I used the word “killer” intentionally. Pussy was on my list of suspects. She had opportunity to take potshots at us at both the opening car blowup and this morning at the driving range. She had a gun. And now she was listening in on Max, whose room was directly next door to hers. Okay, she had opportunity, but no motive. That I could see, I told myself. Didn’t mean she didn’t have one. “We were all worried about you.”
That was a bit of a lie, or a stretch anyway. I was getting pretty good at mastering my micro expressions. I think I fooled her.
“I’ll be fine. I’m feeling better.”
“You missed all the excitement this morning.”
“Yeah, I heard.” She sounded bored.
I dropped that line of conversation and tried a few more, which she met with one-or two-word answers. Pussy wasn’t going to feed me any information. The more I tried to strike up a friendly conversation, the more the already tepid mood in the room notched toward frosty. I may be dense, but I can take a hint.
“I’ve got to be going,” I said finally.
She gave me a weak smile that I thought was more relief than anything. “Before I go, can I get you anything?”
She assured me she’d be fine and I left. As I closed the door behind me, I turned back over my shoulder to see her sticking her earbuds back in. Listening in on Max had to be an exercise in extreme boredom. Whatever her motives, I almost felt sorry for Pussy. Almost. The bitch.
Poor Max! On a whim, I knocked on his door.
“Dom!” He smiled when he answered.
I beckoned him closer with a crook of my finger. He looked confused and I thought his eyes bulged out slightly, but he complied. When he came nearer, I stepped into him and on tiptoe whispered in his ear, “The walls have ears.” I nodded toward Pussy’s room and held a finger to my mouth. Then I left, leaving poor Max looking like he had expected something else entirely.
A few minutes later, I was back in my room. Emma was in the bathroom putting blackout makeup under her eyes.
“Well,” she said when she saw me, “how’s our little invalid?”
“She’ll live.” I plunked down on the bed, still pondering why Pussy would be listening in on Max. Idle curiosity seemed out of character. Given the situation, everything I couldn’t explain seemed sinister. I made a mental note to keep an eye on Pussy.
“What’s wrong? You sound uncertain.” Emma leaned on the door frame between the bathroom and my room. She had good powers of perception herself.
“I don’t think she had a migraine,” I blurted out.
“What did she have, then?” Emma asked. “Your regular garden-variety tension headache?”
“I don’t think she had anything at all.” I took a breath. “When I went in, she was dressed. The lights were on full. She’d eaten her tray of food. I scoped the room—no meds that I could see. And she didn’t have that pale, sickly migraine afterglow. Or that ‘I can’t think’ confusion. And believe me, I recognize the signs of a bad headache, particularly a migraine, all too well. My best friend is a chronic headache sufferer.”
“So she was faking?” Emma asked, frowning.
“Yeah.”
“Then what was she doing in town with Fry?”
I arched a brow, deliberately leading Emma to a conclusion I didn’t share. What was she doing in town with Fry? Or had they gone at all?
I was so frustrated. Since Pussy had arrived late to camp, she could have taken a shot at Max, or Torq, or anyone, on arrival during the blowup. She could have faked going to town, bought Fry off to give her a cover story, and taken a shot at our car this afternoon. But she definitely wasn’t driving the car that hit Max at Hal’s. I was so confused.
“Probably another flirt test,” Emma said in the tone of a woman in deep denial. “She’s the only woman they didn’t hit on in the bar.”
“Could be,” I said, then smiled wickedly as an idea occurred to me. “The good news is, tonight’s your chance to shoot him a good one. How often do you get an opportunity like that?”
I waited until around seven, an hour or so before sunset, and after the others had left to play paintball, before I headed out on Mission Scope the Crash Scene.
I’d changed into jogging shorts and an Underarmor jog bra guaranteed to wick moisture away from my body, pulled my hair extensions up into a ponytail, reapplied my antiperspirant, and strapped my BlackBerry on a belt around my waist along with my MP3 player. It was probably stupid since there was no cell coverage out here, but I felt safer having some means of communication on me. If worse came to worst, I could chuck it at an attacker. Or something.
