by Jana DeLeon
“Well,” Ida Belle said, “looks like we need to find a place for that gator and figure out a way to trap him before Celia goes full-on Rambo with us. I’ve seen her try water pistols at the parish carnival, and it doesn’t bode well for any of us.”
“All we need to do is find him,” Gertie said, “and I can tempt him near the boat with food. Then we heft him in with straps or something.”
I shook my head. Gertie might have used a pair of her pants to cart the alligator into her boat before, but no way was I having any part of Reptile Fashion Week.
“I’m not riding around with that gator in a boat,” I said. “He doesn’t like me.”
“You were going to shoot him,” Gertie said.
“Because he was going to eat me,” I said.
Gertie waved a hand in dismissal. “He was just playing around.”
“When I feel like wrestling with an animal, I’ll get a puppy,” I said.
“Fortune’s right,” Ida Belle said. “It’s not safe to ride around with him in a boat. We’ll just coax him onto the bank and into a cage. I know a guy who builds them for Wildlife and Fisheries. I’m sure he’ll lend us one.”
“Great,” I said, “but how do we get the cage out of the swamp?”
“Carter has a hoist on the sheriff’s boat,” Ida Belle said, “but I thought we might be able to entice him onto the bank in your backyard. Gertie’s fed him there before, so maybe we can get him to return.”
It was times like these that I wished I were hiding out in a high-rise condo. People practically never trapped alligators in the parking lot of condos. Except maybe in Florida. But from the things I’d read on the internet, Florida was just as unique as Louisiana when it came to certain things. Still, I supposed fetching an alligator in a crate in my backyard would be easier than hauling him out of the swamp.
“Fine,” I said, “but no more adopting animals from the wild. Why can’t you get a nice cat or something?”
“Remember the bobcat?” Ida Belle asked.
During one of our misadventures, I’d had the interesting experience of running into a pet bobcat. I’d gotten away, but my clothes hadn’t been as fortunate.
“A domestic house cat,” I clarified. “Preferably a small breed and with its nails trimmed.”
My own adopted house cat, Merlin, liked to race across my head when startled out of sleep. Cat tracks across your face wasn’t a great look. Didn’t feel so hot, either.
“I don’t like litter boxes,” Gertie said, “and if they go outside they haul in dead things. It’s too much mess either way.”
I stared. “Says the woman who had an alligator in her bathtub. I was there—running for my life—when he tore the door off the wall. I have yet to see a house cat make that kind of mess.”
“A house cat won’t eat you, either,” Ida Belle said.
“They will if you die,” Gertie said.
“Yeah, but they won’t be the one who kills you,” I said.
“Maybe I’ll get a bird,” Gertie said. “One that talks.”
“The last thing we need is a bird repeating stuff we say,” Ida Belle said.
“I was just going to teach it to curse and call Celia names,” Gertie said. “We can have meetings about secret stuff at Fortune’s.”
“A bird calling Celia names would be entertaining,” I said.
“Fine,” Ida Belle said, “she’ll get a damn bird. But not until we get rid of that gator. I can only handle so many distractions at one time.”
Gertie clapped. “The first thing I’m teaching the bird is the ‘I see London, I see France’ poem.”
Ida Belle grinned. “Perfect.”
I clenched my cell phone as I walked back into the kitchen, then threw it across the room. Gertie picked that moment to turn around from the stove with a ladle of spaghetti sauce. The ladle and Ida Belle caught the worst of it. The cell phone smacked into the ladle, sending it flying right over Ida Belle’s head, streaming the spaghetti sauce down on her as though it was crop-dusting. Ida Belle looked up from her Guns & Ammo magazine and frowned, sauce dripping from her hair.
Gertie stared at Ida Belle in dismay, then turned to me. “If you didn’t want spaghetti, you could have said so an hour ago before I started cooking.”
Ida Belle picked up a napkin and wiped her forehead. “I’m guessing the phone-flinging escapade has nothing to do with lunch and everything to do with the phone call. Given that you’re one of my best friends, I’m happy to shoot someone for you. I just need to know who to aim at.”
Gertie nodded. “And I’ll dispose of the body. I’m out of casseroles and we still need to trap Godzilla. After all that running this morning, he’s probably hungry.”
I looked at both of them and couldn’t help smiling, mostly because I knew they were only half-joking. With friends like these, you had life pretty much in the bag. I flopped down in the dining chair and grabbed the beer I’d abandoned earlier to take a big swig. Then I let out a long-suffering sigh.
“Carter?” Gertie asked as she rubbed Ida Belle’s head with a damp washrag.
Ida Belle waved her off and frowned at me. “I thought you two were going to have The Talk.”
The Talk being the one where I told him I would probably always do things he disapproved of and he had to learn to live with it because I didn’t see myself changing. Or he could walk away. It was the Door Number 2 option that had kept me from broaching the subject, even though we’d said over a week ago that we needed to talk about our relationship.
“We were,” I said. “We did. Sorta.”
Ida Belle raised one eyebrow.
“Okay, fine,” I said. “We were going to, but then I distracted him with other things so I could put it off.”
