I’d get to the bottom of this, and then I’d become a lesbian or a nun.
Chapter 6
It was obscenely early in the morning and the gun range was deserted. My Glock felt like a welcome extension of my hand. Ten rounds of target shooting had only minimally helped calm the tsunami in my stomach. After a sleepless night and no satisfactory answers from my boss, I needed to shoot stuff. I understood secrecy and covert necessities, but being told to drop it was grinding on my very last nerve. Not to mention my Go-Phone rang all night. Luke clearly wanted to flaunt his oral skills. I knew he wouldn’t come clean, so I ignored his calls. I considered flushing the phone, but I knew my boss would not find that amusing.
Yes, my boss knew of Luke Blakely. Yes, he was an agent. No, I wasn’t a high enough clearance level to know any more than that. Was he assigned to me? Not to Steve’s knowledge. Was I in trouble? Again, not to Steve’s knowledge. I was directly ordered to drop the matter, ask no more questions, and be satisfied that Steve would look into the matter. Would he share the results? Nope. I was on a need-to-know basis, and apparently I didn’t need to know.
I needed to shoot some more shit. Where the hell were the lesbians when I needed them? The plain old body targets were unacceptable. I needed a refrigerator or at the very least a toaster. However, I’d shot the testicles clean off my target—twenty-three times.
My tummy growled with hunger, but the thought of food was nauseating. My hands began to tremble and I put my gun away. Confusion didn’t begin to cover my feelings. I was driving blind, and that was a dangerous place to be.
Focus and precision. Deadly focus and precision. Forget Luke. If I were in real danger or trouble, Steve would brief me. Luke was possibly watching me because I had fucked up. Maybe someone over Steve’s head had assigned him to me. Maybe he was just an asshole. I scoured my brain to remember if I’d ever left evidence of my identity when we had met up. My real ID was hidden in a false casing on my gun. There was no way he could have found that. There was clearly another reason he knew my name and stats, and I wasn’t going to find out. Fuck.
Thank God I had an assignment and I was leaving town. This was good. Forgetting Luke and his duplicity would be difficult, but doable. I suppose what sucked the worst was the pathetic fact that I’d thought he actually liked me . . . because I actually liked him, but no more. I might be gullible, but I wasn’t desperate.
Interviewing Evangeline O’Hara would take my mind off trying to find unattainable answers about the sham my life had become. During my bout with insomnia, I’d reviewed all of her files. She was a piece of work. I actually looked forward to the interview, if only to get a look at her in person. There was simply no way she could look like her photos. Agreeing to let Rena tag along was a fortunate lapse in judgment, because she had been up close and personal with both Evangeline and Shoshanna and was privy to information I was sure the files lacked.
Shower. I needed to shower and eat and block the jerk from my brain. Never again would I be swayed by an ass, no matter how fine or muscled or perfect it was.
Time to step into my new life. Again.
“I think this is a waste of time—a dead end,” Rena said, offering me a french fry. I declined.
We’d been driving for an hour and had stopped three times. Once for Rena to go to the bathroom, once for her to go through a drive-through for french fries, and once to go through another drive-through because she couldn’t eat said fries without catsup. We were not stopping again.
“If you spill catsup in my car, you’re walking home.”
“Kristy said you were a hard ass, but I can see she was being kind.” Rena burst out laughing. “Your phone is ringing.”
“Your deductive skills amaze me.”
“You gonna answer it?” she inquired, still chuckling.
“Does it look like it?” I ignored the phone. I knew who it was. Tomorrow I would get a new Go-Phone with a different number.
“Sounds like there’s a story there.” She giggled and continued to shove fries in her mouth.
I glanced over and gave her the evil eye, which only made her laugh harder. “I am a hard ass, I had no sleep, and you made me do something stupid,” I snapped, and then regretted my words immediately.
“You think it’s a mistake to take me with you?” she asked, and squeezed another packet of catsup on her fries.
