I was halfway back to Sirius Dynamics before I remembered I’d promised to finish Blue Eddy’s bookkeeping today. Goddammit. I had exactly forty-five minutes before my meeting with Labelle, and then I had to hit the road for Edmonton.
Swearing savagely, I headed for the bar.
Despite the almost-irresistible temptation, I managed not to suck back a beer while I entered the last of the bookkeeping data into Eddy’s computer. Beer would have been heavenly, but I didn’t dare compromise my already-distracted brain. I’d need to be at my best. Not to mention I still had to drive back to Sirius Dynamics.
When I parked in the Sirius lot at five to two, I felt a very long way from my best. Dragging myself out of the car, I hoofed it toward the ice cream shop, smothering yawns of nerves and fatigue. The burger and fries sat in a greasy lump in the pit of my stomach.
A hurried survey of my surroundings revealed no apparent threats, and I stifled a curse as realization hit me. If I were a real agent I’d have put surveillance cameras on the ice cream shop, with analysts watching the feeds. And if Labelle was the professional I suspected he was, he had probably done exactly that.
Hell, or maybe he just had a sniper hiding in the trees at the park. Because I hadn’t been smart enough to arrange backup for myself there, either.
Fuck, I was a moron.
My stride faltered as I seriously considered fleeing into the safety of Sirius Dynamics and calling Labelle to reschedule the meeting for a different time and place. Preferably in about a thousand years, beside the frozen flames of hell.
Too late, dammit. He’d spotted me.
He waved from his seat at one of the small wrought-iron café tables on the sidewalk. I clenched my teeth, sent up a fervent prayer to the patron saint of idiots, and concentrated on looking relaxed.
As I approached, Labelle rose with a smile and offered his hand.
“Aydan, it’s nice to see you.” The smooth radio-announcer’s voice oozed over me like butterscotch and he gazed at me with big brown cow-eyes as if I was the woman he’d been dreaming of all his life.
I wasn’t buying it.
“Hi, Frederick. Nice to see you, too,” I lied with equal smoothness, and shook his hand. “Have you decided what kind of ice cream you want yet?”
He gave me a charmingly rueful smile. “I’m afraid to commit. A person’s favourite ice cream flavour shows their personality, and I want to make a good impression.”
I forced a laugh. “Damn, I didn’t know that. Now I’m totally self-conscious, too.”
We went inside and the server looked up with a smile. “Hi, Aydan! Do you want your usual?”
I nodded, and Labelle chuckled. “You’re a frequent customer, I see.” The server was eyeing him expectantly, and he selected a double scoop of butterscotch ripple in a sugar cone.
The thought of all that cloying sweetness made my teeth ache, but what hell, so did Labelle. Perfect choice.
As I accepted my chocolate-and-peanut-butter single scoop on a plain cone, Labelle raised a teasing eyebrow. “Ah, now I know all your secrets. You’re nurturing and passionate with a good sense of humour, and you tend to be bossy.”
As I nibbled off the uneven edges of the ice cream, he added, “And you bite your ice cream instead of licking it. Aggressive and uninhibited in bed.”
Oh, for chrissake.
I bit viciously into my ice cream and smiled through my teeth. “You have the advantage over me. What does your ice cream mean?”
He regarded his cone with smug satisfaction and took a big lick, giving the cone a full rotation against his tongue. “I like sweet things. I’m a wise and traditional leader and a considerate lover, family oriented with a gift for managing money.”
And just as full of synthetic shit as that goopy streak of butterscotch in his ice cream.
“That must serve you well in your business,” I said in my politest voice. “Shall we walk to the park?”
Chapter 24
As we emerged from the ice cream shop I gave our surroundings another quick once-over, but still didn’t spot any snipers or surveillance.
Fine. My ice cream was diminishing rapidly under my onslaught, so I’d be finished before we got to the park. Good to have my hands free in case Labelle had some unpleasant surprise planned.
We were only a few paces down the sidewalk when he got to the point.
“So I understand Nick Parr was a mutual friend of ours.”
