Spy, Spy Away

by Diane Henders

  I fumbled into position, acutely conscious of the thickness of his arm between my legs and hoping my shorts weren’t as damp as they felt. His five o’clock shadow scuffed against my bare thigh, raising goosebumps all over my body.

  “Good, now flex your hips…” He trailed off as our eyes met.

  I couldn’t help it. There was nothing I could do but watch the train wreck.

  My crotch pressed up against his hot, hard muscles.

  My hips did a teasing little wiggle.

  Kane’s eyes went glassy for an instant, then ignited with his wicked grin. His arm flexed against me, and my breath came out in a tiny moan.

  Sweet Jesus, please tell me I’m not humping this man’s arm in the middle of a public gym.

  Oh, yes I am.

  I jerked free and scooted backward, my face on fire. My stretchy gym shorts dragged against the mat, conspiring to humiliate me as much as possible by creeping down my hips. I sprang up and yanked them back into place while Kane lay grinning up at me.

  He rolled to his feet in a single sinuous movement to smile down from close range. “Here ends the lesson,” he rumbled, his eyes devouring me.

  “Uh, thanks,” I stammered, and fled.

  Chapter 23

  Alternating between waves of residual lust and nervous anticipation of my upcoming meeting with Hibbert, I spent a shitty night tossing and turning. When my alarm blared at six A.M., I hauled myself into the shower, grumbling obscenities foul enough to peel the chrome off the taps.

  After a breakfast I didn’t taste, I jittered in front of my computer, pecking ineffectually at some of my bookkeeping tasks until it was time to leave.

  The trip didn’t soothe my nerves one bit. The wind had picked up overnight, and snow sifted across the highway in a lazy, treacherous ground-drift that tried to seduce my tired brain into following it across the centre line and into oncoming traffic.

  I cranked the radio a little louder and sang until I couldn’t stand myself anymore. At last I gave up and pulled off the road to jog around the car a few times. That helped for only a few minutes before I had to fight the deadly drowsiness again.

  By the time I got to the outskirts of Calgary, my head was thumping as though the Hogback’s finest were partying behind my eyeballs. I pulled over one more time, peeling my aching fingers off the steering wheel and groaning my stiffened body into a semblance of standing position. A glance at my watch drove the last of my sleepiness away. Hibbert had said eleven.

  Too damn many stops along the road, and I still had one more to make. I was going to be late.

  Swearing, I flung myself back in the car and stepped on the gas.

  When I pulled up in front of the Hogback at eleven-twenty, there was no sign of Hibbert, but several shabby vehicles idled in front of the building. The bearded drivers slouched scowling, obviously waiting for the bar to open. I drove on by without making eye contact, nervously peeking from my peripheral vision. My shiny blue Legacy stood out like the Virgin Mary in a brothel, and I swore again.

  I had considered driving my old truck, but the weather had convinced me a modern all-wheel-drive vehicle would be a safer choice. And it would have been, too, if I’d been on time. I pulled a U-turn and cruised back, scouring the parking lot for a silver Mercedes.

  Heads turned and hostile eyes tracked my conspicuously new car.

  Dammit.

  I was almost abreast of the bar when Hibbert stepped out the front door and flagged me down with an imperious gesture. He strode over to the passenger side and I hesitated.

  I’d be stupid to let him in my car.

  Stupider still to get out and make a blatant exchange in front of a gallery of witnesses who would be delighted to scoop up an easy five grand by mugging me.

  Too stupid to live if I parked and followed him into the bar where they would discover and confiscate my weapons, leaving me trapped and helpless.

  I decided on garden-variety stupid, and hit the lock release.

  Hibbert slid inside, his stale-cigarette smell closing my throat. “You’re late,” he snapped.

  “I’m sorry.” The words came out in a croak, and I cleared my throat. “The roads were bad.” I swallowed hard, and this time my voice came out only slightly hoarse. “Excuse me. I’ve been singing for the last two hours, trying to stay awake on the road.”

  Better than admitting I was scared shitless.

