Oh yeah, and he was GORGEOUS. Short, black hair, athletic build, handsome, boy-next-door face, and lean muscles in all the right places. He wore a fitted, black T-shirt and blue jeans. Was this my new neighbor? If so, the view just got a lot better.
I stared as he walked around to the passenger side and opened the door. He reached in and pulled out a large duffle bag. Slinging it oh-so-casually over his shoulder, he closed the door to the SUV and went into the house. His house. My new neighbor's and the possibly future Mr. Wrath's house.
The doorbell rang, and I jumped backward, tripping over my own feet and crashing into the green couch. What the hell? How did I miss someone coming to my own door? That was just bad spy craft, retired or not. I stumbled across the living room and looked out the window next to the door. Oh, my God.
"Hello Riley," I said as I opened the door, trying to act as if it was totally normal that my previous boss and handler was standing on my doorstep.
"Hey Wrath." Riley smiled lopsidedly. He was a very attractive man in his late thirties, with wavy, blond hair and deep blue eyes. I always thought he looked more like a surfer than a CIA case manager. I motioned for him to enter and followed him into my house.
He was standing in the entryway, staring at my living room. "Did you just move in here?" Riley frowned. "I thought you'd had this address for a while, but maybe I'm wrong." He knew he wasn't wrong. Riley was a notorious fact checker. He double-checked everything before he did anything. We called him "Nerd OCD Boy" behind his back.
I scowled. "No. I just haven't gotten around to decorating yet." Riley pissed me off. He always did. Even when he wasn't speaking, he usually irritated me. Still, he was a good guy to have in your corner when the chips were down and the Russians were fully armed outside your door.
Riley shrugged. He just stood there looking at me. Oh right. This was one of those host thingies that I had no experience with. I rarely had guests in my tenement in La Paz or my yurt in Mongolia.
"Come into the kitchen. Can I get you some coffee?" I didn't really have coffee. Never touched the stuff. I was more of a tea drinker. Ninety-percent of the world drank tea—well, at least the places I'd been stationed in did. So I drank tea.
Riley followed me into the kitchen and climbed up on one of the breakfast bar stools. "Nothing for me, thanks." He grinned at me, and I felt my hackles rise. "Although I must admit—it is interesting to see you being so…" He waved his arms around. "Domestic."
"Fuck you, Riley. What are you doing here?" I asked as I got out the bottle of wine Kelly had opened earlier and poured myself a glass. CIA case officers never checked up on retirees. Something was up.
"Dead Ahmed," he answered. "Found in your neighborhood. What's up with that?"
Riley rarely messed around. He always got right to the point. Of course he'd notice a dead terrorist showing up where I was in Iowa. Any good employee of "The Company" would.
"Oh right," I said, looking off into space as if I just remembered the dead al-Qaeda operative at Girl Scout camp. "Him."
Riley nodded, "Right. Him. Ahmed Maloof. Why was he there?"
I shrugged, "Don't know and don't care. Not my problem. Not anymore, at least." I took a gulp of wine and pointed at him. "I don't work for you guys. I'm retired. Remember?"
Riley smiled his easy, surfer smile. He really was cute, if you liked that California golden boy look, that is. "You can't be surprised I'm here, Finn." He said.
"Actually, I am." That wasn't entirely true. It was only a matter of time before he or someone like him showed up. "I had nothing to do with it. And don't call me Finn. I'm Merry now."
I started working with Riley ten years ago. Our first assignment together was in China. I'd thought he was cute back then. But then I discovered that Riley was a serial lady-killer. I think I found him in bed with women more than a dozen times. The attraction wore thin after that.
My former boss held my gaze for a moment. He was reading me. Trying to figure me out. Riley had the reputation of being a sort of mind reader. He was very good at it.
"Actually," he said slowly, "we think you did have something to do with it. I've been sent to investigate."
I slapped the breakfast bar hard. "Are you serious? You think I was involved? Why in hell would I do that? I got kicked out of Langley. Or did you forget that?"