I shrugged. “He wasn’t really a friend. I only met him a couple of times.”
“Ah.”
Labelle took another big lick of ice cream. His tongue was unpleasantly oversized. Cow’s tongue. Ew.
He swallowed and gave me a cat-that-ate-the-canary look. “So you were business associates.”
“Very briefly. I only worked with his company for a couple of days.”
Labelle’s eyes narrowed. “And yet a cheque for fifty thousand dollars was issued to you. Your services must have been quite valuable.”
My pulse ticked up. Shit, what else did he know?
“That was a settlement for personal damages sustained in a crash on his corporate jet,” I said evenly. “I signed a waiver and legal release in exchange. So how do you know what was in Fuzzy Bunny’s financial records?”
He smiled and rolled out a smooth explanation in his butterscotch voice. “As I mentioned, I’m an investment broker. I work quite closely with my clients’ accounts…”
He began a detailed and boring description of the financial services his company provided and I used the time to adjust my strategy while I smiled and nodded. I’d better assume he knew everything there was to know about Arlene Widdenback’s interactions with Parr and his associates. At least I shouldn’t have to worry about establishing my cover identity, but I’d still have to play hard-to-get. An arms dealer wasn’t likely to admit anything to a brand-new acquaintance…
“…and you’re not listening to a thing I’m saying, are you?” he finished, and I nodded and mm-hmmed before my brain caught up to the conversation.
“…oh,” I mumbled, fighting the tide of heat rising in my face. “Sorry, I zoned out for a second there. I’m not really big on financial stuff.”
“But you’re a bookkeeper.” His triumphant tone made it sound as if he’d just scored a significant point, and I gave him a blank look in return.
“Yeah. You’re a financial guy; I thought you’d know that bookkeepers just keep records of cheques and stuff. I don’t deal with investments at all.”
“Ah,” he repeated, and made another giant tongue-swipe around his ice cream. “So you’re only an ignorant peon.”
“Yep.” I took another bite of my ice cream and savoured a chunk of frozen peanut butter.
A trace of disappointment flashed across his face. Guess he thought I’d rise to the bait and tell him what an influential arms dealer I was. Nice try, buddy.
He leaned closer. “When Nick and his staff were on trial, they all swore under oath that Arlene Widdenback was an arms dealer.”
“You probably shouldn’t trust the word of criminals,” I said gently, and nibbled the edge off my rapidly-shrinking cone.
“Excellent advice, I’m sure.” He gave me a significant look.
There went his disgusting tongue again. God, why had I suggested ice cream cones? I was going to need a gallon of brain bleach to get the memory of that tongue out of my mind.
The tongue mercifully disappeared as he spoke again. “Kevin Barnett had some very unusual lesions on his leg when he was killed.”
I held up a restraining hand. “Ew. Do you mind? I’m eating. And I don’t have a clue who you’re talking about.”
“That’s interesting, because Barnett claimed you had used a new weapon on him. One that caused excruciating pain without leaving a mark initially, but it caused irreversible damage that resulted in the eventual death of the tissue. It started out as hairless patches on his leg and over the next couple of months the skin gradually rotted away, leaving open ulcers.”<
br />
Crunching off some more of my cone, I gulped it down along with a wave of nausea. Nothing like the power of suggestion. Barnett must have done it to himself, rubbing at his leg until he wore the skin away. Dammit, even though he’d been a violent killer and sick-minded torturer, I still felt guilty for causing such suffering.
I didn’t hide my involuntary shudder. “Unless you want to see my ice cream all over again, you’ll shut up now,” I warned. “That’s gross, and it’s nothing to do with me. I thought you wanted to talk about investments, not some disgusting jailhouse skin disease.”
Labelle’s tongue went into action again, and I looked away. The fucking thing looked even bigger as his ice cream got smaller.
“All right,” he said, and the smooth sweetness was completely absent from his voice. “If that’s the way you want it, let me be perfectly clear. I know you’re not Aydan Kelly, and you’re not a bookkeeper. I know you have a couple of large and very… how shall I say it? Dedicated bodyguards…”
“Whoa, hang on,” I interrupted. “First of all, I am a bookkeeper, so why would I need bodyguards? And if they were bodyguards, wouldn’t they be here to protect me from whatever you think I need protecting from?”
