Never Say Spy (4 page)

“What’s in these other bags?” he asked.

“Oh, just my winter survival gear,” I responded, glancing at their familiar lumpy bulk.  “I always take it when I’m driving the highway.  You know how fast the weather can change around here in March.”

As I eyed the bags, a dark spot on one of them caught my eye.  No, it was a hole.

“Oh, no,” I said as I reached in before Kane could stop me.  I gazed up at him.  “You killed my sleeping bag.”

When we got into the battered Suburban, Webb offered me the front passenger seat while he got in behind.  I’d noticed a couple of bullet holes in the driver’s side of the truck, but apparently nothing vital had been hit.  Kane pulled smoothly into traffic and we headed north.

I devoured my sandwich while Kane drove in silence and Webb chattered incessantly from the rear seat.  In short order, I discovered he had two older sisters, still lived with his parents, had a computer science degree, and was a fan of World of Warcraft and Star Trek.

“You like the new Star Trek best, I suppose?” I asked.

“No, I love them all.  The original ones are the best,” he enthused.  “Besides, you can’t get all the in-jokes in the new movie unless you’ve seen the originals.”

“I can’t believe you’re into a show that started, what, twenty years before you were born?”

“I’m a serious movie and TV buff,” he replied proudly.  “I watch everything.”

We spent the rest of the short drive debating the merits of the latest Star Trek movie.  When we arrived at our destination, Webb grew increasingly subdued while we waited for the medical examiner in the reception area.  When the examiner arrived and we began the walk down the long hallway, silence reigned.

I swallowed nervousness.  Death didn’t disturb me and I’d never been squeamish, but I hoped I didn’t throw up or pass out.  That would be an embarrassing show of weakness.

The medical examiner led us into a room containing a drape-covered gurney.  Kane glanced at Webb’s pale face.

“You stand over here by the door,” he said.  “I’ve already got your puke on my pants; I don’t need any more of it.”

I glanced reflexively at Kane’s legs, and sure enough, there was a splatter on his right shoe and pant leg.  I averted my eyes.  Didn’t need to see that just now.

Kane took me gently by the arm and the medical examiner led us to the gurney.  “Ready?” he asked.

I nodded, and the examiner lifted the sheet away from the dead man’s face.

Clearly, Kane was an excellent marksman.  There was a neat dark hole in the forehead.  There was very little blood on the face, but I was glad I couldn’t see the back of the head.  I’d seen what a .22 bullet would do to a two-by-four as it went through.  Tiny entry hole, total devastation on exit.  Kane had said his gun was a .40 calibre.  I really didn’t want to see the exit wound.

Holding onto composure, I concentrated on the face, trying to see it as it would have been in life.  I’d only seen Beefcake for a short time, and I hadn’t been paying much attention to his face.  And death changes even your dearest loved ones into remote strangers.

“I’m pretty sure it’s the same guy,” I said as I turned away from the table.

Kane’s hand was still under my elbow.  He came around in front of me without letting go of my arm and looked down into my face.  “Are you all right?  Do you need to sit down?”

I shook my head.  “I’m fine,” I lied.

A tremulous voice floated from the vicinity of the doorway.  “I think... I might need to sit down.”

We turned to see Webb propped against the wall.   His pale face had taken on an unflattering greenish cast, tastefully highlighted with a sheen of sweat.

Kane let go of me and grabbed a handful of Spider’s shirt, lifting and swivelling him into a chair.  He shoved Webb’s head down between his bony knees and held him in place with a hand on the back of the young man’s neck.

“Breathe,” Kane said.  “Slow and easy.  That’s it.”

I turned to the medical examiner, who had by now mercifully covered the damaged face on the gurney.  “Could we get him a glass of water?”

He nodded and wheeled the gurney out of the room.  By the time he returned a minute or two later, Webb was sitting up again, and he sipped shakily at the water.

“Are you going to be okay now?” I asked, and he nodded and rose tentatively from the chair.  I noticed Kane didn’t put a hand out to steady him.  I guessed it was a guy thing.  Besides, Kane had moved remarkably fast for such a big man.  He could probably catch Webb before he hit the ground if necessary.