"I didn't forget that, Finn," Riley answered, ignoring my request for him to call me Merry, "and personally, I don't think you killed Ahmed. But I do think there's a connection."
"There's no connection, Riley. I've been out of the agency for a year now. And I haven't worked the Middle East in a long, long time. I barely knew the guy." Uh-oh. I'd slipped up there. Maybe I should quit with the wine.
Riley grinned, "That's right. You barely knew him. But you did know him. And that makes you a person of interest."
Dammit! You make one mistake with a terrorist years ago, and nobody lets you forget it, ever! How the hell was I supposed to know my driver in Kabul was Ahmed's brother? The Kabul Office should've known that before they hired him. Anyway, I was a professional, and I was retired. Enough of this crap.
"You need to leave now, Riley, before I get mad and get my ice pick. Remember how good I am with an ice pick?" My voice dripped with fury. And the ice pick thing was just thrown in to aggravate him. I was hell on Earth with an ice pick, and he'd once seen the results of my work. I was also good with a shotgun, and throwing knives, and once I did this thing with a didgeridoo that would probably be classified as a serious violation of the Geneva Convention—but that's another story for another time.
Riley rose to his feet, placing his hands defensively in front of him. "Fine. I'll go." He reached into his suit jacket and pulled out a blank piece of paper with a phone number on it. A local number. Damn it.
"I'll be staying at the Radisson. Call me when you want to talk like a normal person." He set the slip of paper on the breakfast bar before heading for the front door. He turned in the doorway and looked at me.
"You know, Finn, you really should get some drapes." Then with the flash of his oh-too-white smile, he left, closing the door behind him.
Perfect.
CHAPTER TWO
So the agency thought I was involved in Ahmed's death. That could mean I was being framed. I had no idea that bastard was even in the country, let alone in the Midwest. Was someone out to get me? That would totally suck.
The drapes would have to wait. I pulled out the laptop and did some research. You might be surprised to know that most CIA intel comes from research. No kidding. In the internet age—you could get more info online than you could in the field half the time. I kind of resented the fact that I'd missed cold war espionage by a decade. I'd be willing to bet it was way more fun than what I had to deal with.
Ahmed turned up on Al Jazeera's website. Just a few mentions about him hiding out in Pakistan. Who didn't hide out there? I couldn't find much and toyed with hacking into the CIA's mainframe. But I didn't want to deal with the hassle if I was found out. And it might make me look guilty. I closed the laptop and shoved it aside in disgust.
I didn't have any access to agency resources anymore. If I was going to find out what happened before another dead body turned up, I'd have to do it on my own. And I was pretty sure that there would be another body, because if someone wanted to frame me, they'd have to do a lot more than this.
So, who hated me enough? I got my pad of paper and made a list. After I got to thirty five, I called it quits. Spies have lots of enemies in lots of places. It wasn't unusual. And I had been PNGed out of the agency. Even with my blonde hair and blue eyes now, if someone really wanted to find me, they probably could.
Which pissed me off. I was mostly off the grid now. I had zero presence on social media and an unlisted cell phone number. Kelly knew about me, but she wouldn't tell anyone because I'd threatened her with some blackmail I had from the ninth grade. Considering that her parents never did find out who burned down the garage because a certain someon
e was smoking something, I was fairly confident she didn't want that to get out.
My parents wouldn't tell anyone. They tended to be a tad protective of me after what I'd gone through. So who knew I was here? It was frustrating. Oh, I know it takes time to find these things out, and I used to have patience in the field. But since "retiring" I was a bit less so. Okay, I was completely impatient. Two people in front of me at the grocery store usually set me off these days. When I want my Oreos—I want them NOW.
Great. Now I wanted Oreos. I grabbed my purse and keys and headed for the store. In all honesty—I wasn't a great shopper. Kelly told me she goes to the store once a week. I go every other day. I'm not very good about stocking up on stuff. I guess that comes from living on the fly and picking up a baguette here or candy bar there. (By the way—never, ever buy a candy bar in Uruguay.) I should probably learn how to cook and shop and that kind of thing. It wasn't like I didn't have time.
