Spy Now, Pay Later

by Diane Henders

  When I stepped into the sudden silence of the living room, the three men eyed me with concern.

  “That didn’t sound good, darlin’,” Hellhound said.

  My lips peeled back in a snarl. “It’s not fu-” I bit off the f-bomb with a glance at Doug. “It’s not good.”

  “Relax, Aydan,” he said. “I was a drill sergeant for years, remember?”

  I acknowledged his graciousness with a tight-lipped smile. Drawing a deep breath, I let it out slowly, trying for composure. “I guess I’ll get going. I have to go shopping…” The snarl was creeping back despite my best efforts. “…for dress clothes.” Yep, definitely a snarl. “For a fancy lunch with-”

  I clamped my mouth shut, remembering at the last moment that Doug was a civilian without a security clearance.

  He rose with an understanding glance. “Excuse me. I’ll just…” He gestured in the direction of the hallway and disappeared into the bathroom. A moment later the sound of running water assured me he would give us the privacy we needed.

  “What is it, Aydan?” Kane demanded.

  “Fucking Parr. I have to have lunch with him to give back the credit card he lent me in Vegas. And of course we’re going to La Chaumière, so I have to go shopping for fucking dress clothes…” My voice was rising, and I shut up and sucked air through my nose.

  “Who’s Parr?” Hellhound asked.

  Shit, he hadn’t been briefed. Me and my big mouth.

  But he was already peripherally involved anyway…

  “You didn’t hear me say that name,” I said. “But he’s the owner of that weapon prototype you transported to Sirius Dynamics after we, um… acquired it… on his corporate jet.”

  “Oh. Shit.” He and Kane exchanged a frown. “Ya want backup, darlin’?”

  The thought of Hellhound’s fearsome face and tattoos in a fancy French restaurant made me smile in spite of myself. “No, I’ll be fine. I’m safe with Parr. He’s busy playing a pillar of the community and a concerned business owner. He can’t afford to let anything happen to me.” Cynicism twisted my lips. “Especially while he’s trying to find out what happened to his secret weapon.”

  Kane’s brow furrowed. “Maybe. He has to be going crazy over losing that prototype. He might be desperate enough to play hardball.”

  Icy fear clutched my heart. “I don’t think so,” I argued, hoping to convince both of us. “We know how smart and careful he is. I don’t think he’ll do anything rash. And I doubt if he would have bothered to put a bug on me if-”

  “What?” Kane barked, whisking a bug detector out of his pocket.

  “No, at home,” I hastened to reassure him.

  Nevertheless, we all peered anxiously at the bug detector until the green light glowed.

  What a useless so-called agent I was, blindly assuming his apartment was secure.

  Then again, this was Kane, the top agent in the service. If his secret apartment wasn’t secure, no place was.

  “Parr sent Hibbert with a bugged bouquet of flowers for me yesterday,” I explained. “So the asshole delivered them at six o’clock in the morning, along with a few choice insults.” I paused. “Actually, that’s interesting, now that I think of it…”

  “How is that interesting?” Kane grated. “And when were you planning to tell us?”

  I suddenly realized how much my mistake could have cost. What if Kane had called or visited thinking my house was secure? His cover would be completely blown.

  Oh, God. This kind of incompetence was exactly how I’d nearly killed him a couple of days ago. Why couldn’t I convince Stemp I was just a clueless civilian bookkeeper, when it was so abundantly obvious to everybody else?

  “I’m sorry.” I made fists in my hair and tugged. “I reported it right away, and Dermott said to discuss it in our briefing with Stemp tomorrow. I wasn’t expecting to see you until then and it just slipped my mind…” I squeezed my eyes shut.

  Idiot. That mistake could have cost his life. All our lives. Fucking moron.

  “I’m sorry,” I repeated.

  Hellhound’s arm closed around my shoulders. “It’s okay, darlin’, it ain’t like we were gonna call ya up an’ start yakkin’ about classified shit.”

  I opened my eyes to his sympathetic expression. “I know, but…” A glance at Kane made me cringe inside. He didn’t look sympathetic. He looked disappointed.

  Shame scalded my throat, as bitter as Doug’s coffee.