  My hands trembled on the wheel, and Hibbert gave me a contemptuous sneer. “You look like hell. Lucky I wasn’t planning to fuck you. I’d have to put a bag over your head.” He snickered. “A bag for a bag. Drive.”

  Anger stiffened my spine and heated my blood. I stomped on the accelerator and snapped, “Watch it, Mr. Congeniality. If your associates are looking forward to a beneficial relationship, they’re not going to be happy with you if you piss me off and I take my business elsewhere.”

  “You won’t. Give me the list.”

  I glanced over into the soulless eye of his gun and a burst of adrenaline exploded my mind into momentary white static. I spoke without thinking, my voice ridiculously level. “Give me my money.”

  “You’re not in a position to negotiate.”

  “Neither are you.” Thank God my hands had been shaking before. He wouldn’t know how scared I was. My driving skills kicked into autopilot and I shot him what I hoped was a contemptuous sneer. “You don’t seriously think I’m stupid enough to bring the list with me.”

  His growl raised every hair on the back of my neck. “I think you’d be seriously stupid if you didn’t.”

  “And I think you’d be seriously stupid to double-cross me now, and even stupider to shoot me. Double-cross me and it’s the end of your so-called mutually beneficial relationship. Your associates can go fuck themselves, but they’re far more likely to fuck you. Up the ass, hard. And they probably won’t kiss you first. Shoot me and you’re really fucked, because the list is in a safe place and if I’m dead, you’ll never get it, or anything else your associates were hoping to get from me.”

  I managed to deliver the entire speech in a threatening rasp, thanks to my raw throat. A wisp of pride thawed some of my icy fear. I was getting better at this spy stuff.

  Another sidelong glance at Hibbert confirmed my evaluation. He looked distinctly pouty.

  “Fine,” he snapped. “What do you propose?”

  “We’re going to drive to a location-”

  “Where?”

  “You’ll see. It’s a public location, so you won’t want to do anything rash with that gun. When we get there, we’ll go in together. I’ll give you the list. You’ll give me the cash. I’ll drive away. You’ll call a cab or whatever the hell you want, I don’t give a shit. We’ll both live happily ever after. The end.”

  Hibbert snorted and stuffed his gun back under his coat. “You’re not as dumb as you look.”

  “Thank you.”

  When we pulled up in front of the mailbox rental office I’d visited on my way into Calgary, Hibbert snorted again, but it sounded like grudging approval.

  We went in together and I opened my newly rented box to extract the list I’d left there less than an hour before. Money and list changed hands, and I wobbled back to my car and drove away, leaving Hibbert standing on the sidewalk, cell phone pressed to his ear.

  When I was certain I was far, far away from Hibbert, I pulled into a strip mall and parked, my stomach churning. Limp and shaking, I rested my head on the steering wheel. Breathe. Just breathe.

  Relax. It’s over.

  I drew a deep breath and carefully reclined my seat. No sudden moves. Keep the breakfast where it belongs.

  Breathing slowly and evenly, I worked through some relaxation exercises, easing the tension from my muscles. My nausea faded, leaving a hollow gnawing in my stomach. Several minutes later, the gnawing intensified, and my stomach growled.

  I sat up. “Seriously?” I addressed my belly. “Minutes ago you were ready to puke, and now you’re hungry?”


  Another ravenous growl assured me that it was, and I shrugged and scanned the mall for a restaurant that might offer something bland. A tiny hole-in-the-wall café advertised ‘comfort food’, and I hauled myself out of the car to check their menu.

  Half an hour later, I leaned back in the chair with a sigh. Macaroni and cheese nestled in my stomach, and I pushed the tasty remains around my plate, wishing I could eat more. My eyelids drooped with exhausted satisfaction, and I slid my fingertips into my jacket pocket to touch the envelope of money with a smile.

  Safety, a full belly, and a successful mission for Jane Bond, super-spy.

  I snickered. Yeah, right. But it felt good to succeed, and more to the point, succeed unharmed. I left a generous tip and headed for my car to call Stemp.

  As usual, he answered the secured phone on its first ring, catching me in the middle of a gaping and audible yawn. “Sorry,” I said when I was capable of speech. “The list is delivered and I have the money.”