This time I bought TWO packages of Oreos. On the drive home I was congratulating myself on my foresight and thinking how this might lead to some day buying a whole quart of milk, when I ran over a man.
That's right, I hit a man. With my car. My driving skills aren't bad. I've driven in some real shit-holes, usually in crappy, stick shift only cars. So watching a man roll off my hood and onto the street in front of my car caught me by surprise.
I slammed on the brakes and shifted into park as I got out and ran toward the man I'd hit. Please don't be dead…please! A middle-aged Latino man clawed at the air, gasping for breath. His eyes paused on mine for a second before he collapsed to the pavement, dead.
The police were there immediately. I was in a fog as they shoved me aside and started CPR on the dead guy. Another cop grabbed me by the arm and pulled me over to his car. He started asking me what happened.
"I don't know," I answered, never taking my eyes off the dead man. "I didn't see him. He just ran out in front of my car."
I looked around, checking my surroundings. A group of witnesses were being questioned. I listened to hear them say the same thing. The man wasn't there, and then he was. Apparently to them, he also just appeared in the middle of the street.
"Do you know him?" the officer asked me.
"No," I lied. "Never seen him before." I was good at being interrogated. Graduated at the top of my class at The Farm. That's the CIA finishing school in the middle of nowhere, by the way. Anyway, I could take almost any kind of abuse. Except water boarding. I hated water boarding. I had this thing about my face getting wet.
The officer nodded and asked for my license and registration. I went through the motions of handing them to him. My brain was racing, trying to sort everything out. How did he get here? And why did he jump in front of my car? And what the hell was going on?
These questions played like a broken record over and over as I watched an ambulance take the body away. There was a huge, bloody puddle on the ground in front of my car. I'd seen bloodstains before. Hell, I'd even caused them a time or two. But this was different…more sinister.
"Thanks, Ms. Wrath," the officer said. I would've told him how much I appreciated him using the proper title and not calling me Mrs., but then I'd have to explain, and it wasn't worth the effort. "We'll send a detective over to see you in a few hours. You can go."
Without a word, I took back my license and registration, got into my car, and drove the remaining four blocks back to my house. Once inside, I locked all the doors and drew the Dora sheet across the length of the window. I paced the kitchen while eating an entire package of Oreos. Thank God I'd bought two.
I picked up the cell phone and dialed.
He answered on the first ring. "Finn?"
"You'd better come over. I just ran over Carlos the Armadillo. He's dead."
There was a measured silence on the other end before he replied, "I'll be there in five minutes."
CHAPTER THREE
Riley made it to my house in three minutes. I opened the door before he even rang the doorbell, and he followed me into the kitchen. He looked at the empty Oreo carton, then at me.
"What happened?"
I told him the whole story. How I'd been driving, minding my own business, when Carlos the Armadillo—the Columbian drug lord—ran out in front of my car. How he'd died there. How the police seemed to believe me.
Riley listened patiently until I finished. I'd always liked that about him. He never interrupted or argued with you. He listened. Not many field agents did that.
"They'll send a detective over soon. It's only a matter of time before they discover who he is. You did the right thing, calling me." His voice was reassuring, and I nodded.
"Why is this happening?" I asked, knowing he had no answers. "I was undercover in Carlos' operation for four months, three years ago. Why are these bad guys from my past turning up here…now?"
Riley shook his head. "I have no idea. It looks like someone is setting you up on an international scale. This is pretty big—whoever it is. Somehow they managed to smuggle two Watch List terrorists into the U.S. and kill them on your territory."
I nodded. "That's exactly what's happening. But why? I'm out of service. Is it revenge?"
Riley ran his hands through his blonde hair. He did that when he was nervous. It was his only tell. "Maybe it is revenge. You were a spy and a damn good one. You'd have a lot of enemies. Trying to narrow down the suspects will be tough. We might have to get the Feds involved."
