I was putting the food away when I noticed a strange man standing in my backyard. He seemed to be looking on the ground for something. My yard was not easily accessible. It had a private alley just for me and was surrounded by high bushes.
I stuck a carrot in my back pocket, just in case, and very quietly made my way to the garage and out into the yard. I stood there, not 150 feet away, and watched as he continued to look around. Eventually, he saw me.
"Oh!" he cried out. "Sorry to trespass." He smiled and walked over to me, his hand held out. I shook it carefully. He was middle-aged and thin as a rail. Pewter gray hair stuck out all over his head as if it was trying to escape. He wore wrinkled khaki pants, dirty work boots, and a worn hoodie. And I'd never seen him before.
"I'm your neighbor." He threw a thumb over his left shoulder. "Thataway, a few blocks. Name's Bob."
"Hello, Bob," I said warily. "Looking for something?"
"Oh, that's Bob with three Bs," he added, smiling again.
Right. Bob with three Bs. Who did that? And was it Bbob or Bobb? It couldn't be Bbob. That looked too much like boob. I decided it must be Bobb.
"I don't think I've ever seen you around here before," I said.
"I work third shift over at the factory," he said, still smiling. Well, that would account for his clothes.
"Which one?" I asked. This town had five major factories. Not that it mattered. I didn't know anyone who worked there. But I just felt he was too vague.
"Greenplow," he said, as he started to walk away. "Well, nice meeting you, Ms. Wrath. See you around." Bobb disappeared before I could ask him how he knew my name. I'd never introduced myself.
I ran through the bushes to the sidewalk, but Bobb with three Bs was gone. I walked a few minutes in every direction, but there was no sign of this "neighbor." And what was he looking for in my yard? Was it Philby? Was my cat his cat? I guessed that could be possible. I felt a little twinge of dismay. I was starting to like the fat cat. Well, okay, I was getting used to him.
As I entered the kitchen, I spotted Philby sitting in the kitchen window. His eyes were narrowed, and he was making some sort of growling sound. Had he seen me out there with Bobb? Maybe he was Bobb's cat. If that was the case, I was pretty sure he didn't care for his master much.
It would be great if Bobb was Lenny's killer. Great and convenient. But in my experience, convenience never happened. And if he was the murderer, it was pretty bold to just march into my yard in broad daylight, even if he was looking for Philby.
And if he was looking for the cat, why? What did he want with the beast? And why just walk away? If he was a baddie, he would've tried to overpower me. But if he knew who I was, he'd probably decided it wasn't worth risking me fighting back.
All those things just pointed to Bobb as a suspect. I should've tackled him. Pinned him down and made him tell me what was going on. Why didn't I do that?
Well, because I wasn't a spy anymore, and it was sort of frowned upon to beat up your neighbors when they popped in to introduce themselves. I wondered if Kelly would know him. She lived at the other end of the block and has been here all her life. I'd have to ask her.
The doorbell rang. "What now?" I grumbled as I opened the door.
Another stranger stood before me, this time a woman in a dark green suit. Her shoulder-length red hair perfectly framed her pretty face. Green eyes smiled at me as she extended a precisely manicured hand.
"Ms. Wrath?" she asked pleasantly. "My name is Juliette Dowd. I'm from the Girl Scout Council. Do you have a moment to talk?" After she shook my hand, she handed me a card with the Council's logo and her name.
I stared at her. As far as I knew, I wasn't expecting anyone from the Council. What was she doing here?
"Sure," I said, trying to dredge up some matching enthusiasm. "Come in." I led her into the kitchen and had her pull up a seat at the breakfast bar. Philby jumped up in front of her and sat there, staring at her as if he was sizing her up.
"Is this your cat?" Juliette cried, clapping her hands together. "Oh! I adore kitties!" She started scratching under Philby's chin, and the traitor immediately started purring like a rusty freight train.
"Oooh! You're a big boy, aren't you?" The woman trilled and cooed, and the cat responded by melting all over the counter. He rolled onto his back and offered up his tummy, which the redhead scratched as she giggled.