  “No… complications?”

  I grinned. “No.” Another yawn caught me unaware. “Sorry,” I said again and glanced at my watch. “I should be able to get back by about three-thirty. Assuming the roads haven’t gotten any worse.”

  “No need to rush,” Stemp replied with surprising graciousness. “Webb is still home sick today, so I’ve postponed Tammy’s first session until Monday. If you want to take the rest of the day off, do so. The only briefing I had planned for this afternoon was to inform everyone that I’ll be taking a week’s vacation, so Brent Dermott will be acting director in my stead.”

  “Oh.” I hesitated. “How much does Dermott know about… um… me?”

  “He has full access to all your official mission reports.”

  “And, um… the unofficial ones?”

  There was a moment of silence on the line, which puzzled me until Stemp spoke again and I realized he had probably been activating a bug detector.

  “No.”

  I nibbled the inside of my cheek. There were a lot of ways this could go bad. My sudden nervousness surprised me. When had I started counting on Stemp to cover my back?

  But nothing should happen. I had delivered the list, the mission was over, and the upcoming week should be nothing but routine decryptions.

  “Is there a problem?” Stemp’s question jolted me out of my worried reverie.

  “Um, no… I don’t think so…”

  What could possibly go wrong?

  “Are you, um, travelling for your vacation?” I asked abstractedly, still chewing over the possible repercussions of his absence.

  “Yes. Is that relevant?” The almost imperceptible edge in his tone snapped me to attention when I realized what ‘travelling’ meant. A Christmas visit with Katya and Anna. And he was afraid I was trying to warn him of a possible threat.

  “No,” I said hurriedly. “Enjoy your trip.”

  “Thank you.” After the slightest hesitation, he hung up.

  I got out of the car and wandered over to the nearest garbage can to ditch the secured phone, frowning. Stemp’s belief in my nonexistent secret ops gave me a lot of latitude, and I was protected by his legendary reluctance to disseminate any information, no matter how trivial. But who the hell was Brent Dermott, and what if something went wrong?

  I stood drumming my fingers on the lid of the garbage can and staring into nothingness until a gust of wind whipped a stinging handful of snow into my face.

  I retreated to my car and shook off both snow and foreboding. Stemp would be back in a week. Surely I couldn’t fuck up so badly that he couldn’t dig me out of trouble when he returned.

  I was reaching for the ignition key when my waist pouch vibrated. The sight of ‘E. Lacey’ on my phone’s call display gave me a tingle of anxiety.

  I punched the Talk button. “Hello?”

  “Hello, is this Aydan Kelly?” Miss Lacey’s precise tones would have made me smile if not for the hint of worry in her voice.

  “Speaking. Miss Lacey? Is anything wrong?”

  Her small sigh made my fingers tighten on the phone. “That’s what I was hoping to find out,” she replied. “Have you been in touch with Arnold recently?”

  I swallowed fear. “Yes, I saw him Wednesday night. Why?”

  “Did he seem… like himself?”

  “Uh…” How much should I tell her? “He seemed… upset. But he said he was okay. Why?”

  Oh, God, she wouldn’t be phoning me if there was nothing wrong.

  “What’s wrong?” I demanded.

  “I… hope, nothing…” She hesitated. When she spoke again, her voice was firm as if she had arrived at a decision. “I don’t know if you’re aware that Arnold sometimes engages in dangerous activities.”

  My heart kicked into a rapid rhythm. “Yes.”

  “And you know that I take care of John Lee Hooker when Arnold is… away.”

  “Yes.”

  I mouthed a silent scream. Get to the point already!

  “Sometimes when he leaves, I get the impression that he is not certain he’ll return. On those occasions, he mentions that if anything ever happens to him, I should be sure to find a good home for John Lee. He said that last evening.”

  “Oh, God.” The words trembled from my lips. “When did he leave? Did he say anything else?”

  “No, and as you can imagine, I spent a sleepless night worrying about him. But I heard him return around eight A.M., at which time I was most relieved.”