“Interesting,” Gertie said. “Most women put off other things because they want to talk. You’re going against the grain here.”
“Yes, well,” Ida Belle said, “Fortune has never been your average woman.”
“Neither have you,” Gertie said. “And unless we want her following your example of keeping a perfectly good man at bay for a lifetime, you might want to try to push her a little more in the average direction. She could ruin this whole dating thing for the rest of us.”
Ida Belle rolled her eyes. “What the heck are you talking about? Your last date was so long ago that he probably clubbed you and dragged you to his cave.”
I waved my hand at them before they could get started. “It wasn’t Carter on the phone, so all this discourse on my lack of womanly skills or the potential that I’m a complete coward when it comes to emotional things is not relevant.”
Ida Belle and Gertie glanced at each other, their expressions serious. They knew as well as I did that only a handful of people had my phone number, and almost half of them were in the room with me. I’d already stated it wasn’t Carter. Ally was still at work, and Walter was busy at the General Store. That left one other option.
“Harrison?” Ida Belle asked.
I nodded. The week before, my CIA partner, Harrison, had called to inform me they had eyes on Ahmad in Miami and were planning the takedown. He wanted to know if I was up for it, which was a stupid question, because there was nothing I wanted more. But then the time frame he had targeted came and went without a word from Harrison, and my phone calls went straight to voice mail and weren’t returned. At first, I thought they’d decided to undertake the mission without me, which would have pissed me off, but I would have understood it in a bureaucratic sort of way. The government was rarely efficient or logical.
Then the phone call I’d been waiting on had come ten minutes ago, but it wasn’t at all what I wanted to hear. I’d hoped Harrison was calling to apologize for leaving me out but would tell me that Ahmad was captured or dead and I was free to be me again. But that wasn’t what he’d said at all. I took a deep breath and slowly blew it out, trying to calm myself so I didn’t scream when I explained the problem.
“They lost sight of Ahmad,” I said final
ly.
Gertie and Ida Belle let out a stream of impressive cursing that was definitely appreciated, even though I’d mentally gone through most of the same words while flinging my phone.
“What happened?” Ida Belle asked. “Harrison seemed so certain.”
“He’s not sure what happened,” I said. “They had eyes on Ahmad at a hotel in Miami and knew the meeting place for an arms deal. They were planning on making their move as he was on his way to the meet, but the time came and went and he never left the hotel. They sent in an undercover posing as housekeeping, but the room was empty.”
“How did he disappear like that?” Gertie said. “I mean, I know the CIA probably didn’t have people in the room with him, but surely they were watching him closely.”
I nodded. “They had six undercovers in the hotel including Harrison—housekeeping, room service, front desk, maintenance—you name it, they had a body in place.”
“He’s good,” Gertie said. “I guess he didn’t get to where he is by being stupid. He got there by being slippery.”
Ida Belle glanced at me, and I knew she was thinking exactly what I was—that Ahmad had inside help. “There’s slippery and then there’s slippery,” Ida Belle said.
Gertie looked back and forth between Ida Belle and me, then her eyes widened. “One of the agents is compromised.”
“That makes the most sense,” I said. “And Harrison thinks so as well.”
“On the plus side,” Ida Belle said, “you’ve narrowed the mole to six people.”
“Unless there’s more than one,” I said.
“Let’s not make things harder than they have to be,” Ida Belle said. “Not yet, anyway.”
“Mole or no, someone needs to get a grip on Ahmad’s slimy butt,” Gertie said. “Fortune is running out of summer.”
It had been on all our minds, and now that Gertie had said it, we all slumped in unison. Things were coming down to the wire. The real Sandy-Sue was going to have to head back to her job at the school library, which meant settling up Marge’s estate. Which also meant I was officially outed and would have to go into hiding somewhere else. The question was, for how long? Weeks? Months? Possibly years? I had a hard time visualizing even one day of starting over with a new identity. I couldn’t attempt to process months or years without sinking into depression.
Before coming to Sinful, my life had only been about my job, probably because it’s all that I’d had. But now, all that had changed, and instead of being the only thing I lived for, my job was the last thing I cared about. Except for wanting out of it without having to look over my shoulder the rest of my life.
I jumped up from the table and retrieved my phone, happy to see it hadn’t suffered any ill effects from my tantrum. I accessed Harrison’s number and looked over at Gertie and Ida Belle, who were staring at me in complete silence.
“I’m not waiting for this to materialize any longer,” I told them. “It’s time to end this.”
Gertie’s eyes widened. “But how?”
Ida Belle shook her head. “She’s going to become bait.”
Chapter Three
It wasn’t long after my ultimatum to Harrison that my phone rang. Even though the number was Harrison’s, I already knew he wasn’t alone on the other end.
“Have you lost your mind?” CIA Director Morrow yelled as soon as I answered. “Never mind. The question is rhetorical and beside the point. There is no way in hell I am using you to lure Ahmad out.”
I put the call on speaker and motioned to Ida Belle and Gertie to remain quiet. I’d been expecting this exact conversation, and although I already knew what I was going to say, it was still hard to show complete disrespect for the man who’d had my back since I was a teen.