It gave me a few moments to size her up. Clearly this woman was administration. She had that charm that hid a layer of passive-aggressive meanness just beneath the surface. This woman was disarmingly attractive, but beneath the manicure were stainless steel claws. I'd had experience with this type before. She reminded me of an IRA agent I once knew who liked blowing up sheep.
"Ms. Wrath," she said as she continued to pet my cat. "I understand you've been with us a little over a year, is that right?" The smile vanished as she reached into her tote bag and pulled out a file. A very thick file. Uh-oh.
"That's right," I said. I didn't offer her anything to drink. Why should I? She was here to let me have it. I was as certain about that as I was that you didn't give Uzbeks matches. Not ever.
Juliette opened the file and looked at me. All of her charm was gone and replaced with a terrifying mask of hostility. I didn't respond. It would only feed her dragon lady need for inducing fear.
"I'm not convinced we did a proper job in vetting you, Ms. Wrath." Her originally melodious voice had turned to sharp, barbed wire. I said nothing.
"It seems to me that there was an incident recently that caused your troop to be used as human shields by terrorists?" She arched one lethal eyebrow.
"That was all covered in my report. The police backed me up on this. The Council cleared me of all blame." I folded my arms over my chest and met her glare with one of my own.
Ms. Juliette Dowd closed the file and leaned back on the stool. "I know that. But I'm not convinced."
"What is your title, Ms. Dowd?" Might as well get to the point. She wasn't the CEO—I'd met her a couple of months ago when we went over all this. She wasn't the Council's attorney either. I'd met him at the same time. So I wasn't entirely sure this woman had a reason for a witch-hunt.
"I'm the county membership coordinator, Ms. Wrath." Juliette's eyes narrowed to angry little slits. "And I don't like you. I don't like your file. I don't like that I have no information about you before one year ago."
This woman should've chosen a profession in the IRS or CIA.
"That's too bad. Can I show you out?" I asked as I gripped her elbow and moved her toward the door.
She didn't struggle. "Fine. For now." She shoved the file into her bag as I opened the door for her. "But this isn't over. When I'm done, you'll wish you'd never volunteered!" She was spitting like a wildcat now.
"Too late," I said as I slammed the door in her face. I turned around and ran smack into Riley. He grabbed my arms to steady me as I wobbled.
"What the hell, Riley?" I shouted. For a second, my eyes caught his and I felt that little tug of attraction I'd once felt for him and his surfer good looks.
Riley smiled. "So, who's the hot redhead?" he asked.
I was furious. "Not your type, I'm afraid. She's out to get me."
"What?" My former boss frowned. "They've found you already? Who does she work for?" He reached for his cell and went to look out the front window.
I toyed with letting him feel all protective and stuff. But I didn't want him for one minute to think that woman could get the jump on me.
"Relax. She's with the Girl Scouts. I can handle her."
Riley frowned and put his cell back in his pocket. "I thought you were cleared."
I nodded. "I was. She has no authority. This seems to be something more personal. I don't know how, but she clearly hates me and wants me out of scouting."
He shrugged. "Would that be a bad thing?"
I glared at him. "It's the only thing in my life right now that I enjoy."
Riley held out his hands defensi
vely, "Okay, okay. I get it."
"Come on." I motioned for him to follow me. "Let me make you a salad."
CHAPTER SIX
"What's in this?" Riley made another face that looked like he was being tortured with a dirty spork.
I swallowed a mouthful of ravioli. "What? It's a salad. I thought you liked salad."
He picked around the plate with his fork. "Are those rutabagas? And radishes?" He looked up at me. "Are you trying to kill me?"
"No. Why? Is it working?" I asked.
"It's bitter and super spicy." He speared a red pepper. "And the dressing makes it worse."
I shrugged. "I thought that's what you wanted?" I dumped a bunch of processed cheese on top of my pasta and kept eating.
Riley put his fork down and slid the plate away. I couldn't help but notice him eyeing my food as his stomach rumbled.
"Just so you know, the local police are turning the Lenny case over to us. They don't want to work with the Feds on this," Riley said.