It seemed Spider was sufficiently recovered, though, and we proceeded uneventfully back to the reception area.  When we arrived, Kane sprawled into one of the chairs in the deserted room, indicating with a wave of his hand that we should do the same.  Webb and I sank into chairs of our own.

“Let’s talk this back,” Kane said, and I wondered if he was being considerate, tactfully allowing us to recover without fuss, or whether this was just for his own convenience.

Kane turned to me.  “You’re reasonably sure this is the same man you saw in Silverside.”

“Yes.”

“How could you... How could you just
look
at him like that?” Spider burst out, apparently still reliving the grisly vision.  “Like he was a... a... piece of meat in the supermarket.”

“He
is
just a piece of meat now,” I replied as gently as I could.  “There’s nobody left inside.  Whoever he was, he isn’t in there anymore.  Besides,” I added, mostly to myself, “It’s not the worst thing I ever saw.”

The memory of tortured screams echoed again in my mind.  I shook my head slightly and banished the ghost with the competence of long practice.

Returning to the present, I realized something must have shown on my face.  Webb was staring at me, and Kane was frowning subtly.  Why the hell had I said that out loud?

Kane apparently decided to let it go.  “So when you saw Ramos in Silverside, was that the first time you’d ever seen him?”

“Yes.”

“So Ramos sees you, once, in Silverside, on Thursday.  Instead of tracking you down in Silverside, where he saw you, he travels two hours to Calgary to stake out an empty house with a For Sale sign on it.”

I shrugged.  “I don’t get it either.  First, how would he know who I was, and second, if he did know who I was, why would he come to Calgary instead of Silverside, and third, why the heck would he want to find me anyway?”

I could think of one reason, but I was pretty sure that hadn’t been lust in his eyes.

“Oh, and fourth,” I added.  “How did he know I was going to show up at an empty house at all?”

“That one’s easy,” Kane replied.  “See a For Sale sign, call a realtor.”

“That makes sense.”  I sat up straighter.  “My realtor called me and said she had a hot prospect who wanted to meet me in person.  We both thought it was unusual, but she set up the appointment – and then the guy never showed.”

“He showed, all right,” Kane said.  “You just didn’t see him until it was too late.”

Webb chimed in, “But it still doesn’t make sense to lure you down here.  Unless... he was planning to kidnap you and take you somewhere in Calgary.”

My skin crawled at the thought.  “Maybe he was just some nutso stalker, and it has nothing to do with your case at all,” I said.  “But that still doesn’t explain why he would lure me here instead of just snatching me in Silverside.  And anyway, that brings us back to... how did he find out who I am?”

“Think back,” Kane urged.  “Was your name ever mentioned in his presence?  Could he have asked somebody your name and looked you up?  You said you hadn’t completed all your address changes yet.”

That rang a faint bell.  I sat still, trying to sneak up on the thought.  Who had I discussed address changes with recently?

“No.  Crap.  Not that I can think of.  The only place I’ve given my name and address recently was at the Silverside Hospital, and they wouldn’t give that record out to anybody.”

“You saw Ramos for the first time around twelve thirty on Thursday.  You were admitted to the hospital on Thursday afternoon, correct?”

I nodded and Kane continued his analysis.  “Ramos must have discovered your name and address sometime between Thursday afternoon and early Friday morning, because he left Silverside around eight AM Friday morning.  That’s when we started following him.”  He shook his head.  “The hospital records are still the most likely source of his information.  Records confidentiality wouldn’t stop a spy.”

“Oh!”  I bolted upright.  Kane and Webb both sat up fast.

“What?” Kane snapped.

“You’re right, it had to be the hospital records!  I just remembered the Silverside hospital had my Calgary address.  They took it off my driver’s license, and I forgot to tell them it had changed.”

Kane relaxed back into his chair.  “Okay, so now we know when and how.  Which leaves us with why.  Think.  Did he do or say anything to give you a clue?”

My guilty conscience twinged again.  I hate lying.  The few times I’ve told white lies, the consequences turned out to be worse than if I’d told the awkward truth in the first place.

