine.”
She smiled again. “Then want to join me for a coffee?”
“Oh, sorry,” I replied. “I have to get going.”
Her face fell. “Oh.” She glanced back at the diner for a moment, and then returned her gaze to me. “Then could I get a quick ride?”
All I wanted was to get out of there. “I’m really kind of in a hurry.”
“It’s not far, only a few blocks,” she said. “I’d rather not walk back in the dark. I left my car.”
I paused only momentarily, but she took it as a sign. In a blink she was at the passenger’s side, waiting for me to unlock the door. I couldn’t exactly speed off now without raising suspicion. I had no choice. I let her in and put the car in reverse.
After pointing me to the left out of the lot, the mysterious stranger broke the silence. “I thought you were coming to meet me. You made it this far.”
“I was meeting . . . someone,” I said reluctantly. “But I changed my mind.”
She turned to face me. “Why?”
“Look, I just want to stay out of it,” I said.
“Out of what?”
“I don’t know. I don’t know anything—and I don’t want to know anything—about whatever it is you’re i
nto.” Nervous, I began to ramble. “I promise I won’t pay any more attention to you and I won’t tell anyone. You don’t need to worry about me. I just want to stay out of it.”
Her eyes widened in surprise. Then she smiled as she processed my words. “Well now I’m dying to know. What is it you think I’m into?”
“I don’t know. I mean you obviously . . . gather information.” I needed to tread very carefully here.
“Yes, okay. And?”
I considered my words. “And . . . I’m not sure it’s for a book. So it’s probably for someone else. But I don’t know who it is for, and I don’t want to know.”
“Oh, I get it. You think I’m some kind of spy? For someone questionable, maybe.” Her grin was sly. “Nefarious even.”
Oh, crap. I have to get out of this conversation. “It’s none of my business. I just want to go on my way. Really.”
She motioned for me to take a left turn.
I complied and continued. “I’m sorry I followed you, and I’m sorry I followed your clues. I’ll keep my nose to myself from now on.” And I really regret the video of you on my phone.
Her brow furrowed. “But I don’t want you to. That’s the whole point.”
I don’t like where this is headed. “Listen, I don’t judge,” I stammered. “I’m sure you have your reasons for whatever you do. But I’m American.”
I quickly realized what I had let slip and scrambled to abort. “We should just stop talking about it now. I really need to get home.”
She smiled over at me, quizzical. “American?”
I gulped.
She looked genuinely confused. “So you’re concerned I’m not American? First, what makes you think that?”
“Err, well, you . . . speak other languages.” What have I done?
“Yes, one. I really only use it with my father.” She paused, considering. Suddenly her face lit up. “Ohhh, I get it. You think I’m a spy . . . for Russia? What, like in the KGB?” Her laugh bordered on hysterical.
She thinks this is funny? Do I have it all wrong, or is this exactly how a real spy would deny it? I cringed in confusion.
She seemed to notice my discomfort and turned serious. “No, it’s not funny. I get that. I’m not laughing at you.” She smiled broadly. “Well, maybe a little. But seriously, I’m not a Russian spy.”
“Okay, I believe you.” I nodded my head in reassurance.
She glanced over questioningly.
“Really. I just want to go home.” I was confused and possibly embarrassed.
“Okay. We’re here anyway. You can pull in up there.” She pointed to a small parking lot fronting an ancient two-story office building on the right. A dark Nissan Z was the sole occupant of the lot.
I pulled up next to it and stopped the car.
“But I need you to know something first,” she continued. “I am a spy of sorts. I obviously wasn’t trying to hide that from you. I wanted to get your interest.”
I opened my mouth to stop her again, but she continued.
“I spy privately, for whoever needs information. Mostly businesses, sometimes individuals. Suspicious lovers—although I try to stay away from those cases if I can help it.”
I pondered this for a moment. “You mean like a Private Investigator? You’re a PI?”
“Exactly like a PI,” she said. “Only I don’t call myself that. I prefer the term ‘consultant.’”
“Consultant?”
She smiled. “I look into situations for people, find information, and then I ‘consult’ with them on the truth.”
I studied her, dubious.
She shrugged. “Companies are always hiring consultants. Who knows what some of them actually do. A lot of the time probably nothing. But they’re hired as a normal business expense, and no one ever questions it.” She unzipped her bag and reached inside. “So it’s just easier to hide my services under the label ‘consulting.’ But essentially, yes, I’m spying for them.”
A private spy? This actually sounded plausible.
She handed me a business card. The name on the card read S. McKenzie, Consultant. There was a cute little symbol of an owl at the top. It looked real enough.
She gave me a direct look. “And I was hoping you’d consider helping me.”
My eyes narrowed. “What kind of help?”
“Assisting with my investigations. I’ve been thinking about getting a partner, someone to help out here and there. And you just came along and practically begged for the job without even knowing it.”