Hey, I’d read a lot of Nancy Drew mysteries as a kid. I wasn’t going out on a mission totally unarmed.
I touched up my lips with a brush of Lip Venom for that plumped look and stuck my earbuds in. I didn’t turn my music on. The MP3 player was for decoy purposes only, to look the part of the unassuming jogger.
I headed out, bopping by the computer lab. Locked up tighter than a medieval maid’s chastity belt. Maybe I’d lucked into it the first night, or maybe they had reason to lock it now. My suspicious little mind turned on all the possibilities.
Same with Rockford’s office—locked, not that I blamed him. As I jogged past the garage where FSC stored the training cars, I noticed that the windows were recently soaped. When I tried it, the door was locked. Suddenly these guys were turning into security freaks.
Outside, the shadows were long and low. Crickets sang. Mourning doves and quail cooed their goodnight calls. A few clouds sat on the horizon off to the west. The temperature hovered around 95 degrees, but without the direct sun beating down, the heat was bearable.
The paintballers had agreed to meet at the orange shack, so I headed out through the orchard in the opposite direction and down the long driveway toward the gates, sneaking carefully past the trainers’ cottages toward the driving range.
Once past the edges of camp civilization, I picked up my pace. I jogged out of the orchard and into the open. The landscape was peppered with saguaros, mesquite trees, and the occasional paloverde as the sun sank deeper behind me, lighting the clouds with an array of oranges and reds.
It took longer than I expected to reach the driving range and find the charred crash site. But immensely pleased with myself, and, okay, feeling a little winded and lungs burning, I examined the site, wishing I still had my camera. The car hulk had been hauled away. All that remained were bits of debris and skid marks on the asphalt. So I had braked, I thought as I examined them. Good for me.
I walked the path of the skid marks, trying to recall the accident in as much detail as I could remember. I was still uncertain about the sequence of the pop and the tire blowing, but several things were clear. The left front tire had gone. That was the side of the car facing the group of CTs.
Something was bothering me. As I thought about it, I remembered. Why had Torq warned me to stay low as we exited the car? What was he afraid of? Being shot, maybe? Did he suspect a sniper? If the tire had been shot out, that certainly explained the sudden blowout….
I scanned the area to the left side of where the car had been. Orange groves, trees of all kinds. Plenty of places for a sniper to hide.
But who would shoot out the tire? And why? Pussy and Fry were ostensibly in town. But were they? What about Pussy’s fake migraine? Had she fooled Fry, or was it part of their story? They had opportunity, but what was the motive? Rockford could have done the alleged shooting, but again, why? Davie, was he really out on a family emergency?
Max, Torq, and I all could have been intended victims. I ruled myself out. No one would want to kill me. My life was simply too boring to inspire that kind of hatred or passion. Even Daniel, had he seen me flirting with Torq, was more likely to dump me and run than plot any kind of revenge.
I supposed that Torq had enemies. A spy would, wouldn’t he?
Max with his millions—enough said. Greed was a powerful motivator. If someone stood to inherit his lotto
fortune …
I laughed at myself, feeling like I’d stepped out of an Agatha Christie novel. “Follow the money, Hastings,” I could almost hear Poirot say.
The clouds were changing from brilliant oranges and reds to muted mauves and pinks. It wouldn’t be long before darkness fell completely. I wasn’t eager to be alone out in the desert wilderness, but I wanted to check out the trees and orchard. I don’t know what I hoped to find—shell casings, telltale footprints, maybe? Off in the distance I heard a coyote howl.
As I scoured the nearby brush, a bush rattled. I jumped, hand to heart. What was I really trying to prove? Like I’d find CSI-type evidence that would solve the mystery on the spot. And if I did find a shell casing, what would that prove? And what the hell did I expect to find in the freaking dark? Brilliant, Watson. Next time pack a flashlight!
I looked around and picked up a stick for protection. Wasn’t it Teddy Roosevelt who said, “Speak softly and carry a big stick"? I’d have to settle for walking softly with a small stick.
