Spirit: Blackwood Security Book 10.5

by Elise Noble

  His voice dropped. “You know that’s not the case.”

  That little hint of pain… Shit. This wasn’t a conversation I should have started, and I definitely shouldn’t have started it in front of Dan.

  “Okay, I’ll palm that one off on Black. Happy?”

  James nodded, and out of the corner of my eye, I saw Dan watching me. She didn’t understand why I’d capitulated quite so quickly. But she also respected me enough not to ask questions.

  “What else does Black have?” I asked. “Anything?”

  “Not at Crossroads. Wait… Appletree Acres—he’s meant to serve Christmas dinner to Joan Bertwell and friends. Black playing waiter?” James snorted. “I’ll believe that when I see it.”

  “He’ll have company,” Dan said. “Jed, Slater, and Malachi are meant to be helping him.”

  Hmm… “So all the men who Bradley thought should have been at the meeting this morning and weren’t?”

  “Pretty much, yeah. Don’t you think Slater would look cute in a waiter outfit?”

  “Dan, you’re basically married.”

  “Yes, but I’m not blind. Hey, we could get them matching bow ties.”

  On screen, James rolled his eyes. “Fifty bucks says they won’t do it.”

  Uh, no. I had to agree with James’s assessment. Black could no doubt do an excellent job of carving the turkey, but he wouldn’t. He’d just hire waitstaff.

  However, Dan was already nodding. “Fifty bucks? You’re on.”

  Oh, fuck. This Christmas was going to be a disaster.

  “Well, I guess I’d better go talk to Kiara, Gwendolyn, José, and V, whoever she is.”

  James stood, treating Dan and me to another eyeful. “I’ll get the PR team to send a model of Air Force One for Kiara. Let me know if there’s anything else I can do to help.”

  “How about passing better legislation to protect women?” Dan suggested.

  “Believe me, I’m working on it, but it has to get through the senate first.”

  “Damn politicians,” she grumbled.

  James just laughed. “True. We’re all assholes.”

  A second later, the screen went dark. Dan looked at me, and I looked at Dan.

  “Shit,” she groaned.

  “What have we said before? When the odds are terrible, you need to think before you bet.”

  “I know, I know.”

  And so did James. It wasn’t the first time he’d taken advantage of Dan that way.

  “Well, good luck.”

  “Wait! How am I supposed to get those guys to play waiter?”

  “Jed’ll do it. Just bribe him with snacks. And doesn’t Mal owe you a favour for rescuing him from that disaster of a date a few months back?”

  “Yes.” Dan blew out a breath and nodded. “Okay. And I can probably blackmail Slater.”

  “Ooh, tell me more?”

  “Alcohol, three strippers, and a duck. Yes, there are photos.” Which I really didn’t want to see. “That leaves Black. Any ideas?”

  “Nope.”

  “But you’re married to him.”

  “Yes, which is how I know he’ll fly to Madagascar the minute you mention service with a smile.”

  “Can’t you help me to convince him?”

  “How?”

  “Offer sexual favours?”

  “Seriously? There aren’t enough orifices in the world for that.”

  “Couldn’t you at least try? If you do, I’ll help with your shit.”

  That actually wasn’t a bad offer. Fucking my husband wasn’t exactly a hardship—I mean, I did it every night anyway—and Dan could sort out my transport logistics. Plus I’d lost fifty bucks to James myself last month, and revenge would be sweet.

  “Deal. We’ll start tomorrow at nine. Don’t be late.”

  CHAPTER 5

  “WHERE TO FIRST?” Dan asked as we exited Riverley Hall.

  “Where’s closest?”

  “Closest to here? Or to the donut place?”

  “The donut place.”

  “That would be UCan. The group meets at a church hall on the outskirts of Ashland Monday through Friday evenings and all day on Saturdays. And Appletree Acres is only a couple of miles farther.”

  “Then let’s speak with the team at UCan to start with. We’ll need to get in touch with Kiara’s mom or dad.”

  “Want me to drive?” Dan offered.