Well, too late now.  I took a deep breath.

“Like I said earlier, I was pretty confused.  It might help to talk to the paramedic who attended me, though.  Maybe he saw or heard something.”

Or more likely, he’d look at me like I was crazy and ask what man I was talking about.

“Do you know the name of the paramedic?” Kane asked.

“No, I haven’t got a clue, but he shouldn’t be hard to track down in a town that size.  I’d like to talk to him, too.  Just to find out what really happened.”

Kane eyed me, apparently considering.  “I think that’s a good idea.  Can you be ready to leave for Silverside tomorrow morning?  Your car won’t be released yet, but we’re going up anyway, so you can ride with us.”

“Okay, that sounds fine,” I lied again.

Two hours of driving, cooped up in a car with strangers.  Not fine.

“We’ll pick you up at your house at nine o’clock tomorrow morning.  If you think of anything else in the mean time, please give me a call.”  He scribbled a phone number on one of his notebook pages and tore it out to hand it to me.

“Um... do you think I should be concerned about staying at the house tonight?”

Kane regarded me solemnly.  “If you feel uncomfortable, by all means go and stay with a friend, or have someone stay with you.  If you see or hear anything that makes you nervous, call the city police non-emergency line, and if you feel you’re in danger, call 911 immediately.  Don’t hesitate.  Better to have a false alarm than to not call in something potentially serious.”

“Okay, thanks,” I replied, not significantly reassured.  He hadn’t exactly answered my question.

“One more thing,” he added.  “Since we’re not sure whether there’s a connection between our investigation and your run-in with Ramos, please don’t mention details to anyone.  If you have to discuss it, you can tell people that you were carjacked and the police are working on it, but leave out any mention of INSET and spies.”

I shuddered.  I didn’t even want to think about INSET and spies.

I willed myself not to shriek and lunge for the wheel when the cab driver turned yet again to make eye contact with me in the back seat, waving both hands and driving with his knee while he delivered a philosophical monologue.

By the time I stumbled out of the taxi and paid the driver to go away, it was all I could do not to collapse into a blob of quivering jelly in my driveway.

The wound in my leg throbbed, my head seemed trapped in a slowly-tightening vise, and every single muscle I owned ached.  In fact, I was willing to swear I had brand-new, previously-undiscovered muscles that were also aching.

I dragged myself up the front steps and let myself in the door, automatically going to the security panel.  I had almost finished punching in my code before I realized the panel wasn’t beeping with my keystrokes, and all the lights were dark.

Dead.

“Noooooooo,” I whined.

I shuffled to the phone, half-expecting no dial tone, but it buzzed reassuringly when I picked up the receiver.  I paced while the security company’s on-hold music abraded my already-raw nerves.

Dammit, could this day get any worse?  First some wacko tries to abduct me at gunpoint and then my security system mysteriously packs it in.  By the time the dispatcher answered, I had switched to yoga belly breathing, willing calm.

“When can you have someone come out and look at this?” I asked anxiously after explaining the situation.

“Our techs go off duty at six o’clock.”

I glanced at my watch.  Seven-ten.  Shit.

“We could have someone there at nine o’clock tomorrow morning.”

“I’m leaving at nine o’clock tomorrow morning.  I really need this fixed now.  Is there anybody there who can help me?” I begged.

“‘We’ll do the best we can for you tomorrow morning,” he assured me.  “But we just don’t have anyone available now.”

Translation:  You are completely hooped.

I said goodbye and hung up in despair.  Maybe I should go to a hotel.

But even a cheap hotel by Calgary standards would strain my budget.  I could stay with a friend, as Kane had suggested, but the thought of all the explanations and exclamations made my head ache even more fiercely.  I’d had more than enough human contact for one day.

I jittered back and forth in the echoing living room.  With the walkout basement and three glass-panelled exterior doors on two levels, the place was a security nightmare.  I didn’t even have my crowbar with me.  I wouldn’t sleep a wink without some kind of warning system.