I pored over the orchard and brush probably another fifteen minutes. Overhead, the stars were coming out one by one, putting on an awesome array, making me feel small and insignificant in the big universal scheme of things.
Just then something rattled in the bushes again. The birds had all roosted, their songs gone silent. The crickets still sang, but I wasn’t worried about them. In fact, creeped as I was, I kind of liked their company. Some brave spy I made.
The bushes moved. I screamed and poised my stick over my head, ready to bash someone a good one. A jackrabbit bounded from the brush and looked at me with beady eyes reflecting the moonlight.
I put a hand to my heart to steady it. “Silly me. It’s nothing. Just a jackrabbit.” Somehow talking out loud was calming. I decided I’d better get back to camp before talking to myself became a habit.
I dropped my stick and stretched, getting ready to jog back at what I hoped was a coyote-outrunning pace. I’d just made it back to the driveway when I heard rustling from a nearby paloverde. A stupid rabbit wasn’t going to get me again.
“Fool me once, shame on you, bunny. Fool me twice, shame on me. Shoo! Go away!”
I took a deep breath and turned toward camp just as the shadowy silhouette of a man stepped from behind a lone paloverde tree into my path.
I screamed.
Chapter Twelve
“What the hell are you doing out here all by yourself?” Torq stood in front of me looking decidedly hacked off. “You’re supposed to be resting.”
“Torq!” I put a hand to my chest to still my racing heart. “You scared me!”
“Good.” Torq’s mood shifted as quickly as the light had departed. He grinned. “Was that ‘honey’ you just called me? And did you just try to shoo me away?”
I put my hands on my hips. “Very funny.” I tried not to smile, but his grin was infectious. “I thought you were a rabbit.”
“I’m not sure how to take that,” he said.
“One jumped out at me earlier.”
“Yeah, we have a lot of vicious wererabbits around here.”
“Oh, stop. It was a jackrabbit.”
He stared me down. “You going to tell me what you’re doing out here?”
“Getting some fresh air.” I inhaled deeply to emphasize my point.
“We have plenty of fresh air closer to camp,” he said, not buying my explanation in the slightest and looking like he was ready for another showdown at the OK Corral.
I ignored him. “You?”
“Looking for you.” And obviously waiting for a straight answer from me.
But I wasn’t budging.
Finally, he gave up. “The Jeep’s just down the road. We’d better get out of here before any more rabbits jump us.” He took my arm and began leading the way just as a loud pop cracked the silence.
Torq threw me to the ground. “Stay down!” He lay flat next to me as we listened to crickets humming and a deafening lack of any more gunshot-type sounds.
“Who’s jumping at rabbits now?” I said, trying to sound braver than I felt.
“You stay here and stay down. Wait for me to come back. I’m going to check things out.” He popped up and was gone before I could protest.
I cursed him under my breath and stayed down for what seemed like forever. I’d just chucked caution to the wind and stood up when a flashlight beam cut past me and an armed man stepped into view, wearing a baseball cap that cast his eyes in shadow. Moonlight reflected off a barrel aimed at my chest, which did nothing to calm my already frayed nerves. He shone the flashlight in my eyes, blinding me.
Not wanting to be the latest spy casualty, I froze. And even though the capped avenger didn’t ask me, I put my hands up, praying that my survival instinct would kick in soon and figure out some kind of escape plan.
My heart pounded away, crashing toward that worrisome 160 beats per minute and panic mode as I tried to remember my self-defense moves against an armed attacker and wished I hadn’t tossed my puny stick aside so casually. How did Rockford do that knocking-a-pistol-out-of-the-hand move again? I glanced at the gun, bit my lip, and took a deep breath as I looked for my opportunity to attack.
“Don’t even think about it.”
Evidently Capped Man was also a mind reader. Damn.
He took a step back, putting himself out of my striking range. “I’ve taught those self-defense classes myself. I know all the moves and don’t y’all forget it.”
“Fry! Thank goodness it’s you!” My heart rate took its sweet time slowing back into normal range.