  I drew a shaky breath. “Thank God. So he’s okay.” Shit, with a lead-up like that, I’d been expecting some horrendous news. I massaged my chest, willing my heart to slow.

  “I… am not certain.”

  “What do you mean?” My words snapped out like the crack of a whip.

  “I was hoping that you had been in touch with him this morning. I don’t believe he has left his apartment. You know how poorly constructed this condo is, and how sound travels through the hallway. I have heard John Lee crying for the past hour, which is most uncharacteristic. I telephoned Arnold’s home and cellular numbers, but he is not answering. I am considering letting myself into his apartment, but I didn’t want to invade his privacy if-”

  The phone creaked under my clenching fingers. “Invade it! I’ll be there in ten minutes!”

  I hung up and slammed the car into gear.

  Chapter 24

  I made it to Arnie’s condo building in five minutes, thanks to benevolent traffic gods and a reckless disregard for speed limits.

  Flinging myself out of the car, I dashed for the front door and leaned on both Arnie’s and Miss Lacey’s call buttons. The speaker crackled to life with gratifying promptness.

  “Yes?” Miss Lacey’s crisp voice.

  “It’s Aydan. Is he all right?”

  “My dear child, you must have flown here. I was just leaving my apartment to find out. Come in.”

  The lock released and I wrenched the door open to rocket up the stairs. God, nearly six minutes since she’d called. Enough time for a man to die…

  I skidded around the corner just as Miss Lacey looked up from Arnie’s door handle.

  “This looks like blood on the doorknob,” she quavered. “Perhaps we should call the police.”

  “Open it, open it!”

  I gasped for air while she fumbled the key into the lock. Hooker’s demanding meows rose from the other side of the door.

  I sprang inside as soon as the door opened, nearly tripping on Hooker as he bolted out. I slammed my back to the wall, hand on holster, and flung a wild glance around the small apartment.

  Nothing out of order. No sign of an intruder.

  Miss Lacey called to Hooker in the hallway, her voice thin and tremulous.

  Drops of blood on the carpet.

  I crossed the room in a couple of strides. Nobody in the bathroom. A wad of bloodstained gauze on the floor.

  I whirled, my back tingling. Nobody.

  A smear of blood on the wall next to his bedroom door.

&
nbsp; Through the door.

  My heart stopped.

  “Call the police and ambulance!” My voice was so shrill it was unrecognizable.

  “I have.”

  Miss Lacey’s faint reply from the hallway faded into insignificance as I hurled myself toward the bed and its bloodied, terrifyingly still occupant.

  “Arnie! Arnie!” My hands shook so hard I couldn’t hold them on the blood-caked pulse point at his throat.

  He grunted and his eyes fought their way half-open against the swelling that distorted his face.

  I swallowed a sob of relief. “Arnie, what happened?” I did a rapid inventory of the blood-smeared pillow and rough bandage around his head. His T-shirt and jeans were caked with dirt and dried blood, his knuckles swollen and gashed. Purpling bruises showed under the torn fabric of his shirt.

  Afraid to hurt him, I stroked an uninjured place on his arm. “Arnie? Talk to me. What happened?”

  His gaze passed through me without recognition. “Wha…?”

  “What happened, Arnie? Who did this to you?”

  He mumbled something unintelligible, his eyes frighteningly vacant.

  “Arnie!” My voice caught on a sob. “Arnie, wake up and talk to me!”

  His lips moved without sound.

  “Arnie! Come on, Arnie!”

  His hand faltered up to touch my cheek. “Mmm… Mommy?”

  I hadn’t realized I was crying until his torn knuckles smeared the tears across my cheek.

  “Don’ cry, Mommy,” he mumbled. “Gonna… be… ‘kay…”

  The whirl of police and questions was mercifully short, since I had nothing useful to contribute. They were still taking Miss Lacey’s statement when I left to follow in the wake of the ambulance.

  I drove with fierce concentration, my body tensed to numbness and my hands locked on the wheel. Look both ways. Accelerate. Brake. Signal. Turn.

  If I paid attention to every little detail, I wouldn’t have to think about Arnie’s battered face and blank gaze.

  Signal.