by
BETHANY MAINES
2661 N. Pearl, #360
Tacoma WA 98407
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictiously. Any resemblance to actual events or persons living or dead is entirely coincidental.
Copyright © 2015 by Bethany Maines
All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form whatsoever.
Cover art by LILT.
To Zoe
CONTENTS
July I
July II
July III
July IV
July V
August I
August II
August III
August IV
August V
August VI
August VII
August VIII
August IX
August X
August XI
August XII
August XIII
August XIV
August XV
August XVI
August XVII
August XVIII
August XIX
August XX
August XXI
August XXII
August XXIII
August XXIV
August XXV
August XXVI
August XXVII
August XXVIII
August XXIX
August XXX
September I
Sneak Preview: GLOSSED CAUSE
July I
Brunch
Mexico
“I hate this,” said Jane. “I can’t believe you let Darla split us up.”
Nikki wanted to adjust her earpiece, so that Jane’s complaints wouldn’t be coming in so loudly, but she was in full view out on a city street. Talking to herself and adjusting equipment would be a total giveaway to the mark. So instead, she grimaced behind her sunglasses and sucked it up.
“And Jenny’s all by herself back in LA. What if she needs us?”
Nikki wanted to reply that between Jenny’s bombshell blonde looks, Southern charm, and weapons proficiency that included everything from tanks to derringers, Jenny could look after herself. Nikki walked a few more feet, pretending to window shop while following her mark, an unassuming bank manager, who was about to have a bad day.
“And what are we doing? Scut work. We’re half of the premier Carrie Mae covert action team and we’re out on a Robin Hood job that a couple of newbs could handle. It’s like having Batman and Robin go after shoplifters. You’re Batman, by the way. In case you were concerned by that analogy.”
“I’m Batman?” Nikki was startled enough to speak out loud, drawing a stare from a passing blonde, probably a tourist, with a toddler. The toddler looked up and grinned.
“I am Batman!” he yelled and began to run, pulling his mother with him.
“Of course,” said Jane. “I would never suggest that you would wear red, yellow, and green all together with your coloring. That would be wrong.”
Nikki glanced at her reflection in the shop window—pale skin, gray eyes, red hair. Red, yellow and green would indeed be an atrocity on her. The real question was: did they ever look good on anyone?
“And what about Ellen? Sent off alone to Canada to work for that racist wench. How could you let Darla send her away like that? For one thing, you know Ellen. What if she loses her temper? I mean, she doesn’t usually. But what if she goes off on one of her tangents without us there to bring her back down?”
Nikki, had she been able to respond, would have agreed on that point. Ellen had started out life as a professor’s wife and mother of two lovely young women who were now mothers themselves. Nikki suspected that she must have lived a Walter Mitty-esque existence prior to joining Carrie Mae. But somehow, between losing fifty pounds and becoming a military-level sniper, Ellen had begun to embrace all of the impulses she had previously kept inside. Unfortunately, not all of her impulses needed to be let out. When Ellen got mad, protocol had a tendency to go out the window.
“Meanwhile,” Jane continued, “ as your tech officer, I have to say that I’m going to register a complaint when I get back. Half the crap we got in our package is like five years old. I’m not saying we haven’t worked with worse, but if Darla would have fully briefed us before we left, maybe I could have packed to compensate. This really is ridiculous. Sub-par gear like this could put your life at risk. I really am going to complain.”
Nikki smiled, picturing Jane’s Betty Page bangs bouncing in anger. Goth in style, nerd at heart, Jane had a rather black and white view of the world. She frequently missed the nuances of politics—hence her current rant against Darla, the temporary West Coast division manager.
They were a block away from the bank. Time to make a decision. Stick to the plan? Or deviate?
“OK, I’ve got eyes on the target,” said Jane. “You are approaching go time. Phase One, implant the recording device. I’ll handle Phase Two.”