  “No!” I said, a little too quickly. Although, hmm… If I was in the emergency room, would Bradley excuse me from Christmas? No, probably not, because when I’d headed downstairs to use the gym this morning, I’d found a note propped up on the treadmill:

  Gone to New York to source materials for Project Mistletoe. Back in 2 3 days. B.

  Materials? I’d activated the tracker on his phone, and sure enough, he was speed-walking around Bloomingdale’s. Sometimes, I envied Bradley for his ability to buy happiness. Pretty gift-wrapped packages helped him to sleep at night. Curious, I’d read up on the science and found that shopping apparently released serotonin, the feel-good hormone, which boosted confidence and gave a sense of satisfaction. Or so the experts said.

  Not long after I met Bradley—and don’t you dare tell him this—I’d tried it for myself. Call it an effort to act normal. One humid summer’s day in London, I’d trekked around Selfridges and Harvey Nichols and Bond Street, buying shoes and dresses and jewellery and perfume and handbags. My feet hurt. My arms hurt. My head hurt. That night, I’d dreamed I was trapped in Harrods with no way out, and two a.m. saw me running around our London mansion like a blind hamster until I tripped over an ornamental potted plant and got carpet burn on my face. The next morning, I’d gathered up all the unopened bags and dropped them off at the nearest charity shop in an effort to hide the evidence of my stupidity. Because I was never destined to be normal.

  In those days, I’d been a weapon. A machine. It was only in the last few years that I’d accepted there was more to life than work, but I still struggled with balance. Hence my overwhelming desire to be on the gun range instead of heading towards the garage with Dan.

  “Which car are we taking?” she asked.

  “The Stingray?”

  “Not enough seats. It’s my turn to pick Caleb up from school today.”

  “What time?”

  “Three o’clock.”

  “I was hoping to be done by lunchtime.”

  Dan just shrugged. Brilliant.

  “Okay, fine. We’ll take Black’s Cayenne.”

  If he wasn’t going to show up and help, the least he could do was lend us his SUV. I grabbed the keys from the lockbox on the garage wall. Time to get this over with.

  Kiara Campbell was small for her age, her black hair brushed up into a pair of pom-poms on top of her head that made her two inches taller, and she was grinning from ear to ear. A proper Cheshire cat smile. Her legs swung back and forth as she sat on a table in a small meeting room attached to the church hall. A hundred photos of happy kids pinned to the noticeboard behind her, some faded, some recent, showed what an impact the UCan group had managed to make in the local community over the years. I spotted Dan’s boyfriend playing the guitar in one of the pictures—he helped out here from time to time as well as running his own youth music project.

  Dan had called ahead, and both of Kiara’s parents were waiting with her when we arrived. But Mr. Campbell in particular didn’t look pleased to see us. When I smiled, he didn’t return the gesture.

  Why not?

  I held out a hand. “Emmy Black, and this is Dan.”

  Mr. Campbell’s handshake was dry but weak. Hasty. He couldn’t wait to let go. “Jonah Campbell. And my wife, Dorothea.”

  Cheer up, dude. It’s meant to be bloody Christmas.

  “So…”

  “Can I really go in a plane?” Kiara asked. “What kind of plane? When?”

  “What kind of plane do you want to go in?”

  “A fighter jet.”

  I liked this girl. She had amb
ition.

  “That might be a little tricky. The US Air Force has rules on that sort of thing.”

  Although there were fast jets in civilian hands. MiGs were the most fun, but they were only available for joyrides in Russia, and I suspected they had rules on children flying in them too. Perhaps a Czech-built L-39? Or something older like a Hawker Hunter? I’d need to make a few calls…

  “What about an executive jet?” Dan suggested. “Or a helicopter?”

  “I love helicopters!”

  Thanks, Dan. “Perfect. A helicopter. In that case, we just need to decide on a day.” I consulted the oracle that was my calendar, carefully updated by Sloane, my office assistant, because I was hopeless at doing it myself. “I’m free on—”

  “Can I have a word?” Jonah Campbell asked. “In private?”

  Now what? “Sure.”

