Spy Games (10 page)

V! Damn. Instinctively, I scanned the street for him. All was silent. No sign of him. I slunk through the shadows, gun at the ready, looking for him in the stone stark silent dark. Eerie movement crowded around me. Van on the move? I couldn’t catch it outright.

A flutter. A wisp of air movement. A footfall. My heart beat so fast I thought it was going to burst right out of my body. The gun trembled in my hands. I had to get off the street and compose myself.

Something moved overhead. I swung, shot, and screamed like a horror movie extra when a flutter erupted. A pigeon squealed. A bird! A stupid bird. In the FSC building. A stool pigeon!

I ran without thinking. Someone ran right along with me. Why didn’t he just shoot me? I stopped. The stalker stopped.

“V?”

No answer.

“V, come out, come out, wherever you are, and let’s have this out right here.” I looked around the gloom, panicking. “Shootout in the FSC corral, how does that sound to you?” I whispered into the manic dark.

No one answered. I heard breathing. I swung my Airsoft around, ready to shoot. “Come out, you coward, and face me like a man.”

More movement. Someone was circling me. I looked around frantically and ran. Ran for all I was worth with my heart racing.

At the end of the street, I tucked into the corner grocery without first scanning the perimeter. Heartbeat banging in my ears, I stopped just for a second to catch my breath and get my bearings.

Without warning, I felt the barrel of an Airsoft pressed against my back.

The store windows were papered over haphazardly, letting small, dim slivers of light in between the seams. Inside was dark. I could barely see feet in front of me. Van’s delicious aftershave gave him away.

I took a deep breath, some of my fear melting away, but not my competitive spirit. “You wouldn’t shoot me at point-blank range.”

“Wouldn’t I?”

“No.”

“Drop your weapon.”

“Gladly.” I tossed it away and spun around. I pushed his rifle away, put my hands on either side of his face, pulled him to me, and kissed him right there in front of the checkout stand, the front display window, and the godlike voice if War cared to use it. Open-mouthed. Full tongue. Full throttle. With complete abandon.

“R…baby.”

I kissed his words away.

He clasped me tightly to him, his package hard against me, his Airsoft pressed into my back, his free hand cupping my butt. This was better than basketball flirting.

“Gotta love a man with a gun,” I whispered, running my fingers through his hair. I kissed him again.

We kissed each other until our breaths came in ragged gasps. I stroked his face, his hair, his shoulders, his chest. I slid my hands beneath his camo jacket and ran my hands up his back.

When we reached the part where it was time to start ripping clothes off for real, he pulled away and stared at me. “What was that about?”

I ignored his meaning. “Disarming you.”

“Am I missing something?” he said, looking over my shoulder with an exaggerated gesture. “I still have a gun at your back. You may be disarming, but I’m not disarmed.”

“I stopped you from shooting me. You can’t pull the trigger from this angle.”

“Momentarily.” In one dizzying move, he grabbed my arm, spun me from him, and pressed his gun against my chest.

“You wouldn’t dare.” I looked him right in the eye, stunned by how quickly he’d gotten the jump on me again.

“Your self-defense plan is to use your sex appeal?” His eyes were twinkling and lusty in the light reflected from the street. “Boy am I glad you ran into me.”

I smiled, still breathing hard from his kiss. “Why not? Jim was using coffee. As War says, ‘use what you’ve got at hand.’” I tried to shake my arm free. He tightened his grip.

He looked puzzled by the coffee bit. “Jim was throwing coffee at people?”

“No. Offering them a cup to drink. Come on. You were there watching me. You saw it.”

“No, I wasn’t. I didn’t.”

“Come on. Fess up.” I stared back at him, dumbfounded he’d lie at this point. “You had to be. It couldn’t have been anyone else.”

He shook his head, no, unconcerned, and probably thinking I was flighty. “Back to the kissing. What if it doesn’t work?”

“All the way to third base,” I said with conviction, still puzzled.

“But not home?”

“Not home. Absolutely not home.” Maybe I’d been wrong. Maybe nobody was watching. I raised a brow. “What kind of a girl do you think I am?”

“Given that show?” When he grinned, I gave his shoulder a playful shove.

“Not even if your life is really threatened?”

“Well…” I tried to look like I was giving it some thought.