"So the agency is handling everything? Well that's good news." Now we controlled the story and access. "Have you talked to the prison yet?"
"I was getting to that." Riley gave me a look. Uh-oh. "Lenny had a visitor last week. Want to take a guess at who it was?"
"Not really." I answered, swallowing a lump of ravioli that had lodged in my throat.
"Merrygold Wrath," Riley said. "He had one visitor named Merrygold Wrath."
"Well, obviously, it wasn't me," I said. "I was here all last week. I'm here every week. Last trip I had out of town was with you to Chicago to dump Midori's body."
Riley's lips became a tight line. "About that…"
"They found her?" I wasn't too surprised. It was only a matter of time before the body turned up. Three months seemed right. We'd hidden the dead Yakuza leader in the woods behind the Dumpster at an Asian food market. Her appearance, dead in my kitchen, was the only loose end we hadn't wrapped up from the last adventure.
He nodded. "They aren't looking at us. They think someone in organized crime in Chicago did it. We're off the radar."
I relaxed a little. "Which still doesn't explain what she was doing here."
"At this point," Riley said, "I don't care about that. What I do care about is how an inept, former spy escaped from a supermax prison and ended up at the home of a former agent of ours, who lives deep undercover, and who visited him using her cover name last week."
"I didn't visit him." I was starting to get mad. "You don't believe me?" I'd once been attracted to Riley. But his lack of trust was tarnishing that appeal somewhat.
"I believe you," he said with a sigh. "They're sending me the video footage of your visit. That should prove it isn't you." He gave me a look that said, It had better prove it wasn't you. "But I'm worried that we need to relocate you to another place with another persona."
I shook my head. "No way. I bleached my hair, changed my name, and am wearing different-colored contact lenses. I'm not going through that again. Besides, I have a life I like here." And I did. Kelly, my best friend, lived here. I also had my Girl Scouts and my boyfriend, Rex.
"I can't make you," Riley said. "You don't work for the CIA anymore. But I think you should consider it. It may not be safe here anymore." He sounded a little concerned for me. That softened me up more than I'd have liked it to.
"That's right. I don't work for the agency anymore. I'm staying here."
Riley looked at me for a moment, with a glimmer of defeat in his eyes. "Okay, but you have to keep me apprised on everything. I'm going to run background checks on everyone from that woman who was just here to Dr. Rye."
"The veterinarian? Are you kidding?" I choked on my drink. "I think it's safe to say he's harmless. Although I don't mind you dealing with the Council's dragon lady."
"Anyone you come into contact with—I want to know about," Riley said firmly. Apparently, he wasn't taking no for an answer.
I remembered something. "Bobb!" Philby jumped up on the counter and began hissing at me.
"Bob? Who's Bob?" Riley asked, his eyes on the cat, who hissed again at the name's mention. Twice. And on the second Bob, spit flew. I kind of hoped it was acid spit that would dissolve the counter top. Sadly, it didn't.
"With three Bs." I nodded. Philby did nothing. He didn't even try to spit acid. Lazy cat.
Riley turned wide eyes on me. "Did you say 'Bob with three Bs'?" Philby hissed again, this time with no spit. He was probably running dry.
I nodded. "Showed up in my backyard just before you got back. He said he was a neighbor, but I've never seen him before. He also knew my name and seemed to be looking for something."
Philby eyed us warily as if waiting for us to say the name again. I didn't, because quite frankly, the cat looked exhausted from all that exertion. I should probably put him on a diet. Maybe he'd eat Riley's salad?
"And you went out there and confronted him?" Riley looked pissed. "Dammit, Wrath! You can't go anywhere unarmed from here on out!"
"I was armed," I snapped. "And I'm not an idiot! I stayed out of reach." How dare he not trust me! Why did he put me alone in such dangerous circumstances all those years?
"What, you took a knife from the kitchen?" Riley's curiosity bested him.
"Sort of…" I answered, starting to regret bringing it up. "I had a carrot."
"A carrot? Like the vegetable?" Riley's eyes grew wide.