I slumped onto the stool next to him. I didn't want to do this cloak and dagger stuff anymore. I was starting to get used to this lifestyle. I was even going to commit to drapes and furniture soon.
"You did the right thing in calling me," Riley said softly. "I can help. We'll figure this out." He reached out and put his hand on my shoulder. That made me feel a little better.
"What's the agency's position going to be on this? Will they want to investigate?" I asked.
Riley shrugged. "How could they not? Two international terrorists got into this country unnoticed. They'll be all over it." Still, in his eyes I saw a shred of doubt, and I wondered. Did he really think the CIA would get involved? Or did he think I was doing this? I filed that information away mentally.
The doorbell rang. I looked out the window to see who it was and was stunned to see my gorgeous new neighbor standing there. What was he doing here? This wasn't exactly the best time to introduce himself. And wasn't I supposed to be the one to welcome him to the neighborhood? At least someone was worse at domesticity than me. That was a plus.
I opened the door and smiled. "Hi! I'm Merry!" And then I felt like an idiot. That wasn't how you were supposed to answer the door. You asked can I help you or something like that. Or maybe I should've opened with will you marry me?
The man smiled and held out his hand. I shook it. "I'm Rex. Your new neighbor."
"Great!" I answered, still holding onto his hand. Feeling ridiculous, I dropped it like it was on fire. "Um, would you like to come in?" I stood off to the side, making a sweeping motion with my hand (that I'd seen once on TV) to invite him inside.
"I should probably explain…" he said, still standing on the porch. "I'm not really here to introduce myself as your new neighbor."
I looked at him in surprise. "No?" Well, maybe that meant he was here to ask me out. He must've seen me drive up in the dented, bloodstained car, my face covered in crumbled Oreos and thought—now that's a woman I need to get to know!
"No. Actually, I'm Detective Rex Ferguson. They called me up on my day off to handle this investigation. Especially since you live across the street from me."
"Oh," I said, feeling deflated. "Okay. Well you might as well come in."
Riley was standing in the hallway, waiting. I watched them as they sized each other up. Then Riley held out his hand.
"Detective. I'm Riley Andrews. Ms. Wrath's cousin." Riley flashed his surfer grin at Rex. Rex shook his hand, looking at Riley thoughtfully. I didn't think he was buying his story, which was unusual. Riley
was very convincing with his cover stories. I once saw him convince a tribe of Bedouins that he was Japanese.
"Let's go into the kitchen." I interrupted the testosterone fest. Yes, I now mostly entertained in my kitchen. I didn't want Rex to see my Dora sheets in the living room because then he might think I was a weirdo and might not want to marry me. The two men took seats at the breakfast bar, and I stood on the other side because there were no chairs left.
"Tea?" I offered. Both men shook their heads. They really were alike, I thought, as I made myself a nice, soothing cup of oolong. Both alpha males, both attractive, both used to being in charge. I could only assume Rex was intelligent because that's what I wanted Mr. Wrath to be. He had to be smart. Who ever heard of a stupid detective?
"Ms. Wrath," Rex started as he pulled a notebook out of his back pocket and laid it on the table in front of him. "I know you've given the officers at the scene your statement. But could you tell me again what happened?"
I took a drink of tea to stall and glanced at Riley. The look in his eyes said don't mention CIA or Carlos the Armadillo. Or maybe they said make sure you mention the CIA and Carlos the Armadillo. My radar wasn't as good as it used to be.
"I was driving home from the store when this man jumped out in front of my car. I stopped as soon as it happened. He was alive for a few seconds. Then he died." It's always good to just give the basic facts when dealing with the police in any country. Too little information and they'll believe you're guilty. Too much and they can twist your words into seeming guilty. Believe me, I've been there. It isn't pleasant.
Rex nodded and didn't speak for a moment. It's a common intimidation ploy. People get nervous when an authority figure says nothing, so they talk to pick up the slack. And they usually screw up and say way too much when they do that.
Merit Badge Murder Page 2