I blew out a long sigh and locked the door behind me before forcing my protesting muscles into a semblance of a brisk walk to the nearby dollar store.

Characteristically, I realized as I arrived that I was still wearing my bloodstained jeans and sneakers.  I endured looks that ranged from curiosity to alarm, and bought tape, string, pins, and some cheap tins.

Trudging back into the house, I set up a booby trap inside each exterior door, feeling foolish.  On the latch side, I stuck a pin between the trim board and the wall.  I taped several tins onto the end of a short length of string and tied the free end of the string to the doorknob.  Supported only by the sagging pin, the tins would slide off and clatter against the door at the slightest movement.  I hoped it would be enough to wake me.

As I considered it, I threw in a hope that the pin wouldn’t let go on its own in the middle of the night.  I’d probably have a heart attack if it did.

I double-checked all the deadbolts on the doors and windows before stiffly climbing the stairs to the master bedroom.  It had a privacy lock on the door, so I locked that behind me.  It wouldn’t stop anybody, but it might buy me a few seconds in a pinch.

Lying in bed, my eyes refused to close despite my best relaxation exercises.  At last, I blew out a tense breath and rolled off the bed to get dressed again.  After a few moments of thought, I removed the window screen and disengaged the crank mechanism, just in case I needed to make a quick exit.

I gazed down at the long drop to the back yard.  If I had to go out the window, I’d have to be careful to go over the tiny section of roof that projected out from the bay window directly below me.  It slanted toward the deck, so it was only an eight-foot drop.  I thought it would be doable if I slithered over and clung to the rain gutter to break my fall.

I felt increasingly ridiculous as I made my elaborate plans, but hell, I’m a bookkeeper.  We get anal about details.

I rehearsed my plan while I changed into my black yoga pants and a T-shirt and pulled my baggy navy blue hooded sweatshirt over top.  I surveyed my bloodstained jeans and shoe irritably.  I needed the shoe.  At least it wasn’t squishy anymore.  The jeans were ruined.  Dammit, that was exactly why I wore crappy clothes most of the time.

Granted, I didn’t usually ruin my good clothes by getting shot and bleeding all over them.  That was a first.

I threw the jeans in the garbage and put the shoes back on with clean socks underneath.  It wouldn’t be the most comfortable sleep I ever had, but if I had to run or fight, I’d be ready.

“This is stupid!” I said aloud.  “Why didn’t I just go to a hotel?”

Nobody supplied any useful answer, so I sighed and lay down again.

The faint clanking of tin woke me from a fitful doze.  I was wide awake and rolling off the bed before the sound ceased.  I snatched up my backpack and dove for the window, my stiffened muscles screaming in protest.

As I lunged out the window onto the roof, heavy footsteps pounded across the floor below me.  Slinging my pack on my back, I flopped onto my stomach and slid feet first over the edge of the roof.  As I slithered by, I caught the rain gutter with a wild one-handed grab, throwing myself completely off balance.  With a wrenching squeal, the eavestrough pulled loose from the house.  I dropped onto the deck below and landed hard on one foot before falling on my butt.

“Shit, shit, shit!”

I scrambled up and dashed across the deck.  Frantically blessing my long legs, I hopped over the deck railing onto the shed roof, then down onto the top rail of the fence.  I dropped to the ground and scuttled across the front of my neighbour’s house, concealed by her tall hedge.

As I turned the corner, the sound of my outside door opening triggered a fresh burst of fear.  I cut across the neighbouring tree-filled yard as stealthily as I could on shaking legs, trying to stifle my panting.

In the corner of the yard, I hoisted myself over the back fence and into the unlit strip of parkland that wound through the neighbourhood.  I flew along the path, heart hammering, and dodged around the first turn.  Trying to pant silently, I flattened myself against someone’s back fence to listen for sounds of pursuit.

Nothing.

Squatting down in the deepest puddle of shadow near some shrubs, I pulled my cell phone from my backpack to dial 911, my shaking fingers fumbling at the tiny buttons.  When the display illuminated, I discovered a serious flaw in my planning.  My cell phone battery was almost dead.

Dammit!