“If I startled you and made threatening noises, could I get to third?”

Threatening was Ket’s MO. I shivered and paled, the moment ruined. Sudden Ket-inspired panic attacks inexplicably struck at odd times. I hated them. And him. “No, never threaten. Never.” My voice came out shaky and uneven.

“R, I’m sorry.” Van looked stricken. “That went too far. I’m a jerk.”

“Don’t apologize. I knew you were teasing. It’s just…” I took a deep breath and stroked his arm. “It’s me, not you.” I changed the subject. “How did you get into the store so fast?”

“What do you mean?”

“I thought you were circling me out there. Stalking. Someone was. Why didn’t you shoot me? Or come out when I called?”

“Circling you?” He frowned. “I was down the street from you the whole time. Watching you make your way here. When I saw you running this way, I ducked in here.”

“No, you were out there.” I pointed to the street. “You had to be! Someone was following me. The whole way.” I started shaking again.

“Probably that pigeon that flushed you out earlier. Revenge of the killer pigeon.” He laughed.

I didn’t. “I’m serious. Someone, probably foul, but definitely not fowl, was following me.”

“R,” he said, clearly not liking the implication in my voice. “Ket’s not here.”

“I hope to God you’re right,” I said, trying to buck up, but not able to shake the feeling of being watched and quietly stalked.

“You’re worried he saw that kiss?” he said playfully. “Don’t be. Even if he were here, which he isn’t, he’d have to be a bat to have seen.”

“Don’t put it past him. Ket has many batlike qualities—he’s dark, he’s creepy, he gets in everywhere, and he’s been known to swoop down on me out of nowhere.” I paused. “You’re right. Armed as we are with our high-powered Airsofts, we’re perfectly safe. If he comes at us, we’ll pellet him to death. We can always hope he has a plastic allergy I’m not aware of.” I tried to sound light.

“That’s the spirit,” Van said.

“Just watch your backside,” I said. “He doesn’t fight fair.”

“Why do I suddenly feel like Van Helsing?” he asked. “On guard against a sinister bat-type villain.”

“I have no idea,” I said, teasing him. “Vivid imagination?” I looked him over in the dark. “I like Van Helsing. He’s hot.”

“Van Helsing’s hot?”

“The way Hugh Jackman plays him, yes.”

“I could play him that way.”

I smiled, feeling better at the thought of Van as a superhuman monster killer. “I’d like that.”

“You like me,” Van said. I could feel him smile.

“Maybe, math man.”

We were interrupted by War making an announcement. “The remaining two CTs are in the store. Make a move one of you and get it done!”

“I’m all for getting it done.” Van gave me a suggestive look.

I blushed and ignored his innuendo. “Okay, what do we do now?”

“About what?”

“About us killing each other.”

Van shrugged.

“I already have one ‘I’ve been spied’ shirt. You want one?” I struck a dramatic pose and spread out my arms. “Take me, I’m yours.”

He raised a brow and grinned at me. “Gladly, but not with a gun.” He motioned to my rifle on the floor. “Get your weapon. I’ll give you to the count of ten and the game is on. Full bore. No holds barred.”

I nodded. “You’re on.”

“One…”

The mock corner grocery store was complete with shelves stocked with goods. I grabbed my rifle and headed down the diaper, feminine protection aisle. It took a brave man to venture into that territory. Pelt Van with a few packs of sanitary pads and I’d have him on the ropes. I glanced back over my shoulder.

He was at the front of the store. The first thing he’d do was scan down the aisles for me. I had to hide at the back of the store between aisles. Halfway down the aisle, I picked up on an odor. The store smelled vaguely like a meat counter gone bad. Or blood. But that was crazy. I kept going, trying to keep my boots silent on the vinyl floor.

I spotted a cardboard display near the end of the aisle. I decided it would make a good blind. If I hid behind it, I could surprise Van as he came around the corner looking for me, and maybe get a decent shot off.

But the farther I walked down the row, the more obnoxious the odor became, morphing from meat to bad body odor, like a stale gym after the big game. I gagged and considered turning back.

“…nine, ten! Ready or not, here I come,” Van called out.

No time! I swung around the display, misjudged the distance, and caught my toe on the corner of it. As I stumbled, I slid on something slick on the floor.

