Spy Now, Pay Later

by Diane Henders

  I fumbled them out of my pocket and onto my shaking hands, praying Stemp wouldn’t burst out the door and catch me with both hands occupied.

  Even in the cold air, sweat slicked the inside of my gloves in seconds.

  Calm. Stay calm…

  A couple of minutes later Holt spoke again. “Got it. Cross your fingers he’s not standing there with a fucking cannon waiting for me. Going in now…”

  A grunt.

  “…now…”

  A barrage of thumps accompanied by a roar of rage from Holt sent adrenaline sizzling through my body.

  “Fuck! Fucking paranoid asshole…” Holt sounded mad enough to take on an army of Stemps singlehanded.

  “What’s happening?” My words snapped out, sounding ridiculously competent considering that my quivering knees were about to drop me to the back step.

  “Some kind of barrier on the door.” I was pretty sure I could hear Holt’s teeth grinding. “Going in the window now.”

  The crash of shattering glass underscored his words.

  A moment later he spoke again, tension vibrating his voice like a plucked string. “Don’t shoot! Sir, please put the gun down.”

  Chapter 29

  A surge of adrenaline froze my feet to the porch, my heart stalling in my chest.

  Oh-shit-oh-shit-oh-shit…

  Holt’s voice went on. “Sir, I’m a police officer. Please put the shotgun down.” He gave the word ‘shotgun’ a bit of extra emphasis. Emphasis that sounded a lot like ‘Kelly, get out here and cover my ass’.

  My breathing restarted in shallow panting. Holt wouldn’t need to identify himself if it was Stemp. So who was it?

  Go and cover Holt, idiot.

  As I crept around the side of the house, Holt’s steady voice spoke in my ear again. “Sir, I’d like to show you some identification. Is it all right if I put my hand in my pocket to get it for you?”

  I hesitated. This didn’t sound like a confrontation with a criminal. Would I make things worse if I suddenly popped around the corner of the house?

  Slinking closer, I drew my gun. As I crouched at the corner of the house, a cracked voice drifted to my ears.

  “No fast moves, sonny, or I’ll give you a taste of double-ought buck.”

  “I’m just going to reach into my pocket, nice and slow,” Holt soothed. “See? Here’s my ID.”

  “Cops don’t break windows.” The cracked voice was firm. “You can just cool your heels until the real cops get here.”

  “I’m a plain-clothes officer,” Holt argued. “We’re searching for a missing person and it’s urgent that we get into this house.”

  “Save your breath. It ain’t so urgent that it can’t wait for the real cops. They oughta be here any minute.”

  I drew a deep breath and tucked my gun back into my holster. If Holt’s captor had called the police, Holt probably wasn’t in immediate danger. Better to stay out of it and call Dermott so he could sort it out with the incoming RCMP.

  “Stall him,” I muttered into my microphone.

  Holt kept talking without acknowledging me and I tuned out his continuing negotiations while I retraced my steps to the back yard and pulled out my phone.

  Dermott was going to have a shit-fit.

  I sighed and dialled.

  For once, he answered on the first ring. “Dermott!”

  “It’s Kelly. We have a situation. It sounds like one of the neighbours caught Holt trying to break in and he’s holding him at gunpoint until the RCMP get here.”

  “Shit! Do something!”

  My strained nerves snapped. “I am doing something! I’m covering the back of Stemp’s house, and I’m calling you to give a heads-up to the RCMP so they don’t freak out and shoot anybody when they get here. Holt told the guy he’s a plain-clothes police officer.”

  “Hang on.”

  Interminable minutes passed. I stared at Stemp’s back door until my eyes burned, the phone trembling in my left hand, my right hovering over my holster.

  At last Dermott came back on the line. “Talked to the unit. They’re inbound just a few minutes away. They’ll back you up.”

  I blew out a breath and hung up before relaying the information to Holt over the comm link. As I spoke the distant wail of a siren caught my ear.

  Holt spoke to his captor again. “Here they come. You should probably put the shotgun down now so they don’t think you’re dangerous.”

  Apparently that didn’t fly. Holt continued his soothing monologue while the siren’s volume swelled and finally stopped out front. A few minutes later, Holt’s side of the conversation indicated the RCMP officers had defused the situation and the shotgun-wielding man had cooperated.