  “I’m sure you would have dealt with it if it became necessary,” Kane said, his voice neutral. “So, how is it interesting?”

  I swallowed, wishing I could just drop dead on the spot. “Um… The bug itself isn’t particularly interesting; just Hibbert’s mouthing off. If he was that free with his insults, I’m guessing he didn’t know about the bug. So that means Parr doesn’t trust him.”

  “Hm. That is interesting,” Kane agreed. “But I wouldn’t say the bug guarantees your safety. Now that Parr knows where you’ll be, he could arrange to have you snatched outside the restaurant. Then he can let his people work you over while he waits in the restaurant, tries to call you, expresses his regret to the waitstaff that you cancelled without telling him, and has a leisurely lunch surrounded by witnesses. And if I was in his place, I’d report my credit card stolen and then express shock and outrage when I discovered the woman who’d disappeared with it had three prior fraud convictions…”

  I groaned, drowning out his terrifying and all-too-likely scenario. “I’m going to kill Stemp for saddling me with this shitty cover identity…”

  “…and when they finally find what’s left of your body,” Kane continued mercilessly, “There won’t be a whiff of suspicion directed at Parr. And nobody will cause a big stir over the death of a small-time criminal like Arlene Widdenback. You need backup.”

  Hellhound’s arm tightened around me. “He’s right, darlin’.”

  I clenched my fists to hide my shaking hands. “Well, I don’t have backup. And you can’t do it.” Kane began to protest, but I kept talking. “We can’t afford to let Parr think we’re too chummy. If I was him, I’d divide and conquer. Buy me a fancy lunch and try to find out what I know. I don’t think he suspects me, but if he decides you stole the weapon, you’re going to be the one captured and tortured. If I can string him along today, we’ll both be safer.”

  Kane gave me a flat stare. “Unless you’re dead.”

  My fear burst out in its usual angry disguise. “Then my problems are over, aren’t they?” I silenced his rejoinder with a savage chop at the air. “I’ll call Dermott and see what my orders are.”

  “Dermott is a-” Kane stifled whatever he’d been about to say. “All right,” he finished evenly.

  I pulled away from Hellhound to extract a secure phone from my waist pouch and punched the speed dial button, scowling.

  Ring. Ring. Ring.

  Come on, Dermott, you lazy bastard.

  Ring. Ring.

  At last the connection clicked open. “Dermott.”

  I didn’t waste any time with preliminaries. “I’m invited to lunch with Parr. Instructions?”

  “Fine. Go.”

  “Fine.” I was about to hang up when Kane snatched the phone from my hand.

  “It’s Kane,” he snapped into the phone. “What if it’s a trap? What about backup?”

  He listened to the brief response, and the phone’s plastic case emitted a small crackling noise under the clenching of his hand. Then he disconnected, his expression impassive and his movements deliberate. He placed the phone quietly on the coffee table before facing me again, still wearing his neutral cop face.

  A shiver tracked down my spine. How could anybody look so dangerous while doing and saying absolutely nothing?

  When Kane spoke, his voice was calm. “He says there are no other agents available today and it’s your op. Up to you.”

  I swallowed and attempted placation. “Well, I’d really like to have you for backup, but I don’t think it’s a go
od idea for you to be seen anywhere near me or the restaurant. How about if we set some prearranged times for me to check in with you? I could just text you…”

  “Leaving me with no idea where you were or how to help you if you missed the check-in.”

  “Well… yeah, but…”

  His tone was like a brick wall. “And if you’re right and Parr does suspect we’re involved together in the disappearance of his weapon, what will happen to you if he catches you texting me repeatedly?”

  “Um, well… I could-”

  “Ya ain’t thinkin’ this through,” Hellhound interrupted. “You’re both right, an’ there’s an easy answer. I’ll tail Aydan into the restaurant. Cap, you’re the fallback. If this goes to shit, it ain’t gonna matter whether Parr sees ya, but there ain’t any point in ya showin’ up an’ blowin’ the whole thing right off the bat.”