I grabbed the display in an attempt to right myself, bumping the goods. A can of something, probably baby formula, rattled and toppled off. I dodged it and cringed as I waited for the clatter that would give me away.

Only the clatter never came. The can landed with a dull thud, followed by the mildest clink as it rolled off whatever had cushioned its blow and hit the vinyl floor. I froze as it rolled almost silently toward me, coming to rest against the toe of my boot.

Instinctively, I knelt and grabbed it, dropping it again almost the moment my hand closed around it, shaking. The can was covered in something sticky.

I rubbed my fingers together, trying to figure out what I had on me. The odor was stronger here. I gave my hand a cautious sniff and gagged. No, it
couldn’t
be.

Trembling, I reached out and felt around for whatever had broken the can’s fall, carefully avoiding direct contact with the floor.

My hand made contact first with the upturned toe of a sneaker, a large sneaker, size ten or better, then a sock, athletic variety, and then…with a cold, hairy ankle.

I screamed.

Van was beside me in an instant. “R? R, what is it?”

I was trembling violently, barely able to speak. Van took me in his arms.

I clutched at the collar of his jacket, looking for anything solid and safe. And alive.

“He’s dead. He’s dead.” I pointed to the ankle and the rest of the dead guy attached to it.

Van followed my line of sight and cursed under his breath. “Hit the lights!” Van screamed into his two-way radio. “Damn it! Someone hit the lights. We need help. There’s a man down.”

We heard feet shuffling, and then running. And then, of all things, laughter. The door burst open, letting in a shower of light and silhouetting War, Ace, and Kyle in the door like action heroes in a comic book.

“I see you found Fred.” War’s boisterous voice filled the room. “He gets the CTs every time.”

“Hit the lights,” Van said. “This isn’t Fred.”

War was still shaking with laughter as he flipped the light switch to reveal Van and me crouched in a puddle of blood at the feet of a very real, very dead, man.

I took one look at the dead man. “Jay? OhmyGod, Jay!”

I broke loose from Van and ran.

Van found me in the ladies’ room, huddled in the corner between the sinks and the hand dryers, rocking with my knees pulled close, shaking like warmth was a forgotten notion. He burst through the door, calling my name, and froze at the sight of me.

So much for my strong, athletic, femme fatale image. I was a mess. The fright queen. A horror movie reject. A girl having a bad day on Elm Street.

My clothes were blotchy and wet, soaked in spots where I’d tried to scrub the blood out. Damp wisps escaped from my ponytail. My jacket sat limp and splattered on the sink counter. I’d pulled my boots off. They lay toppled a few feet from me. Toilet paper, wadded and wet and ineffectual, lay in sad clumps where I’d tried to wipe away my trail of bloody footprints. A wet, white tail of paper led to a stall.

I couldn’t remember opening the stall. Or getting the paper. Or scrubbing. I couldn’t remember any of it.

“Reilly?” He spoke my name softly, somehow ignoring the dishevel around him, the white tornado gone bad.

He sounded like he was speaking through fog. I didn’t answer.

He started toward me.

I panicked and pointed.

He paused and looked at his feet. “What?” He looked around and understanding dawned. “This?”

I nodded, worried, irrationally, irreverently, that he’d get toilet paper stuck on his shoe and I’d laugh. Inappropriately. And that would make me evil and unfeeling.

He picked his way to me, stripping off his jacket and sat down beside me on the floor laced with puddles. “Pulling a Lady MacBeth on us?”

I kept rocking, silently.

“No comeback?”

I put my head on my knees.

“Out, out, damn spot would be appropriate,” he said. “Or pass the Oxi-Clean.”

He reached to put his jacket around my shoulders. I shrunk away, pointing to the collar and my perfect, bloody handprint on it.

“Sorry,” he said, understanding. He tossed his camo into the sink, where I’d left the water running, and put his arm around me. “You’re shivering.”

I cuddled into him. He scooted us over a few feet, and reached up and hit the button on the hand dryer. The warm, dry air ruffled the loose strands of my hair.

“Better?”

“Marginally.” My teeth were chattering. I shrank closer against him.

“The blower will warm up soon.” He paused. “The uniforms arrived. They cordoned off the crime scene and called the detectives and the ME. The detectives will want to talk to you.”