He smirked. “I doubt if you need protecting. Because I don’t know what your business was up in Rocky Mountain House, but I do know you carry a small handgun strapped to your ankle, and I quite enjoyed watching you jam it into that biker’s balls.”
I stared at him, hoping my silent immobility looked threatening instead of paralyzed.
Shit, he’d followed us.
Lola had said he’d left the party right after Kane and me. I’d never even thought to look for a tail, and of course Kane had been far too distracted. That meant Labelle or one of his hirelings had likely been following me even before the party, and almost certainly ever since…
Nice going, Jane Bond. Way to use your super-spy powers of observation.
I broke the silence with a laugh. “So what? Are you going to call the cops on me? I hope you brought some.”
It was his turn to go still. “Excuse me, did you say ‘brought’? Or… ‘bought’?” he inquired with exaggerated politeness.
“Brought.” I waved a hand. “Look around. Do you see any cops here? The nearest detachment is half an hour away.”
“Yes…” he said slowly. “Though you certainly managed to avoid their interest during the Fuzzy Bunny trials. Rumour has it that you have a… beneficial relationship with several contacts in law enforcement.”
“Rumours. Pfft.” I tossed the last of my ice cream cone into my mouth and crunched it rapidly. “You don’t want to believe everything you hear.”
“Very true.” His big gooey eyes had hardened to the consistency of marbles. “In fact, I’m more inclined to believe you’re an undercover cop.”
My ice cream stuck halfway down, freezing my heart into a motionless lump.
Shit, shit, shit!
I snapped out the first words that came to me. “Watch your mouth, asshole!”
Follow up with some convincing lie. Say something, idiot.
My mind remained stubbornly blank while I glared at him in silence. What the hell could I say? A simple denial wouldn’t convince him…
Labelle laughed. “My, that seems like a bit of an overreaction. What have you got against cops?”
Panic nibbled at the edges of my mind. Get the hell out of here and regroup.
I deepened my glare and ground out, “I’m allergic to cops. And I’m allergic to assholes. If you called this meeting just to insult me, we’re done here.”
I spun and stalked away. When I turned the corner toward Sirius Dynamics, Labelle was still watching me speculatively and licking his ice cream.
God, that tongue was the size of a bathmat.
Safely behind the security of Sirius Dynamics a few minutes later, I tottered up the stairs to my office and fell into my chair. After a few moments of hyperventilation, I calmed down enough to take stock and organize my thoughts.
Labelle or his men would undoubtedly follow me when I left for Edmonton. What if he decided to kidnap and interrogate me? If I didn’t file a report, nobody would even know where to start looking for me…
Movement in the hallway made me glance up in time to see Stemp going past my doorway.
“Wait!” I yelped, and he returned to lean into my doorway, raising an inquiring eyebrow.
“Were you speaking to me?”
“Yeah. Sorry to yell at you like that, but… do you have a few minutes?”
“Perhaps,” he said warily. “For what?”
I hid a sigh. It was going to be damn tricky to broach the subject of Moonbeam and Karma if he was this prickly. Fortunately that wasn’t my goal at the moment.
“I met with Labelle, but I don’t have time to file a report,” I said, and he relaxed and stepped into my office, closing my door behind him.
“Why not?” he asked. “It’s not even fifteen hundred yet.”
“I have to leave. Sorry. I’ll file my report first thing tomorrow morning, but I wanted to make sure you knew what was going on before I left.”
He eyed me narrowly but didn’t demand the reason for my unscheduled absence, and I hid my relief and launched into my report, omitting Labelle’s disgusting tongue.
“So you’ve been allowing him to follow you,” Stemp said when I was finished.
“Yes.”
‘Allowing’ was a lie since I’d been completely oblivious; but it sounded better than the embarrassing truth.