Nikki pulled the bank manager’s wallet out of her skirt pocket and picked up speed. “Excuse me! Excuse me, Sir!” She waved the wallet in the air. The bank manager finally turned around as he reached the corner. “Hola,” she said putting as much of an American accent on the word as she could. “You dropped your—” she hesitated, pretending to look for the right word. “Billetera?”
The bank manager patted his pockets, looking for the wallet that they had removed from his person as he’d left the bank for lunch. He looked surprised and then stepped forward to accept the wallet.
“Ah, gracias. I’m not sure how that happened.” His English, as was to be expected from someone working in international finance, was flawless. She held out the wallet and waited until his fingers made contact with the leather.
“There’s a bank account number inside. You will transfer all of the funds from Jirair Sarkassian’s account into it.”
“I can’t do that! Who are you?” He pulled at the wallet wanting to leave.
“You will do it, Raul.” Nikki held onto the wallet, and with her right hand she flicked out a deadly sharp little pocket-knife. The blade clicked as it locked into place and Raul’s eyes widened at the sound. She took a step closer, pushing the knife against his groin, hiding the movement with her full skirt.
Raul’s face went white under his tan. “I can’t just transfer a client’s funds!” He gasped, sweating. “He’ll notice. You don’t know who he is. He has associates who are… not nice people. And I’ve heard his girlfriend is psychotic. What you’re asking is suicide.”
“Trust me, Raul. He won’t notice. He’s dead. And as for his girlfriend—who do you think I am?”
Raul gulped.
“Just transfer the money like a good boy Raul, and I won’t have to cut off any appendages.” Nikki smiled and released the wallet. “You have until the close of business, understand?” He nodded and Nikki removed the knife, smiled and patted his cheek. “Good boy.” Nikki proceeded up the street, leaving Raul sweating through his suit on the corner.
For the first time in an hour there was quiet in her earpiece. She made it nearly two blocks in blissful silence before Jane cleared her throat.
“Nikki, I’m fairly certain that was not what we were supposed to do. Darla had a whole plan.”
“Two things,” said Nikki, continuing toward the rendezvous point. “One, that plan was overly complicated and ridiculous. Two, Darla’s not here. I took a short-cut and the job got done.”
“If he complies,” said Jane, sounding nervous.
“He’ll comply,” said Nikki.
“Probably, but it might have been nice if you’d let me know.”
&n
bsp; Nikki’s stride slowed. There was an undercurrent to Jane’s tone. “I was trying to give you plausible deniability.”
“Well, I was kind of looking forward to getting to do… Never mind. It doesn’t matter.”
There was static as Jane’s line went dead. Nikki saw her friend walk out of the alleyway in front of her. Even in sunny Mexico, Jane was dressed in all black. This week the tips of her hair were dyed purple.
“Also, I’m not comfortable with you pretending to be Val Robinson. It gives me the creeps.”
“What are you talking about?”
“You told that guy you were Sarkassian’s girlfriend. At her time of death, I’m pretty sure that was Val. Don’t pretend to be her; it’s bad mojo.”
Nikki shrugged. “I didn’t have time to go through the six degrees of separation. It was faster this way.”
Jane looked skeptical, before her focus switched to a point a few inches above Nikki’s head, her expression blank. Probably observing the internet through the screen of her Google-glass type eyewear, one of Carrie Mae’s more recent innovations.
“He just logged in, and is transferring the money. That was fast. I guess you were right. Anyway, I’m all for speed and efficiancy, but this doesn’t make you a little uncomfortable? I mean, you kind of robbed a guy on the street. You’re a mugger!”
“When you take fifty dollars, you’re a mugger. When you take five million dollars, you’re a businesswoman.”
“And if you use that five million to fund an organization dedicated to fighting for the rights of women?”
“Then I say that makes me a Goddamned hero,” said Nikki. “Now let’s get out of here. I have a date tonight.”