I nodded.

“I asked the cops to give you a few minutes.”

Neither of us said anything more for some time. The hand dryer shut off. I was still shaking. Van reached up and hit the button again.

He covered my hands with his. They were warm. Safe. Perspiration beaded on his forehead. The dryer was scalding him. He didn’t move. Neither did I. I was still freezing.

“The cops will want to know exactly what happened. What you saw. What you heard. They’ll take your prints.” He tucked a wild lock of hair behind my ear.

We sat.

The dryer stopped. He hit the button. Bit by bit, I dried out. Bit by bit, the fog lifted. Bit by bit, the shakes receded.

“I knew him,” I blurted out to my own surprise.

“The man out there?”

“Yes. Jay Woods.” I closed my eyes, trying to shut out the image of Jay with his neck slashed end to end, his blood spread across the aisle, his eyes glassy and unseeing like the deer my grandpa used to gut.

“Jay Woods,” Van repeated.

“He is…he was…a regular at the gym. Ket’s gym.”

Van nodded.

“I contaminated the crime scene?” I was amazed at my own sloppiness and stupidity. How could I? “
I
did,
didn’t
I?”

He nodded. “It happens. Even on
CSI
.”

The dryer stopped. I was still cold with fear, and denial, and regret, but no longer shaking. The relative quiet of the room without the white noise of the dryer made me feel vulnerable. Seeing my discomfort, Van hit the button again.

Water ran across the counter and dripped onto the floor near us. Van’s camo had clogged the sink. Van ignored it. So did I.

“I’m responsible,” I said.

“For what?”

I looked up into Van’s eyes. “Jay. His death.”

“If that’s a confession, I’d keep it to myself.” Van gave me a squeeze. “Personally, I didn’t see you with a knife.”

“Don’t make light. I…I had a date with him. Two dates, actually.”

“Was one of them early this morning?”

“No.”

“Then you have nothing to worry about. You’re not the killer.”

“V,” I said, “I had two dates with him. In public. While Ket was in jail.” I pushed away from Van and stood up.

He rose with me and put his arms around me, turning me toward him. “What makes you think Ket did this?” Van took my face in his hands and forced me to look at him. “R, look at me. Ket would have had to sneak past security. Lure Jay up here from LA. Kill him in cold blood. Because you had dinner with the guy?”

“I know. It sounds crazy. Upside down. Vain of me, even.” I took a deep breath. “I’m confused. I’m upset. But you don’t understand Ket. He’s diabolical. Obsessed. Narcissistic.”

I paused, trying to order my thoughts. “Jay was a PI. The man was good with a gun.” I forced a weak smile. “He could take care of himself. That’s why I dated him. And that’s why I stopped.” I paused, trying to think of a rational reason for Jay to be in Seattle.

“What if Ket hired Jay to follow me? Someone’s been watching me.” I pointed toward the door. “Someone was watching me out there!” I put my head in my hands and took a minute to compose myself. “Someone’s been watching me all along. How else would Ket know where I am and what I’m doing all the time?”

Van nodded his agreement. “But why Jay? And why kill him? Why kill him here?”

I shook my head. “I don’t have the answers. I just don’t like the alternatives.” I paused. “If Ket didn’t kill Jay, then who did? One of us?” My voice went very soft.

Van leaned his forehead against mine. “R—”

There was a knock on the door. “Ms. Peterson. Detective White. I’d like to speak with you if you’re up to it.”

The interruption shook me back to my senses. I pulled free of Van. “I’ll be right there,” I called to the detective.

I turned back to Van. “Stay away from me. Far, far away. For your own good.” I turned on my heel and fled, pausing at the door to look back at him leaning on the counter. He turned off the tap, head bowed. Then he grabbed his soaking camo and hurled it at the wall.

I told Detective White everything I knew, including my suspicions about Ket. I went over every tiny detail I could remember. I even apologized about the crime scene.

The cops had locked down the building and were reviewing the security tapes. They hadn’t found anything or anyone.

CSI came. They took my fingerprints. And my clothes. Including my boots and my 3D moisture-wicking tee. War found me a replacement set of BDUs and promised to send Kyle out to buy me some new boots and have them delivered to the hotel. I was forced into wearing a pair of oversized flip-flops and a boxy, men’s tee, sans bra. I was out there but not loving it. My girls were like the proverbial cats fighting in a bag.