“If he’s been watching me for a while, he must have thought he’d hit paydirt when I went up to Rocky Mountain House,” I added. “After weeks of boring trips back and forth to the office, suddenly I take off in Kane’s truck, transfer to Arnie’s motorcycle, and then transfer again to Arnie’s SUV. It must have looked like I was trying to evade a tail.” I sighed. “He or his guys will probably keep up their surveillance now.”
“Yes. That may complicate your courier assignment on Friday,” Stemp pointed out.
“Um… yeah.”
Shit, I’d forgotten about that. Too many things on my mind.
Stemp stood staring into middle distance for a moment before speaking. “If he knows of Barnett’s injuries, it’s unlikely that he truly believes you’re law enforcement. He was probably testing you. Playing innocent was the right thing to do at the time, but he’s clearly upping the ante by telling you he’s been following you.”
“Yeah, it felt like a test,” I agreed.
“So it’s time to command his respect and reassure him that you’re not law enforcement. At the very least, you need to elude the tail.”
“Okay…” I said slowly.
I hadn’t a clue how to do that, but I’d figure something out. At least Stemp was coaching in my corner, three steps ahead of everybody else as usual.
He nodded and turned to leave. “Very well. I’ll expect your written report first thing tomorrow morning.”
After he left I sat still.
If I were a real agent I wouldn’t just rush out the door without a plan and react to whatever blindsided me next. Think it through…
I considered my options for a few minutes before letting out a breath of resolve. I had to get rid of my tail before I visited any of the abducted boys’ moms. I wouldn’t risk their safety by letting Labelle think they were somehow connected to me.
Three calls confirmed that the moms were all willing to see me, and it seemed like a good omen that I’d reached them all on the first try. After making a quick call to Hellhound to reassure him I’d survived my meeting with Labelle, I headed downstairs.
At the door to the secured area I gathered my courage, unslung the pheromone detector from around my neck, and bent for the retinal scan. I made it through the thirty-second countdown in the cramped chamber without needing to close my eyes, and I mentally congratulated myself while I hurried down the concrete stairs.
At the door to the Weapons lab I s
topped to gather myself again. What kind of mood would Chow be in today? Jesus, I hoped he was happy, because I was pretty sure I was about to ask some really stupid questions.
Chapter 25
When I rounded the corner into the main area of the Weapons lab, relief buoyed my heart. Chow was standing at a counter working on some unidentifiable device, and his wheelchair was nowhere in sight.
“Nice legs!” I sang out, then winced as The Monks chanted the rest of the title in my memory.
Chow was obviously familiar with the song. “Yeah, shame about my face,” he growled, glowering at me from under his remaining eyebrow. “Bite me, Kelly.”
“I didn’t mean…” I began hurriedly, but his scowl dissolved into a wicked smirk.
“Forget it, I’m just yanking your crank. What can I do-you-for?”
“Well, you’d have to start with a really nice dinner…” I joked, grinning.
“You’d do me for a nice dinner? You’re such a cheap slut.”
“I said ‘start with a nice dinner’,” I reminded him. “There’s a list of requirements.”
He threw up his hands in mock disgust. “Women. Greedy beeyotches, all of you.”
I held up my thumb and forefinger and rubbed them together. “Look, it’s the world’s tiniest violin, and it’s playing just for you.”
“Bite me, Kelly.”
“Aaaaand we’re back where we started.” We grinned at each other before I sobered and added, “Can I ask you some dumb questions?”
“Well, that’s your first one down,” he deadpanned. “Next?”
“Have you got any handy-dandy secret weapons that will take a car off the road?”
His brow drew down. “Armoured car or standard production model?”
“Standard.”
“What range?” When I gave him a questioning look he clarified, “Visual range? A few miles away? Or do you need a satellite targeting system that’ll pick them off from the other side of the globe?”
“You can do that?”
He made an impatient ‘of course’ gesture, and I shook off my slightly queasy incredulity and focused on the issue at hand. “Just visual range. I’ve got somebody following me and I want to get them off my tail. If we were in Calgary I might be able to do it with some fancy driving, but it’s a little tricky when we’re out on the bald prairie and we can see each other for miles.”
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