  Holt spoke over the link again. “Kelly, a uniformed officer is coming around the north side to cover the back. Meet me around front and we’ll go in together.”

  I drew a deep, shaky breath and let it out slowly.

  Calm. Stay calm…

  When the young officer stepped warily into the back yard, I summoned up a smile and made for the front with the most confident stride I could muster.

  As I rounded the corner, a skinny elderly man in a plaid shirt and denim overalls glanced over and his bushy eyebrows shot up. His rickety form seemed barely sturdy enough to support itself, let alone the double-barrelled shotgun tucked into the crook of one toothpick arm. His bedroom-slipper-clad feet must have been freezing in the snow, but his weathered hands were steady on the gun.

  He smiled, revealing ill-fitting dentures. “A lady cop? Well, how-do, ma’am? Lordy, I didn’t know we had so many undercover cops in town. Here I thought you were that new bookkeeper.”

  “I am a bookkeeper,” I said hurriedly. “I’m not a cop. That’s why I was staying out of the way until they opened the door.”

  The remaining RCMP officer shot a puzzled look at Holt, who gave him a tiny headshake in return.

  “I’m a friend of S…” I stumbled over the name. “…Charles. He didn’t show up for work this morning, and I’m worried about him. We’re checking to make sure he hasn’t had an accident, but we don’t have a key to his house.”

  The old man’s eyebrows drew together, his wrinkles furrowing into concern. “Wish I’d known that. I’m Bud Weems. I live across the street.” He nodded toward the blue house with red trim glowing against the snow. “I keep an eye on Charlie’s house for him, and I thought Sonny here was some hoodlum breaking in…”

  “It’s all right, Mr. Weems, please go back to your home now,” Holt broke in impatiently. “Let us do our job.”

  Bud raised an indulgent eyebrow. “Sure, Sonny. But as I was saying…” He turned back to address me. “I watch Charlie’s house for him and water his plants when he’s away. I’ve got a key. And I’ve got the doohickey that takes the bars off the inside of the doors.” He shot a disapproving frown at Holt. “All you had to do was ask. You didn’t have to smash his window.”

  Muscles rippled in Holt’s jaw. “Thank you, Mr. Weems,” he gritted. “May we please have the key and the… device now?”

  “Sure, Sonny. Just sit tight and I’ll get ‘em.”

  I stepped forward as he turned back to his house. “I’ll come with you,” I offered. “You should stay inside where it’s warm.”

  “That’s right kind of you, ma’am. It is a little nippy out today, isn’t it?”

  “A little nippy for a cotton shirt and bedroom slippers,” I agreed.

  Bud let out a cracked chuckle. “Nothing compared to the army. A few minutes of cold just makes me more thankful for what I got.”

  I made an encouraging noise as he picked his way cautiously through the snow, the shotgun secure in his two-handed grip.

  He went on, “Yep, got my twenty years with the PPCLI.” His faded eyes twinkled at my questioning look. “Princess Patricia’s Canadian Light Infantry. Retired master corporal. The pension ain’t much, but it’s nice to have a little something coming in. Bought a farm when I got out of the army, and farmed
for another twenty-five years. Then I sold the farm and retired to town…”

  We reached his front step and he nodded fondly at the brightly-painted house. “…still keep up the regimental colours, though. ‘These colours don’t run’, that’s what we always used to say… are you comfortable around guns, ma’am? Would you be okay holding my shotgun for a moment?”

  “I’m sorry, I should have introduced myself,” I apologized. “I’m Aydan Kelly. And yes, I like guns. I used to shoot with my dad.”

  He smiled and handed me the shotgun before gripping the handrail with both hands to haul himself slowly up the three stairs. “It’s nice to meet you, Miss Kelly.” He sounded breathless, and I eyed him with concern as I joined him on the top step.

  “Don’t worry about me.” He wheezed a laugh as he retrieved his shotgun. “The old lungs ain’t what they used to be, but the ticker’s good as ever. Hope you don’t smoke, Miss Kelly. I quit twenty years ago, but I’m paying for the forty years before that…”

  He opened the door and motioned me in as he continued, “…you just wait right here and I’ll get the key. I keep it in a safe place…”

  His voice receded as he turned down a hallway and I waited as instructed, taking in the small living room with its clean but shabby furniture. The scent of bacon and coffee lingered in the air.