  I turned to face him. “Arnie, you can’t. In the first place, I don’t want him to be able to identify you, and there’s no way he’ll miss a guy your size who looks like he just stopped a Mack truck with his face. And in the second place-”

  “…you’re off active duty,” Kane chimed in. “You don’t just recover overnight from a concussion. Until you get medical clearance-”

  Hellhound snorted. “It’s been ten days. I’m fine. An’ remember how I’m the one that got sent to the airport to pick up that weapon from ya? Dermott doesn’t give a shit about med leave, an’ I ain’t gonna sit here while Aydan goes out an’ gets herself killed. Deal with it.”

  They glowered at each other, and my shoulders knotted with fear and frustration. “Look, you two, I really appreciate your concern, and I’d take your help if I could figure out a way to make it work, but here’s the deal.”

  I drew myself up into my most authoritative posture and glared at them. “I have to go. I only have an hour and a half to buy clothes and makeup and get my ass downtown. You are not to do anything that might allow Parr to identify you. John, you’re backup. Don’t show yourself unless it’s an emergency. Arnie, I’ll text you when I get to the restaurant, when I leave, and when I’m clear of Parr. Then we can meet at your place as long as I’m sure I’m not being followed. If I am, I’ll text you an alternate location. My op; my orders.”

  I spun and headed for the door, ignoring the quaking in my belly along with their chorus of arguments.

  As I shrugged into my parka and turned the doorknob, Hellhound laid a hand on my shoulder. “Hang on, darlin’, you’re forgettin’ somethin’.”

  “What now?” I gritted.

  “This.” He drew me into a hug and placed a gentle whiskery kiss on my forehead. “Good luck, darlin’. Be safe.”

  I hugged him back, hoping he couldn’t feel my trembling. “Thanks.”

  When I pulled away, I met Kane’s eyes. He didn’t offer me a hug or kiss. He looked like he wanted to throttle me.

  “Good luck,” he said.

  I nodded and slipped out the door, wondering if he’d offered me a blessing or a curse.

  By the time I cleared the snow off my car and extricated it from the snowbank in Kane’s parking lot, I was sticky with exertion and nervousness. Clenching my quivering hands on the steering wheel, I headed for the nearest mall.

  A snotty department-store saleswoman deigned to dress frizzy-haired, sweaty me in an outfit she assured me was the latest fashion, casting glances of distaste at my jeans and hiking boots all the while. I resisted the urge to fling Parr’s credit card at her head.

  The mental image of a credit card lodged like a throwing star between her botoxed brows kept a pleasant smile on my face while I paid, wearing the new items and carrying my own clothes in a shopping bag. After a quick trip to the cosmetics counter for lipstick and something to conceal the dark circles under my eyes, I fled as though pursued by elegantly-coiffed, impeccably-made-up vampires.

  No, wait; I was being pursued by an elegantly-coiffed, impeccably-made-up vampire. I shook off the persistent woman who kept trying to spritz me with some truly vile perfume, and escaped to my car.

  Blowing out a long breath, I rested my forehead against the steering wheel for a moment. Even torture and death would be better than the shopping ordeal.

  As I started the car, I sent a mental ‘just kidding’ skyward. No need to tempt fate.

  Chapter 8

  By the time I pulled into the restaurant parking lot at eleven-twenty, the sweat seemed to have frozen on my body. I pried icy hands off the steering wheel and scanned the parking lot for the goons Kane had predicted.

  A gigantic black Hummer idled near the other end of the lot, taking up two parking spaces. A bulky figure occupied the driver’s seat, but I couldn’t make out any details behind the tinted windows. I eyed the vehicle nervously. It sure looked like a goonmobile. But it was too far away to be an immediate threat…

  A black Cadillac pulled in beside me and I froze, heart pounding. More tinted windows. That couldn’t be a coincidence.

  A suit-clad old man with a face like an emaciated prune climbed out and circled behind his car to approach my door. I slid my hand toward my holster.

  He looked more like a stick-man caricature of a disapproving butler than a hired killer. But that wouldn’t matter if he put a gun to my head…

  Ignoring me, he opened the passenger door of his car and bent to offer his arm to the fragile elderly lady in the seat. She rose slowly, and he stood with courtly patience while she patted her white hair into place and looped her purse over her arm. A few moments later, they tottered across the snowy parking lot toward the restaurant, and I let out the breath I’d been holding.