A uniform escorted me to the break room where the rest of the CTs awaited interrogation. Van was missing. I assumed he was being grilled. Peewee’s gaze landed on my bouncing bazoombas and refused to leave. I stalked off to the corner away from the others, took a seat, and crossed my arms over my chest, giving Peewee a defiant look. “Show’s over.”

He laughed and lowered his gaze to a magazine he was flipping through.

Cliff approached me. “Tough day.” He handed me a can of cola. “We could all use something stronger.” He nodded toward the soda. “But this is what we get.”

I popped open the soda without comment.

Cliff dropped into a chair next to me. “If it’s any consolation, I knew him, too.”

I looked over at him. “Too?”

“I have good ears. I heard one of the cops mention you knew the vic.”

The vic. I shuddered.

“He was a PI from LA.” Cliff stared at me.

I nodded. “I know.”

“You had a few dates?”

“Yeah.”

“I’m sorry. Jay was an okay guy.” Cliff snorted, erasing any notion he liked Jay at all.

I arched a brow.

“I’m not questioning your taste in men. Jay was my nemesis’s guy. Did a lot of work for him.”

“You have a nemesis?” I played with the condensation on my can, not looking at Cliff.

“We all do.”

I looked up at him. “Yours have a name?”

“It’s not important.” Cliff’s smile was ironic and halfheartedly limp. “Nem and I collaborated on a movie a few years back. We had our creative differences.”

“Your creative differences turned personal?”

“You could say,” Cliff said. “The movie was a flop.”

“Sorry to hear that.”

“It happens.” Cliff shrugged. “And so I ask you, is it just coincidence that Jay turns up here, right when I’m about to launch another big project with blockbuster written all over it?”

“You think he was following
you
?” I asked, stunned that Cliff would think it was him who was being watched.

“Why not? Nem used Jay to acquire a little extra legal help in resolving our differences, if you get my drift.”

I frowned. I didn’t.

Cliff laughed again. “You’re a naive babe, but I like you. Woods was a wiretapper. He ‘overheard’ a few nasty remarks I made in private about some very powerful people. Comments I didn’t want to get out.” He shrugged again. “What can I say? I caved to protect my career.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah.”

“And you think he was here spying on you, trying to get the inside scoop on your new movie?”

Cliff smiled. “Trying to get any dirt he could.”

“But why would Nem do that?”

“To ruin me.”

I gave Cliff a penetrating look. “Jay’s dead.”

He backed off with his hands up. “I had nothing to do with that.”

I had the feeling that I wasn’t getting the full story, but I didn’t push it. I shifted the conversation. “Huff is a PI, too.”

“Yeah, but he’s my guy. Or so I thought.” Cliff took a swig of his cola. “I just gave him a large retainer to do a little work for me.”

“Don’t tell me. Let me guess—collecting dirt on your competitors?”

Cliff’s smile was rueful. He gave my arm a pat. “Cynic. One of my ex-wives has gotten greedy.”

“You have more than one?” My tone indicated that was no surprise.

Cliff grinned, ruefully, ignoring my jibe. “Too many. I gave Huff money to get me something legal that will stand up in court. Something to stave off her demands.

“When he didn’t show up this morning, I figured he was out blowing my deposit. Now I’m beginning to think he’s blown town. With my cash.”

Given what War had told me, I was inclined to think Cliff could be right. “Maybe he’s off to do a rush job,” I said, hoping he wasn’t dead like Jay.

“He’s not that eager. And neither am I.” He gave me a sly smile. “If you know anything, have any idea where Huff might have gone…”

I didn’t respond.

Cliff’s gaze slid over me.

I shivered. Cliff’s gaze had salacious and leer written all over it.

“You’re a pretty girl.” He reached over and covered my hand on the table. “Photogenic. Athletic. Well spoken. I could make a star out of a girl like you.” His tone added, “and a mistress.”

I thought of the flash drive I’d hidden for Huff and wondered. I tried to pull my hand free, but Cliff held it firmly in place. “I barely know Huff. I just met him at camp.”

“I understand.” He released my hand. “But if anything comes up…”

I nodded my agreement just as Van came into the room.