  Jonah led me into a room that was more of a storage closet. An untidy desk fought for space among stacks of dusty boxes and bags of sports equipment. Should I sit? Typically in a situation like this, I’d stay standing rather than giving up the advantage of height, but Jonah didn’t seem to be trying to intimidate me. His demeanour was more…tired. Jaded. Slightly wary. I perched on the edge of the desk, hands in my lap, and waited for him to speak.

  “Who are you, exactly?”

  “What are you looking for? My life history? A business card? Or something more philosophical?”

  “I want to understand why you’re doing this.”

  “This?”

  “Getting kids’ hopes up. I’ve seen your type before—do-gooders who use a place like UCan to make themselves look good on Instagram. What’s it called…corporate charity?”

  “Corporate social responsibility?”

  “Yeah, that. And once you’ve got your pictures, you just disappear without doing a thing.”

  “You sound as if you speak from experience.”

  “Twice, people have promised Kiara the earth and not delivered. She writes to everyone, you see, begging to go flying. The first time, some guy promised to take her up in one of those small planes, but then he ghosted on her. And the second time, she got bumped at the last minute because there was a more deserving kid.”

  “A more deserving kid?”

  “That’s what they said. One of those wish foundations. Guess I can’t blame them if the other kid was sick. But how do you explain that to a nine-year-old? Kia cried for weeks. And then I worked overtime for six months to pay for a flight—barely saw Dorothea that whole time—and the company took our money and went out of business.”

  Now I saw where Jonah’s wariness came from. Being burned not once but three times didn’t exactly foster trust, especially as he didn’t know me from Adam.

  “Well, I’m not representing a corporation, I definitely don’t want to be in any photos, and I’m not in the habit of letting people down.”

  “Then why are you doing this?”

  Hmm… How to explain without sounding like a spoiled rich bitch… Or the Grinch.

  “You know what they say about Christmas—that the joy is in the giving rather than the receiving? Well, this year, my friends and I thought we’d donate our gifts and also help out a few people who haven’t gotten the breaks they deserve.”

  “But why?”

  Truthfully? Because I didn’t fancy spending the whole of December cleaning up reindeer poop, and no way would Bradley go near a shovel.

  “Because we can.”

  “I don’t want Kiara getting upset again.”

  “I give you my word that won’t happen. We’ll arrange a date and a time, and I’ll be there.”

  “You’ll be there?”

  “Indeed I will. I’m the pilot, and it’s my helicopter she’ll be flying in.”

  “You own the helicopter?”

  If Jonah planned to question every answer, this was going to be a really long day. Still, I forced a smile.

  “Yes, I do.” Technically, Black’s name was on the registration, but he’d told me a hundred times that what was his was mine as well. Our drunken, spur-of-the-moment nuptials had come with a lot of perks, not least him finally ending up in my bed every night. Our bed. Whatever. “I have a picture of it on my phone. See?”

  Okay, so I’d taken the picture to show Black that Bradley had decided to repaint the helipad in a chequerboard pattern, but the helicopter was in the photo too. Bradley had also bought giant chess pieces to make the helipad “multifunctional.” Black had sent a two-word reply that rhymed with “duck knee.”

  Jonah peered at the screen, and I finally got the faintest hint of a smile out of him. Progress.

  “Why don’t we go and show Kiara, and then we can arrange a day that suits all of us?”

  Now he turned sheepish. “Sorry if I sounded ungrateful.”

  “It’s okay; I get it. Nobody wants to let their kid down.”

  I didn’t want to let Kiara down either, despite the fact that kids made me twitchy inside. Even my niece. No, especially my niece. Ana had bought Tabby a junior crossbow for Christmas, and that trip to Sierra Leone was sounding better by the day. Too bad Black was flying home tomorrow, or I could have joined him.

  CHAPTER 6

  ONE DOWN, THREE to go. I’d escaped the UCan project with only minor crush injuries from Kiara’s hugs. We’d arranged to take a helicopter flight around the Virginia countryside on Christmas Day, and I might have offered to take her for a ride in my stunt plane next summer too. She’d promised not to puke. Now Dan and I were on our way to Appletree Acres with nine dozen donuts because we figured that we should share the sugary love. Originally, there were ten dozen, but the two of us had made a good dent in them already, and now the steering wheel was kind of sticky.