“No,” I answered. “You’re probably an asset. What did you mean by this being a waste of time?”
“In a minute.” She changed the subject. “What did I make you do?”
I drove in silence and refused to speak.
“Ahhhhh.” She grinned and turned to face me. “What’s his name?”
I heaved a huge sigh. Rena was like a gnat, she wasn’t going to give up. She expected an answer and would keep bugging me till she got one. “His name is Ass-hat Son of a Bitch Douchehole.”
“Damn, he must have had a hellish time in elementary school.”
We drove in silence for approximately two and a half minutes before my dreaded need to fill it reared its ugly head.
“His name is Luke and he doesn’t really like me. I think he was assigned to me, but I can’t figure out why. The sex was just because I was there,” I volunteered lamely.
“Did he say that?” she asked.
“Not exactly, but he didn’t have to.”
“Interesting. Do you read minds?” she inquired, dangling a catsup packet over my dash.
“Your point?” I asked. She was an idiot to bait me with tomato sauce.
“My point, little Miss Hardass, is that you are so terrified of getting close to people, any little slip up will send you running.” She was quite satisfied with herself and I wanted to throw her out of the car. Why? Because she was hitting way too close to home . . .
“It wasn’t a little thing,” I huffed.
“Did he say he didn’t like you? That you were a job? Or an easy lay?” she pressed.
“No, he didn’t say that.”
“Well, what the hell did he say?” Rena demanded, and pulled a candy bar out of her purse. “I’m getting ready to bleed like a stuck pig so I need chocolate,” she muttered.
“Give me some of that,” I said, hoping the chocolate would calm my nerves and divert her to another topic.
“Certainly.” She chuckled and handed me half. “Answer my question.”
“Fine,” I shouted. My words bounced off the tight interior of the car, making Rena wince. “He said he was crazy about me. He invited me to a bar and introduced me as his wife to Boobs McGee, the overly amorous waitress, and he knew my name even though I never told him what it was.”
“I’m a little confused,” she said with a mouthful of candy bar. “Either I missed something important here or Ass-hat Son of a Bitch Douchehole has it bad for you.”
“My name.” I rolled my eyes. How could she not get the importance of his knowing my name? “He knew my name.”
“Yeah. And?”
“In my world, that’s fucked up. It means our meeting wasn’t what it seemed.”
“Do you want to know what I think?” she asked, foraging in her purse for what I assumed was more candy.
“No.”
“Good.” She laughed. “Then I’ll tell you. I think if you were a job or an easy lay, he would have met you at a hotel and played hide the salami and left.”
I hadn’t considered that angle. Maybe she was . . . WTF? No. I wasn’t going to let her or Kristy or anyone make me think I could be a normal girl ever again.
“He knew my name,” I ground out through clenched teeth. “That’s significant.”
“Oh my God,” she barked. “All you freakin’ cops are so uptight—Jack, you, your brother. Quit looking for everyone to have an ulterior motive.” She tore into another candy bar and kept on going. “So the fuck what if he was assigned to you, whatever the hell that could mean. Haven’t you ever heard of falling in love on the job?”
“Only in fairy tales,” I s
hot back, snapped off half of her candy bar, and shoved it in my mouth.
“If you weren’t driving right now, I would take your hand off for stealing my premenstrual food,” she hissed, and began digging through her purse again. “I have no clue if there’s some kind of covert FBI CIA voodoo going on, but this sounds like a guy who likes you. Goddammit, these have been in here for a year,” Rena muttered as she unwrapped some scary-looking peanut butter crackers. She sniffed them and stuck one under my nose. “Does that smell weird?”
“Kind of,” I gasped, jerking away.
“Crap, I’m still hungry,” she whined.
“Fine.” I swerved off the highway and pulled into a convenience store. “What do you want?”
“Are you going in?” she asked.