  Several minutes later I was sweating profusely and beginning to wonder if he was all right, but before I could call out he reappeared carrying a key and what looked like the fob for a car’s electric door locks.

  “Here you go, Miss Kelly. You just press this button and the bars will open right up. When you’re done, close it up again and bring it back.” He frowned. “I sure hope nothing happened to Charlie. He didn’t signal me that he was going anywhere.”

  I snapped to attention. “He signals you? How? Does he always tell you when he’s leaving?”

  “Yep, any time he’ll be gone for more than a couple of days. His hibiscus trees and cyclamens need watering every three days or so. If he knows in advance he mentions it while we’re playing cribbage, but if he has to leave real sudden, he lowers the blind half-way in his front room so I know he’s gone.”

  Aha.

  “I’d better take this over so we can get into his house now,” I said. “But I’d like to talk to you a bit more if we don’t…” I trailed off. “I really hope we don’t find him.”

  Lines of worry pinched Bud’s face. “I sure hope not, too, Miss Kelly. Let me know as soon as you can, will you please?”

  When I retraced my steps to Stemp’s house, Holt shot me a sour look. “What the hell were you doing all this time? Having a nice little cup of tea?”

  “Gathering intel,” I snapped, and pressed the button on the fob.

  A muffled thump from the other side of the door indicated the barrier was removed and Holt straightened, his pique vanishing. We exchanged a nod with the RCMP officer, and Holt pushed the door open and slipped inside.

  I followed on his heels, sidestepping to put my back to the wall. After a couple of blinks my eyes adjusted from the snow-bright daylight, and Holt jerked his chin at the hallway. I drew my gun and followed his lead to methodically clear the house, my heart pounding so hard I could barely hold my weapon steady.

  Every time we opened a door or rounded a corner, I steeled myself for sudden movement and an ear-shattering gunshot. By the time we reached the basement, my shaking legs could barely carry me.

  When we finished checking the last corner, Holt and I exchanged a nod and I abandoned bravado to collapse against the wall and slither to the floor, gulping air.

  Holt blew out a breath and holstered his weapon before sinking down to hunker opposite me. “Fuck,” he muttered. He scrubbed trembling hands over his face and hissed out another long breath.

  Sympathy softened my heart. “It’s tough to come back,” I said quietly.

  “Yeah.” He met my gaze, the vulnerability in his eyes belying the hard lines of his face. “A hell of a lot tougher than I expected.”

  I gave him an understanding grimace.

  We sat in silence for a few more moments before Holt sucked in a breath and stood, squaring his shoulders. “Okay. Let’s do this.”

  He offered me a hand up and I accepted it to rise, too. “Where do you want to start?”

  “I’ll do the basement and garage if you want to do the main floor,” he offered.

  I nodded and headed for the stairs.

  On the upper landing, I hesitated. What the hell was I even looking for? I was pretty sure I wouldn’t find a to-do list that included ‘steal classified weapon’. Maybe there would be some evidence on his home computer, but that would need Spider’s expertise.

  I sighed and headed for the bathroom. If I was going somewhere, I’d take a toothbrush…

  There was a single toothbrush in a clean glass next to a precisely-rolled tube of toothpaste. The medicine cabinet revealed a sparse assortment of over-the-counter painkillers and some first-aid supplies, and I checked the boxes and bottles, finding exactly what their labels advertised.

  The cabinets were equally unenlightening until I pulled out the bottom drawer and sprang back with an involuntary yelp. Thankful that Holt hadn’t seen my embarrassing reaction, I let out a breath and bent to examine the ‘mice’ I thought I’d glimpsed. An assortment of fake beards, moustaches, and eyebrows were neatly laid out in the bottom of the drawer along with a bottle labelled ‘spirit gum’ and some theatrical cosmetics. Apparently George Harrison wasn’t Stemp’s only disguise.