  We found Gwendolyn sitting alone in a sunroom at the back of the main building. She seemed younger than many of the residents—in her early sixties at a guess—and she was bundled up in brightly coloured knit blankets. Gertrude’s handiwork? Elvis’s “Blue Christmas” was playing somewhere, and the room was freezing. My breath steamed as I walked in. If I’d known we’d be spending time in the Arctic, I’d have worn a snowsuit. How had Gwendolyn not frozen to death?

  “Cold?” she asked when she saw us.

  “A tiny bit chilly,” I admitted.

  Gwendolyn laughed, and boy did she have a dirty laugh. “Even though I moved south with my Dirk thirty years ago, I never quite managed to acclimatise.”

  A guy wearing an Appletree Acres polo shirt came in with a mug of tea on a tray. “Gwen likes to sit in here and watch the birds. Can I get drinks for you ladies? Are you new volunteers?”

  “Not exactly.”

  “We’re here as part of Project Mistletoe,” Dan told him. Good job, because I still couldn’t utter the words and keep a straight face. “Coffee would be great. Black for both of us, no sugar.”

  “Ooh.” Gwen beamed at us. “Project Mistletoe? Really? When that nice young boy visited, we thought it was all a joke, didn’t we, José? But he did bring a lovely tree.”

  So José was Gwendolyn’s caregiver? I sized him up. He was in his late twenties with a slight build, neatly cropped black hair, and a personable smile. From the way Gwendolyn grinned back, I could tell there was a genuine friendship there.

  “No, Bradley wasn’t joking.” I resisted the urge to add “unfortunately.” “You mentioned that you want to spend Christmas with your sister?”

  Gwendolyn giggled, but I didn’t miss the sadness in her eyes.

  “Everyone got a little silly with those shiny boxes on the tree, I’m afraid. If we’d known it was real, I’m sure we’d have made our wishes more realistic. Joan Bertwell and Doris Hayes asked for a troupe of topless Santas to serve Christmas lunch, for goodness’ sake.”

  Uh, what? No. No, no, no. I’d read Bradley’s notes three times, and they didn’t say a thing about Santa costumes. Had he deliberately left that part out? I wouldn’t put it past him to spring the news at the last minute when it was harder for the m
en to wriggle out of the job. And Dan had suggested bribing Black with sexual favours? At this rate, I’d be pole dancing in a cheerleader costume for the rest of my natural life. Dan’s shocked expression said she’d come to the same conclusion.

  “Topless Santas? Are you sure?”

  “Oh, yes. We had a giggle about it over supper last week. Joan’s been downloading pictures from the internet.” Gwendolyn whipped a phone out from under her blankets. “See?”

  Dan thumped me on the back as I went into a coughing fit, and her twitching lips told me she was trying to keep a straight face and not doing a terribly good job of it. The tinsel-trimmed underpants didn’t leave much to the imagination.

  “Those outfits might be a bit chilly,” I said. First rule of project planning: manage expectations.

  “I know, dear. We may have got slightly carried away. Is it too late to change my request to a new pair of slippers?”

  “It’s not too late at all.”

  “Slippers?” Dan asked. “Are you sure? Because if it’s a question of transport, we can fly your sister in to see you. Uh, where does she live?”

  At that moment, I began to regret bringing Dan. Please say the sister was still alive because otherwise this would be hella awkward.

  “I don’t know.”

  “You…don’t know? Did she move away?”

  “Maybe the slippers…” José suggested.

  He obviously knew what was going on, and his worried glance suggested we might want to drop the subject. No problem.

  “What kind of slippers do you want? Moccasins? Mules?”

  Perhaps I could sneak into Bradley’s boudoir tonight and add them to his list? He’d been writing everything down in a faux-fur-covered notepad that he refused to let out of his sight, but if I could murder a dictator in his sleep, then I could slide Bradley’s Christmas master plan out from under his pillow without him noticing.

  José answered for her. “Gwen likes moccasins.”

  “Lovely. Any preference on the colour?”

  “You and your sister lost contact?”

  Shut up, Dan. I recognised that tone. Dan liked a good mystery, and her curiosity had been piqued.