As soon as the police dispatcher answered, I babbled my address and told him that someone had broken in.

“Get out of the house!” the dispatcher barked.  “Get out immediately!”

“I’m already out of the house,” I whispered.  “I’m calling from my cell phone, and the battery is about to die.”

“Stay with me on your cell phone,” he commanded.  “Go to a neighbour’s house and call me from a land line as soon as you get there.”

I was about to agree when it occurred to me that if I was being stalked by spies and/or nutcases, there was no way I wanted to involve some innocent bystander.  And I had to talk to Officer Kane before I talked to the city police.

And the thought of getting cornered inside a strange house made my skin crawl.

“I can’t do that.”  My voice shook with the beat of my heart.  “I’ll wait until I hear the police sirens, and then I’ll go back to my house.”

The dispatcher argued forcefully and tried to keep me on the line, but I remained adamant, told him my battery was dying, and hung up.  I spared the poor man a pang of guilty sympathy as I imagined him cursing my idiocy, but I didn’t feel guilty enough to obey.

Straining my ears and scanning warily, I still couldn’t detect anyone trailing me, but I moved on anyway, vibrating with tension.

I hugged the fence and shrubbery, getting further away from my original location.  Still no police sirens.  I hunkered down behind some bushes and brought up Kane’s number.

God, please let it be a manned message centre, and please let somebody be there at... I squinted at my phone’s display.  Shit, three o’clock in the morning.

The phone rang once before a deep voice snapped, “Kane.”

Oops.  I hadn’t realized it was his personal number.  He sounded alert, but judging by the raspy edge to his baritone, the phone had awakened him.

Any other time I would have taken a moment to appreciate that sexy bedroom voice.  Hell, who was I kidding?  I appreciated it anyway. You know it’s time to get laid when you start calling guys at three o’clock in the morning just to hear a husky voice.

I herded my strung-out brain back to the situation at hand.  “Officer Kane, it’s Aydan Kelly calling.  I’m so sorry to bother you at this time of night.  But somebody has broken into my house and-”

“Get out of the house!” Kane interrupted.  “Get out now!  Go!”

“That was the first thing I did,” I reassured him.  “I’m on my cell phone.”

“Hang up and call 911.”

“Already did that, too.  The police should be on their way to my house now.”  I heard a surge of noise in the background at Kane’s end, and realized that he had turned on a police scanner to track their progress.

“Go to the nearest house and knock on the door.  Tell them you have an emergency, and call the 911 dispatcher on their land line.”

“I don’t want to do that,” I argued.  “If this is related to the carjacking this afternoon and you say this guy, what’s-his-name, Ramos, was a spy, then I could be putting innocent people in danger if I go to their house in the middle of the night.”

I didn’t add that I felt safer outside where I could run.  Claustrophobia isn’t exactly a logical argument.

“If you stay on the street, you’re a sitting duck,” he snapped.  “Go to a house, now!”

“That’s not going to happen, Officer Kane.  I told the 911 operator I’d meet the police at my house.  My battery is about to die, so that’s what I’m going to do.”

“No!  Do not approach your house!  Dammit!”  I heard him take a deep breath.  When he spoke again, his voice was even.  “If you go near your house, you’re in danger if the intruder is still in the vicinity, and you’re making the officers’ jobs much more difficult.  Also, if we’re dealing with organized criminals, they could be listening in on your call or using your cell phone signal to track you.”

A wave of dread washed over me.  I peered wildly into the darkness, straining my eyes and ears.

“If you won’t go to a neighbour’s house,” he paused hopefully, and when I didn’t respond, he continued, “I want you to listen to my instructions, and then leave your phone where you are.  Meet me... where you ran through the spider web.  Got it?”

My mind raced.  Spider web?  What?

Spider.  Web.

Oh!  Spider Webb.  Where I ran through the Spider Webb.  That would be the back of the coffee shop.

“Got it.”

“Turn off your phone.  Throw it away.  Run.  Do it now!”

“Roger that,” I said smartly.  I turned off the phone, pitched it under a bush, and ran down the path as quietly as I could.