“I am. I need to be away from you for three minutes. I need to adjust my attitude and I feel bad about stealing your period candy. I’m going to make up for my bad behavior by buying you some disgusting shit that’s not rancid.”
Rena’s smile was contagious. I liked her. She was driving me nuts, but she was fun and smart and I didn’t really have many girl friends. I didn’t have many friends period.
“I want chips and some chocolate.”
“Then you shall have it.” I laughed and went in and bought it. God, I was entirely too uptight. Maybe Rena was right about my suspecting the worst of everyone, but she was wrong about Luke. It didn’t add up and whether she understood it or not, I had to go on my gut with this one and stay away from Mr. Sexy Pants.
Walking back to my car, I felt lighter and happier. I had a friend. A friend who was in my car waiting for the disgusting gift I’d bought her. A friend who was talking on the phone. My phone. My Go-Phone. Fuck.
Yanking open the door, I lunged for the phone, but Rena was quick and evil. She blocked me with her foot and put Ass-hat Son of a Bitch Douchehole on speakerphone. I swallowed the scream lodged in my throat and flipped my ex–new friend off. She grinned and returned the favor.
“So who did you say this was?” Luke’s voice came through loud and clear. This was beyond my worst nightmare. Rena was more of a loose cannon than I was.
“I’m Candy’s mom. Who’s this?”
“You sound a little young to be her mom.” His voice was laced with amusement and I could picture his sexy lopsided grin. A thrash punk band started performing in my stomach. They were drunk and getting ready to dive off the stage and crowd surf. I was going to hurl. I angled myself so I would nail Rena when I let loose.
“Thank you,” she said. “Now answer my question, young man. Who is this?”
“Luke.”
“Well, Luke, how do you know my daughter?” She gave me the thumbs up and I almost slapped her. What in the hell did she think she was doing?
“If you’re her mom, I’d have one answer. If you weren’t her mom, I’d have another,” he said with a chuckle, and my insides clenched. I went from nausea to arousal in a matter of seconds. Shit.
“Let’s just say, for shits and giggles, that I’m not her mom for a moment,” Rena said, getting down to business. “What are your intentions, Luke?”
“Assuming she’s not sitting with you . . .”
“Never assume. That makes an ass out of you and me,” Rena informed him with glee.
Oh my God, she was insane.
“Then I suppose I shouldn’t assume I’m on speakerphone.”
“That would make you an ass,” she replied, and grabbed for the chips I was holding. No fucking way. She’d lost her chip privileges forever. Tearing open the bag, I shoved half the contents in my mouth and ate them. “Um, Luke?”
“Yes, Mom?”
“If you want her to hear your plea, you’d better start talking because I’m getting ready to be on the rag and she just ate my bag of chips. So this means I have to kill her and it would be a shame if she died thinking you were a total douchehole.”
“Point taken.” He laughed and I groaned. “Candy, I’m not following you. Well, I am following you, but not for work. I’m following you because I can’t get you out of my head. Yes, I cheated and found out who you were. There was no way in hell I could let you totally disappear.”
“That’s hot,” Rena chimed in, grinning from ear to ear. She glanced over and I gave her the double birdie. “She’s still pissed. You’re gonna have to do better than that.”
I banged my head on the steering wheel and begged God for Armageddon.
“Candy, you are the hottest piece of ass I’ve ever had in my life. When you took that fat bastard’s nuts out with your knee, I wanted to tackle you and make you see Jesus. You’re funny and screwed up and sexier than anyone should be allowed to be. My plan, and I always complete my missions, is to get you into my life and back into my bed . . . Better, Mom?”
“Damn.” Rena whistled. “This is making me horny.” She tossed me the phone. “Talk to him. I’m going to call Jack and have phone sex.”
With that little TMI nugget, she got out of the car and left me alone with the douchehole.
“Candy? Talk to me.”
“No.”
He waited and of course my ungodly urge to fill silences betrayed me. Again.
“It doesn’t add up, Luke.”
“Which part?”