  Jesus, I was such a coward. Scared of little old people.

  Another glance around the parking lot assured me the potential goon was still in his Hummer. I eyeballed the distance to the restaurant door. Unless he was Superman, he was too far away to intercept me. I extracted my phone to type ‘I’m in’.

  Finger hovering over the ‘Send’ button, I hesitated, then backspaced and retyped ‘Hey, I’m at La Chaumière. See you later.’ If Parr grabbed my phone and read my messages, at least that wouldn’t look quite so suspicious.

  I took one last look at the Hummer and decided not to press ‘Send’ until I was actually inside the restaurant. Just in case.

  It took all my willpower not to scuttle to the door with my head swivelling frantically. Schooling myself into easy, confident strides, I crossed the parking lot without incident and let myself inside. As the maître d’ looked up with a smile, I pressed the ‘Send’ button inside my pocket and eased out a shaky breath. So far, so good.

  The tinkle of cutlery and murmur of well-bred voices mingled with discreet background music and a delicious aroma. Clinging to the peaceful ambience, I returned the maître d’s smile with as much composure as I could summon. “I’m meeting Nicholas Parr.”

  “Yes, of course, Madame, please follow me.”

  He led me through the dining room, skirting tables clothed in pristine white. Well-dressed patrons were sprinkled throughout, and a handful of empty tables awaited the influx that would no doubt arrive later. As we passed the old gentleman and his wife, he inventoried me with a single glance before apparently deciding I was good enough to grace the restaurant. His disapproving wrinkles rearranged themselves into a pleasant expression and he offered me a nod before resuming his conversation with his wife.

  Parr rose from a table near them with a gracious inclination of his head. “Arlene. It’s nice to see you looking so well.” Stepping behind me, he helped me off with my coat and handed it to the maître d’.

  In the winter-bright daylight from the window beside us, his sharp features and prematurely white hair reminded me even more forcefully of a bald eagle. Incisive blue eyes raked me as the maître d’ offered me a chair.

  “Thank you,” I murmured, and sank into it hoping Parr hadn’t seen my trembling legs.

  He remained standing until I was seated, then sat with a smile.

  After assuring t
he attentive waiter that I only wanted water to drink, I delved into the large handbag I’d bought to hold my waist pouch and extracted Parr’s credit card. “Thank you for the credit card. I’m sorry for the extra charges on it. I told Archibald I didn’t want to spend any more of your money, but he insisted.”

  “It’s quite all right.” Parr tucked the card into the inside pocket of his suit jacket. “It’s the least I could do.” He leaned forward solicitously. “How are you feeling?”

  “I’m-”

  I was interrupted by a hearty voice with a distinct Texas twang from the vicinity of the entrance. “So this’s La Choo-meer! My buddy told me, ‘Son, if you’re ever in Calgary, ya gotta eat at La Choo-meer’, an’ dang if he don’t know his restaurants, so here I am. Reservation for Al Hamlin.”

  The old gentleman at the other table stiffened and sent a reproving glance in that direction before returning to his conversation.

  Parr didn’t bat an eye. “I’m sorry, what did you say?” he inquired politely.

  “Oh. I’m okay. A few bruises here and there, but…” I suddenly realized I should be playing this for all it was worth. I dropped my voice to a murmur and widened my eyes, going for pathetic. “…but when I think about poor Yana…” I let my lips quiver and took a sip of ice water. “I’m so lucky to be alive,” I whispered. “You can’t imagine the nightmares…”

  My act was interrupted again by the voice of the boisterous Texan, who was apparently being seated only a few tables behind me. “Al Hamlin, son. Here’s my card. You tell the owner if he’s ever lookin’ for a way to pop this little restaurant right into the limelight, he should give me a call. I got the top advertisin’ sales record in our company for the last three years straight.”

  The old gentleman’s prune face folded into sour disapproval and he exhaled audibly through his nose.

  I dragged my attention back to Parr. “I’m sorry, what did you say?”

  “I said I’m sorry to hear you’re having difficulties. If you’d like help dealing with the trauma, Fuzzy Bunny keeps a qualified psychologist on staff. I can arrange some sessions with her for you, free of charge, of course.”