July II
Midnight Snack
Los Angeles
Nikki and Z’ev walked out of the salsa club laughing and holding hands. Date night with Z’ev Coralles, her half Afro-cuban, half-Jewish, all CIA agent boyfriend, had started out with dinner and moved on to dancing. She loved it when he planned date night—everything was always perfect.
“I guess we should practice that a bit more,” said Z’ev ruefully. “That was bad. I didn’t remember half the turn patterns.”
“We weren’t the worst couple on the dance floor,” protested Nikki.
“We were rusty at best. You had a couple of good shines though.”
“Whatever,” said Nikki, secretly pleased. Three years into their relationship and his compliments still made her smile, his rich, bass voice still gave her shivers, and the smile in his brown eyes made a bad day seem pretty good. Date night was just what the doctor ordered. A body-glitter covered nymph snaked by them wearing a loin-cloth that sort of passed for a skirt, spiked platform heels, and mile-long blonde hair extensions. Her partner was wearing a skintight black Lycra shirt and pleather pants.
“See? If we keep practicing, some day we could be just like them,” said Z’ev, leaning over to whisper in her ear.
“Oh, yeah, I can really picture you in those pants,” said Nikki, biting her lip to keep from laughing.
“Well, I can’t say I’d be entirely unhappy with those shoes,” he said, taking on a speculative tone as he watched the glitter girl walk away.
“Oh, honey, I’ve got some of those—you can try them on when we get home.”
Z’ev laughed and separated from her to go key-fishing in his pocket. They stopped at the Impala, Z’ev moving to unlock her door first. She stared at the car feeling a swell of sadness. Val Robinson, Nikki’s first partner in Carrie Mae, and previous owner of the Impala, had abandoned Carrie Mae principles for money and a hot guy. Only her boyfriend, Jirair Sarkassian wasn’t just an arms dealer, he’d been selling Thai girls into a world-wide sex slave ring. Nikki had stopped Sarkassian and Val—permanently—on her first mission with Carrie Mae. And this morning’s little jaunt to Tijuana meant that they had finally rooted out the last of Sarkassian’s little stashes. She hadn’t wanted to tell Jane that half the reason she’d skipped the elaborate hacking scheme to simply threaten poor Raul is that she had wanted the matter done. She wanted to close the case files on Val Robinson once and for all. Which meant that she probably should consider selling the car.
She brushed her finger along the chrome detail of the door panel. Around her, Nikki listened to the babble of voices, mostly in Spanish. There was a rise in the volume of voices behind them and Nikki looked over her shoulder. A group of tough looking hombres were working their way through the crowd, all wife-beaters, gold and tattoos. They didn’t appear to be doing anything more than laughing and joking with some of the other exiting club-goers, but mentally Nikki put them into the ‘threat’ category.
“I’m hungry,” Z’ev said. “Want to get something to eat?” Nikki knew then that he’d also spotted the threat as he paused to take off his jacket. Biceps that size were usually a deterrent.
“We’ve got stuff at home. Besides the only thing that’s open right now are more bars or Taco Bell.” Nikki kept her tone light and watched the crowd part. The three men had almost passed them when one of them looked directly at Nikki and Nikki felt a jolt of recognition.
“Nikki?” he said, sounding almost as stunned as she felt.
“Donny?” asked Nikki.
That brought the attention of his friends and all three stopped—the two friends fanning out behind Donny in a spear shape pointed at Nikki. One of them had a gun tucked in the front of his pants. The other was casually rattling something in a film canister. Z’ev moved to her side of the car, making his presence noticeable.
“Nikki, how long has it been?” exclaimed Donny, reaching to embrace her and Nikki reciprocated.
“Forever! How are you? How’s the family?”
“Good! You should call Mom. I know she’d love to hear from you. Do you have a piece of paper? I’ll give you her number.”