I tilted my chin in defiance. "It was a very pointy carrot."
Riley threw up his hands in defeat. There was something he wasn't telling me.
"You know him. You know Bobb," I challenged.
Philby hissed so hard he fell over on his side. He looked like a giant, furry tick, wriggling on his side in an attempt to get to his useless feet. I reached over and helped the panting cat. He shot me a look and jumped down off the breakfast bar.
"Yes," Riley nodded. "I know him." He pulled out his cell and dialed.
"Who is he?" I asked.
My former boss covered the phone with his hand. "He's an assassin. And not on our side."
CHAPTER SEVEN
I'd tell you that not much ever happened in Who's There, Iowa, but lately that would be a lie. This small city of 10,000 odd (and I mean odd) people was only interesting because of its name. Back in the 1950s, the game show Truth or Consequences announced a prize for the first city to change their name. A town in New Mexico beat Peterstown, Iowa to it. So the city officials decided to make their own good fortune by naming themselves after another TV show, Who's There?, in hopes that the game show would shower us with honors. Unfortunately, the game show got cancelled instead (and had shown no interest whatsoever, anyway), and our name stuck. Most of us just called it WT, and you'd be hard pressed to find anyone who remembered why we even had this stupid name.
When I'd grown up here, I thought the place was the most boring town on Earth, and I couldn't wait to leave to explore the world. And my prayers had been answered when the CIA recruited me in my senior year of college. I went from the dorm to training at The Farm—the agency's secret training facility. I was in the field for years with Riley as my handler, and I saw enough action to know that it was overrated.
By the time I came back home, I appreciated Who's There for what it was—the perfect place to figure out just what I wanted to do with the rest of my life. So far, I hadn't come up with anything but a modestly quiet arrangement that suited me, until a few months ago when my old and new life overlapped. I thought everything except for Midori was wrapped up. I was wrong.
So, Bobb was an assassin for the other side. Well, there wasn't just one "other side." I guess that technically, if you think about it, there are several "other sides," including the obvious Russians, Chinese, and Yemenis, to the more obscure Basques, Nepalis, and let's not forget the Irish (never forget the Irish). The list goes on and on. And Bobb worked for one of them.
I thought about the man I'd seen in the backyard. He seemed so…so…American. He looked like an average, middle-aged white
guy, and he had the Midwestern twang down perfectly. If he was from one of the other sides, he was very, very good.
"Octopussy," Riley said into his cell phone before hanging up and gathering up the cat. He took me by the arm and led me to his rented SUV. I went only because I was curious why he was using a codeword. And why Octopussy? That was a terrible James Bond movie. And what self-respecting female spy would go by such a stupid, demeaning name? And why put the word "octopus" with the word "pussy"? Did it mean she had a vagina with eight arms and suction cups? Ian Fleming had some twisted fantasies.
I still said nothing as we drove across town to a yarn shop. A yarn shop? I really had to see where he was going with this, because unless he was going to knit me a safe house, I wasn't sure why we were here.
Riley parked the car then hefted Philby as he opened the door to All About Ewe and motioned for me to follow. Inside, the walls were covered with bookcases filled with every color of yarn imaginable. A cute, 20-something chick with a severe black pageboy haircut nodded and led us to the back of the shop. She pulled on a bookcase and it opened, revealing a secret room. She closed the case behind us.
"You have a safe house?" I raged, my anger punching my curiosity in the face. "Here? In my town? And you never told me? What the hell?"
The room was 15 feet by 15 feet with a couch, table with two chairs, a huge flat-screen TV, a desk with a computer, a fridge and microwave, and a double bed in the corner. There were no windows, but I did have a bathroom. There was only one way in—the way we came. It was comfortable with soft green walls and hardwood floors. But obviously this was a prison. For me.
"You built a lockdown? You planned to use this all along!" I shouted as Riley set Philby on the bed. The cat yawned and stretched and fell asleep. The traitor.
"I'm not staying here," I said, folding my arms over my chest.
Riley arched one eyebrow. "Yes, you are. I'll stay at your place. I'll bring Philby's things over."
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