I felt my face redden. I had been acting strangely.
She continued. “And I like you, I think we could have fun. Besides, you have this whole wide-eyed innocent look about you. People would trust you. Sometimes the job calls for that, and I don’t pull it off as well. I think we could make a great team.”
It was starting to make sense now. “So you were, what, testing me?”
“Essentially, yes. I made a trail for you to follow. I saw you obviously had some interest in surveillance. So I left you some mysterious tidbits to see if you would be compelled to follow.” She grinned at me. “You passed with flying colors. I hear you even asked about tracking the receipt. I’m impressed.”
I felt a little pride at her words.
“You also showed up early to our meeting to check things out, which is smart,” she continued. “But I’m afraid you saw something that gives the wrong impression. I didn’t realize the conclusion you would come to, but it makes sense.”
My cheeks flamed hotter. “Yeah, I thought I was going to be tried for treason.”
She laughed. “I assure you I’m not doing this for the love of my country, any country.” She shook her head and looked at me. “I serve a far greater purpose—cold, hard cash. Done right, it pays pretty well. And for the fun. What other job uses secrets as a currency?”
I looked back at her, considering. I remembered our previous conversation. “I thought you told me you were a writer.”
“That’s just my favorite cover. You can get away with almost anything if people think you’re doing research.” She shrugged. “Make it seem like you find them utterly fascinating, and most people will spill all their secrets. Everyone wants to be special.”
Interesting tip. I made a mental note to watch out for overeager interest from this girl.
“I had no reason to lie to you, it’s just habit,” she continued. “I was checking out financial investment books, for a job. The witchcraft thing was just to see if you were following me.”
I hung my head a little. I must’ve been pretty obvious.
She resumed her pitch. “My job is to listen in on people and watch them when they think no one is watching. And sometimes pretend to be someone else. You know you’re intrigued. You could do it with me.”
“I have a job,” I responded carefully.
“I know,” she said. “You could help me at night or on weekends. It could be a hobby. Investigating is not exactly a nine to five gig.”
I studied her face as she gazed back expectantly. Suddenly a thought seemed to occur to her.
“How about a trial run?” she said. “You could come with me on an operation. Just watch if you want.”
My eyes widened. “An operation?”
“Just a simple surveillance for now.”
I needed some time to process all this. “I don’t know.”
“Just think about it. If you want to see what I do, to get a taste, meet me at Corridors downtown tomorrow night. Seven o’clock. No pressure.”
I smiled warily as she opened the car door. “I’ll think about it.”
She grinned back. “Sure. Night.” She hopped in the sports car and roared out of the lot. I watched the taillights recede in the distance.
Surely I’m not really considering this.
Four
I hesitated on the sidewalk when I arrived outside the upscale downtown restaurant at exactly 6pm. What in the world am I doing here? Meeting a mysterious stranger to
discuss spying was quite out of my comfort zone. My typical Saturday nights have recently revolved around takeout and the sofa. I don’t even know the girl’s first name.
But something had brought me this far. I couldn’t go home without knowing more.
I checked my reflection in the front windows. My knee-length black skirt and buttoned gray cardigan looked plenty appropriate. I took a deep breath and headed inside.
The girl smiled broadly as she watched me approach her table. “I knew you’d show up.”
“That makes one of us,” I mumbled, slipping into an adjacent seat.
She extended her hand. “I’m Sloan. Sloan McKenzie.”
“Quinn Bailey.” I returned the offer.
“I know,” she replied, flippant. “But it’s nice to finally meet you.”
I looked her over as my stomach clenched warily. I was pleased to see she was dressed similarly, her red cardigan dressed up further with a strand of delicate pearls. But the conservative look, dowdy on me, somehow imparted only class on her.
“So tell me, Quinn, what do you want to know? I’m sure you have questions.”
What exactly do you know about me? “Um. Well, what are we doing here, for starters?”
Sloan smiled. “Having drinks.” She raised her finger in the air to catch a waiter’s attention. He hustled over and she looked at me. “What would you like?”
I thought quickly. “A glass of moscato, please.”
She turned toward the waiter. “I’ll have a dirty Grey Goose martini with 2 olives.”
The waiter nodded and hurried away. Sloan put her chin in her hand and gazed at me expectantly. I fidgeted with my silverware.
“Boy, you really are a walking contradiction, aren’t you?” Sloan said. “Ok, fine, I’ll start. We’re here to check out a new case. Have a first look at the subject.”
I wasn’t sure if I should be offended. “What do you mean, a walking contradiction?”
She looked me in the eye. “You’re very passive for someone so inquisitive. You seem to want answers, but you’re afraid or ashamed to find out. There’s no harm in asking for what you want.”
Impulse Spy (Sonic Sleuths Series) Page 2