“Yeah, all right.” Nikki fished in her purse and found a receipt and a pen, puzzled, but feeling that she was doing what he wanted. Z’ev hadn’t moved, but the two amigos had relaxed and one was flirting with a girl.
“Have you seen Jackson lately?” asked Donny, as he scribbled the number on the back of the receipt. Nikki looked away from the number he was writing and into his face, annoyed. Z’ev was standing right there. Why did he have to bring up Jackson?
“Oh, you know, not since freshman year of college,” she said, carefully casual.
“Not since then, huh? Never understood why you guys couldn’t make it work.” He handed the receipt and pen back. “Anyway, give Mom a call. Tell her I’m doing fine and I’ll call her in a couple of days.”
“Yo, dawg, let’s go,” said one of the friends. “We gotta hook up with Billy.”
“Yeah, yeah,” agreed Donny, waving him away. “I gotta go,” he said turning back to Nikki. “Hey, you gonna be OK with this foo’?” he asked, stepping back and taking his first real look at Z’ev. Nikki glanced over her shoulder at Z’ev, her eyes twinkling.
“With him? Yeah, I think so.” She grinned at Donny’s suddenly raised eyebrow.
“Well, you better take care of her then, esé,” said Donny, suddenly going all tough and sort of flexing his shoulders in the way that only men seemed to be able to do.
“Siempre,” said Z’ev calmly and not moving a muscle.
“Always is a long time,” Donny said, backing off a bit.
Z’ev shrugged. Donny’s friends had walked a little further down the sidewalk and Donny looked after them and suddenly sighed, looking a little tired.
“Buenas noches, Nicole,” he said again and Nikki smiled. He started to jog after his friends. “And call that number,” he called back over his shoulder and Nikki waved. Nikki held the receipt up to the neon glow of the bar signs. It had MEYERS and a 253 area code written on it.
Z’ev opened her car door and she got in, reaching across to unlock the driver’s side before he got to it.
“You have a lot of friends who are drug dealers?” he asked, sliding into the seat and slamming the door.<
br />
“Drug dealers?” asked Nikki, startled.
“The film canister,” said Z’ev, miming the shaking motion she had seen Donny’s friend using. “It’s got crack in it. They give it a rattle and the sound let’s you know they’re dealing.”
“Oh,” said Nikki, punching in the number on her phone. “I guess that explains it.”
“Explains what?” he asked, starting the car.
“Why he was wearing a wire - felt it when I hugged him,” said Nikki. A Tacoma Police Department operator answered the phone.
“Yes, I need to speak to someone named Meyers regarding Donny Fernandez,” she said to the operator. The operator immediately put her on hold.
“And this number goes to a police station,” Nikki said turning back to Z’ev. She held up the receipt and he scrutinized it as they pulled up to a stoplight.
“This is Meyers,” said a woman, abruptly answering the phone. She sounded as if she’d been hurrying.
“Hi, I just spoke with Donny,” said Nikki.
“Where?” asked the woman, interrupting.
“Excuse me?”
“You saw him? You saw Don Fernandez?”
“Yes.” Nikki noticed the shortening of Donny’s name and realized that, as a fully-grown man, Donny might not appreciate being called by something that ended in a Y.
“Where?” demanded the woman. “When?”
“LA, about five minutes ago,” answered Nikki, copying the woman’s staccato pacing.
“LA? Damn it! What’s he doing down there?”
“I don’t know,” said Nikki. “But he told me to say that he was fine and he’d call you in a couple of days.”
“A couple of days? He’s not supposed to disappear like this!” Nikki heard the wail of confusion and worry hiding behind the woman’s gruff tone.
“I’m sure he’ll be fine,” said Nikki soothingly.
“Who are you?” asked the woman, her tone suddenly becoming suspicious.
“Just a friend he bumped into,” said Nikki. “Nice chatting with you. I’m sure he’ll call. Bye now.”
“But,” began the woman, as Nikki cut her off, flipping the phone shut.
High-Caliber Concealer Page 1