“Sir,” I said. “All due respect, but I’m doing this with or without the agency’s resources. I will not spend another month living as a fraud. We both know how long the agency was after Ahmad before I even signed up for that task. I could spend years hiding with nothing changing except my life drifting away from me day by day.”
There was a pause on the other end, and I knew Morrow was processing what I’d said and trying to formulate a response that didn’t begin with “I know you’re right.”
“Look, Redding,” he said finally. “I know you hate being stuck in that tiny town, but that time is drawing to a close. I’ll work on something that puts you in a bigger place with more options for a normal life.”
“You’re right. I did hate this place when I first got here, and I resented everything about being forced to be here.” I looked over at Ida Belle and Gertie. “But all that changed. Sir, I need to tell you that when this is over, I plan on resigning from the agency, and I’m thinking of staying in Sinful.”
I heard a gasp and then Morrow sputtered, “You…I…what?”
“As impossible as it is to believe,” I said, “I think I might have found my place, and for the first time in my life, I’m certain about what I want.”
Okay, maybe that last sentence was a bit of a stretch, as certainty and me weren’t necessarily good friends, but I had a much better idea now than I had when I was living in DC and thinking only about my next mission.
“I…I don’t know what to say,” Morrow said. “I never expected this and quite frankly, I’m having a little trouble processing it.”
“I imagine you are. It took me a long time to admit it to myself. But the reality is I have a life and friends here that I don’t want to lose. I’d prefer that life to improve by living legitimately. I can’t do that until Ahmad is out of commission. We did this your way and it didn’t work. I don’t blame you for that at all. I know better than anyone what you’re up against. But I’m not willing to wait any longer. My expiration date in Sinful is fast approaching.”
“Harrison?” Morrow asked, sounding as bewildered as I’d expected.
“I, uh, agree with Redding,” Harrison said, completely surprising me.
“You agree with her?” Morrow asked, his voice ticking up several octaves.
“Yes, sir,” Harrison said. “The reality is our best option for catching Ahmad is dangling Fortune in front of him. And we’re not exactly keyboard punchers. We both know the risks.”
“You think those risks are acceptable?” Morrow asked.
“If it’s what Redding wants to do,” Harrison said, “then the risk is acceptable to me.”
“We need time to plan,” Morrow said. “We have to determine the best location for staging and get another crew in place for backup.”
“I want to do it here,” I said. “In Louisiana. It’s home turf now. I have the advantage.”
“You want to expose yourself in the place you wish to remain?” Morrow asked.
“Yes,” I said. “This thing with Ahmad is personal for him because of his brother. Once he’s gone and someone else takes over, I won’t matter any longer. You know as well as I do that the rest of his organization isn’t happy about the heat he’s bringing onto them over a personal vendetta. They won’t make the same mistakes.”
“So that’s your plan,” Morrow said. “We draw out Ahmad and capture him.”
“Actually, I’m planning on eliminating him.”
“And then you go on with the rest of your life, fishing and gazing at sunsets, or whatever else they do for excitement down there.”
I looked over at Gertie and Ida Belle and smiled. “I don’t think boredom is in the cards.”
“What about the team?” Morrow asked. “I need time to vet people I can trust.”
“You thought you’d done that last time, right?” I asked. “Put together a new A team and we’ll take our chances. Unless there’s more than one mole, you should be safe with new agents.”
“And the mole?”
“I have some thoughts on that one that we can go over when we do a more intensive discussion of the takedown. But I want the rat out of the CIA. Anyone who can be bought is a danger to every agent. With Ahmad gone, they’ll just look for the
next payoff.”
I heard a long-suffering sigh…the one Morrow reserved only for me.
“I hope you know what you’re doing,” Morrow said.
I nodded. “Absolutely certain.”
And this time, I was telling the truth.
The call with Morrow and Harrison ended with them focused on putting together a plan for the ambush. When it was all over, I leaned back in my chair and blew out a breath. That had gone a little better than I expected, especially given that I was essentially twisting my boss’s arm. He could have issued an ultimatum that would have left me with no choice but to attempt a takedown without agency approval or resources. I was relieved that it had gone in my favor.
“Holy crap!” Gertie yelled, and for a moment I thought the entire weight of the conversation had just hit her. But then she jumped out of her chair so fast, she sent it tumbling over as she ran for the stove.
I spun around and saw what looked like a stove massacre. Red sauce ran down the front of the stove and cabinets, and in the pot, giant red bubbles popped, sending sprays of sauce upward and outward. Gertie grabbed pot holders and moved the pot to the other side of the stove, then reached for the dial several times before finally managing to get it turned into the Off position. When she turned around to face us, her eyeglass lenses were completely fogged and the glasses and her face looked as if they’d both contracted a case of the measles.
“Did you burn the bottom?” Ida Belle asked.
Gertie glared. “I’m okay. Thanks for asking.”
Ida Belle waved a hand in dismissal. “You’re a little steamy and dirty. No worse than this mass of sauce in my hair. You’ll live. More importantly, are we eating spaghetti with burned sauce?”