“Domino? What are y’all doing out here? I thought you were one of the paintballers. Either Emma or Pussy. You’re lucky I didn’t pelt you one.”
I took a deep breath of relief. “I felt better and got restless and went out for a jog.” I grabbed the edge of my shorts and did a little tug.
The roar of a Jeep approaching from behind us at breakneck speed interrupted our little reunion. Its headlights appeared out of nowhere to light up the road in front of me, casting Fry and me in long, eerie shadows.
“Shit!” Fry turned around to look at it.
In the last few days I’d learned a thing or two about avoiding speeding vehicles and hightailed it off the road and into the desert, making for the cover of a tall saguaro. I stumbled as I ran over the uneven terrain, glancing back over my shoulder just in time to see the Jeep accelerate and speed toward Fry. Fry stayed rooted in place, playing a life-or-death game of chicken.
What in the world is he doing? I muttered to myself. Damn it, he’s going to get himself killed. I cupped my hands around my mouth and, sounding like a kindergarten primer, screamed at him. “Run, Fry, run!”
Just in the nick of time he called the driver’s bluff and dove off the road. The Jeep screeched to a halt and Torq, of all people, jumped out with a high-powered rifle trained on Fry.
“Slide your weapons onto the road and come out with your hands up!” Torq yelled at Fry. In the calm night air his words reached me clearly, punctuated by his vicious tone.
“Sheesh, Torq!” Fry tossed something onto the road and came out with his hands up as directed. “Put that thing down, would y’all? It’s me. Fry. My weapon’s nothing more than a two hundred-dollar paintball pistol. Shit.”
Torq holstered his weapon and picked up the paintball gun again. “Come on out, Domino. The cavalry has arrived.”
I came out from behind my cactus and walked shakily to join the two men on the road.
“Do you believe this guy?” Fry said to me. “First he tries to run me over and then he draws a real weapon on me. I’m just trying to play me a game of paintball.”
“Sorry.” Torq clapped Fry on the back and explained the situation. “I came back to find you with a gun on Dom and assumed the worst. My mistake.”
Fry gave him a big-old-boy slap on the back in return. “No hard feelings.”
Men could make up with each other so easily.
Torq handed ba
ck Fry’s paintball weapon.
“So y’all heard that noise, too,” Fry mused as he grabbed it. “I thought it must have been a car backfiring.”
“Must have been.” Torq tossed his gun onto the Jeep seat.
Watching him, I got the distinct feeling he didn’t really believe the backfire explanation. But I wasn’t going to dispute him now.
“Get in, you two,” Torq said. “I’ll give you a ride back.”
Fry jumped into the backseat. I climbed into the passenger side. Torq got into the driver’s seat and we were off.
Fry leaned over the front seat, energetically giving Torq the play-by-play of the paintball war in his drawling Texas accent.
“Those CTs are wily. I’m telling y’all, Torq, they’ve learned a thing or two, that’s for sure. They’re making us proud.” Then Fry went on to relate how Wade and Ethan had almost succeeded in ambushing him.
He touched me on the shoulder. “Sorry about scaring y’all out there, Domino. Just keep in mind that this is spy camp. Trust no one in this business. Do and end up dead.” He flashed that grin of his and offered me his hand. “No hard feelings?”
I shook and accepted his apology.
“Hey, drop me off at the orange shack, Torq, so I can rendezvous with my troops,” Fry said as we neared the paintball base.
Torq slowed to a stop. Fry jumped out of the vehicle in a single bound with his paintball gun at the ready, pausing to give Torq a slap on the shoulder and shoot me another wink before he disappeared into the orange grove.
Torq and I rode in silence. I sensed he wasn’t completely happy with me. And I wasn’t really sure how I felt about him at this point, either. Charging Fry with the Jeep like that and then pointing a high-powered rifle at him seemed needlessly reckless. Torq pulled to an abrupt stop in front of the lobby door.
“Thanks for the ride.” I turned to jump out, eager to avoid any discussion about the evening’s course of events.
He grabbed my arm. “What the hell were you doing out there by yourself, anyway?”
Spy Candy Page 14