  I found nothing hidden elsewhere, not even inside the toilet tank, and I sighed and turned my unwilling feet toward Stemp’s bedroom. The invasion of his privacy seemed doubly intrusive after the devastation of my own home. And we were supposed to be the good guys.

  An hour later, the only new things I’d discovered about Stemp were that he wore silk boxer shorts and liked houseplants. I really hadn’t wanted to know the former, and the latter was useless. He had no family photos and few possessions. No scratch pads or jotted notes; not even a grocery list. No liquor. And no weapons of any kind. The only personal item in the whole house was a small dreamcatcher on the wall over the head of his bed.

  I rubbed the incipient headache between my eyebrows. God, what if he’d gone somewhere last night and just had car trouble? If he came back and found us tearing his house apart…

  And what if Kane needed help? What if he’d been captured? My heart clutched at the thought. What if he was suffering barbaric torture even now, hoping for rescue that wasn’t coming because I was pissing away time hunting for a man who was almost certainly innocent…

  Holt’s voice made me start. “I’m done the basement and garage. He’s sure got a shitpile of plants. I’ll start on them.”

  I turned in time to see him uproot a beautiful little bonsai evergreen.

  “Don’t!” The word snapped out before I even thought.

  Holt frowned, the small tree dangling forlornly from his hand, its exposed roots weeping dirt.

  “Why the hell not?” He tossed it on the floor and turned to his next victim. “Plant pots are a great place to hide stuff. Nobody ever thinks to look there.” He upended a large pot containing a flowering shrub, breaking its branches and scattering dirt everywhere. One of the bright blooms fell, its red petals like a splash of blood against the dark carpet.

  “Stop!” I lunged forward to grab his wrist. “Don’t you dare wreck his plants!”

  Holt gaped at me for an instant before his brows drew down. “Back off, Kelly! You forget we’re looking for a deadly weapon?” His scowl deepened. “Or what, are you trying to protect him? Are you screwing him after all?”

  “Jeez, you’re a pig! No, I’m not screwing him! But we don’t even know he’s guilty. The poor bastard gets called away for a family emergency and comes home to find everything he cares about smashed and destroyed, do you know what that’s like, Holt? It sucks! It fucking sucks!”

  My voice cracked and I flung
his wrist away to turn my back, hiding the stupid tears that suddenly swamped my eyes.

  Chapter 30

  “What the hell, Kelly?” Holt demanded. “If you can’t do the job, why the hell are you here?”

  “I never asked for the fucking job,” I hissed, and dashed the tears away. I held my voice hard and level. “I’ll hold the plants while you pull the pots off, gently. If there’s nothing hidden in them, we’ll put the plants back in. Green side up. Clear?”

  After a moment of sullen silence he mumbled, “Fine.”

  We worked without speaking for a time, and I avoided his gaze. At last he said, “Aydan? I was out of line. Sorry.”

  “It’s okay,” I muttered, and turned for the next plant.

  Another long silence while we methodically evicted and repotted several more plants.

  “It wasn’t just the crack about Stemp that pissed you off, was it?” he asked at last.

  I bit my tongue against the urge to tell him to stick it, and rose from my crouch to head for the kitchen. “Just a few more plants in here.”

  He followed me, apparently undeterred. “Talk to me, Aydan. Team Anger Management, remember? I felt like you were angry about something more than-”

  “Don’t go all sensitive on me,” I snapped. “I liked you better when you were an asshole.”

  He barked out a laugh. “I hate that fucking touchy-feely bullshit, too.”

  “Good.” I picked up a pot and held it out to him. “Here.”

  He eased the pot off the roots and inspected the root ball before tucking the pot back into place. “But I wasn’t kidding about the team stuff.” His eyes met mine, the steel softening. “You want to talk about it?”

  I turned away before his sympathy could weaken me. “No big deal. My place got trashed last night, for the second time in two months. I know what it’s like, that’s all.”

  “Oh. That sucks.” He hesitated. “Do you want some help with it?”

  “Thanks, but it’s okay.” I turned to face him again. “Well, I don’t know where else we can search. I didn’t find anything. How about you?”

  Holt scowled. “Fuck-all. No airline tickets, no baggage claim stubs, no personal address book, no lockbox, nothing. And did you find a computer?”