“It wouldn’t be that easy to find out who I am. There’s more to the story, isn’t there?”
I heard a frustrated sigh blast through the phone. “Yes, there’s more, but . . .”
“No buts. You tell me or I hang up,” I snapped. This yo-yoing was painful. He either really liked me or I was an assignment he couldn’t fuck up. God, I so wanted him to like me.
“Candy, if I could, I would. I can’t blow cover. If anyone ought to understand this, it should be you.” He sounded defeated and I almost felt sorry for him. Almost.
Goddammit, I did understand, but rational thought wasn’t part of my repertoire at the moment. This was personal and I wasn’t very good at personal. “If you’ll blow cover by telling me how you know about me, then I have to assume I’m a job. If I’m an assignment, you’ll do anything to keep me in your sights. I’d do the same. So again, good luck with tracking me. I’ll make it very difficult for you. You might be good, but I’m better.”
My heart painfully lurched as I snapped the Go-Phone shut, dropped it out of my car window, got out, and crunched it under my boot. What should have been a satisfying move made me feel like I’d just ruined my life. I barely knew this guy, except in a biblical sense; why in the hell was I so devastated?
“Ewwww,” Rena said, examining the carnage that used to be my phone. “Guess that didn’t go so well.”
“No,” I whispered, trying to hold back the avalanche of tears that threatened to fall.
“I’m really sorry. That was my fault. I thought I was helping.” She leaned in and wrapped her arms around me.
My body relaxed against hers. “No, it’s okay. It was actually good, I think. Part of me thought he was still a possibility . . . he’s not.” The tears finally flowed.
“I could have him killed,” Rena volunteered. I grimaced at the irony. I was the type of person who was hired to do just that kind of thing.
“Thanks”—I grinned through my tears—“but no thanks.”
“Do you want my opinion?” she asked as she rubbed my back.
“No, but I don’t suppose that matters.” I pulled back and waited for something obscene or profound.
“You’re right.” She giggled and then turned serious. “As much as you want to pretend he’s not a possibility, you still think he is one. And so does he.”
I contemplated what she’d said. I wanted to deny it, but what was the use? She was right and I was an idiot. If he had told me what I wanted to know, I would have lost respect for him. His dedication to his job was something I understood. I honored mine the same way. Fuck, I was living such a double standard. I wouldn’t have told him anything either. My behavior was stupid and immature, but I was stuck. I didn’t know what else to
do. Did my self-preservation instinct outweigh my ability to be human?
“I bought more chips,” she said, and handed me a huge bag. “Let’s go interview an over botoxed skank. I promise it will make you feel better.”
“You think?”
“I know.”
Chapter 7
“Wait.” I grabbed Rena’s arm and yanked her to a stop as we approached the jail where the infamous Evangeline was incarcerated. “Tell me why you think this is a waste of time.”
“Did you read the threatening notes Shoshanna got?” she asked.
“I did.”
“Do you know Evangeline’s background in the literary world?”
“I do.”
“Then trust me when I tell you she couldn’t have written those notes. The grammar was correct, there was punctuation included, and even though they had a fanatical religious undertone, they actually made sense,” Rena replied.
“She’s that stupid?” How was that possible?
“Yep. Although, I suppose someone else here could have written them for her.”
“No, they weren’t sent from the jail. They came from Saint Paul. It would have to be someone working with her on the outside.” I removed the folder from my bag and glanced over the photocopies of the notes and the envelopes. The notes had been typed and were free of all fingerprint evidence. Whoever was doing this was well-versed in law enforcement tracking methods. Not a trace to lead to the perp.
“Holy hell,” Rena hissed. “No one would work with her on the outside. She has no friends, and her only acquaintances are either serving time or were being blackmailed by her. Nope. No help from the outside,” she stated with complete confidence.
“She has the most clear-cut motive,” I muttered as I searched the file for any disciplinary actions on her jail record. None. She was a model prisoner.
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