Spy Now, Pay Later

by Diane Henders

  We both shot warning glances at Doug and Hellhound.

  “Don’t tell-”

  “You didn’t see that-”

  Kane and I spoke at the same time, and Hellhound laughed. “Shit, guilty consciences or what?”

  I silently cursed my burning cheeks as Doug’s fatherly gaze darted between Kane and me. Doug’s smile widened, mischief sparkling in his eyes. “Is there something I should know about you two?”

  “No.”

  Our simultaneous denial came too quickly. If I hadn’t been stewing in my own mortification, I would have been amused at the way Kane’s customary aplomb had deserted him.

  Kane faced his father. “We’re not trying to hide anything from you. But after that faked rape and sexual harassment charge a few months ago, we can’t afford any hint of impropriety, and that includes any physical contact that might be misconstrued.” He waved an encompassing hand. “We can relax here, but it has to stay inside this condo.”

  Doug and Hellhound nodded seriously, but the twinkle still danced in Doug’s eyes.

  I seized on the first diversion that occurred to me. “Wow, this is better than the last time I was here.” I indicated the warm, bright room with the cheery fire crackling in the fireplace. “You even have a Christmas tree! When did you find time for that?”

  “You can’t have Christmas without a tree.” Doug shot a conspiratorial glance at Hellhound. “Arnie and I set it up while you two were at the debriefing last night.”

  Hellhound slung an arm over my shoulders. “Well, come on an’ sit down before ya fall down, darlin’. I’ll bring ya a beer.”

  I sighed. “I’d better not. I still have to drive to a hotel tonight.”

  “Fuck that.” His arm tightened around me. “I’ll drive ya. You’re done for the night.”

  I sank into the soft leather sofa and stretched trembling hands toward the warmth of the fireplace. “Thank you. In that case, I would love a beer until death did us part.”

  Sedated by beer, Sauvignon Blanc, and far too much delicious food, I was struggling to keep my eyes open when Kane rose from the table with a smile. “Aydan, why don’t you relax and we’ll clean up?” He gestured to the sofa, its dark leather gleaming softly in the mellow firelight. “Get comfortable, and I’ll bring you another drink.”

  I stifled a yawn and rose, too. “No, that would be a really bad idea. I’d be snoring in seconds.”

  “Bad night last night?”

  “Um. The usual.” I avoided three sets of sympathetic eyes by bustling around collecting plates and silverware.

  The men trailed me into the kitchen bearing the last of the dishes, and Kane set his load down to turn an expression of mock severity on me. “You’re not doing any work tonight. We’ll handle this. Dad, take her to the living room and sit on her.”

  Doug laughed and linked his arm through mine. “Yessir, Captain Kane. I’ll guard the prisoner.”

  I laughed, too, and let him lead me back to the living room. Sinking into the softness of the couch, I leaned my head back with a sigh of contentment.

  “So, have you been enjoying your visit?” I asked.

  Doug smiled. “More than you can imagine, thanks to you.”

  “Good… Um…” I eyed him in confusion. “Why thanks to me?”

  His smile widened. “You don’t need to pretend. John and Arnie told me how you saved both of their lives. I can’t thank you enough.”

  “I… saved…?”

  Shame rose to strangle me and I stared down at my hands knotted together in my lap.

  “Doug…” A glance at his seamed face and patient eyes wrenched my heart with the memory of my own dad, dead nearly ten years. It would be so nice to relax into Doug’s fatherly fondness. So easy to pretend.

  But I didn’t deserve his gratitude.

  I swallowed hard. This was only the second time we’d met. His anger and rejection couldn’t hurt me.

  “Doug, I nearly killed them both.” My voice seared my throat like dry ice. “I started a fire that damn near burned John to death. And Arnie wouldn’t have been beaten within an inch of his life if I hadn’t been involved. It’s my fault they’re both injured, and it’s my fault they nearly died.” My throat closed.

  “I’m sorry,” I whispered.

  His silence stripped the skin from my body, leaving nothing but raw nerves and my stupidly aching heart.

  “I’m sorry. I’ll go.” I stumbled to my feet, not looking at him.

  “Aydan, for heaven’s sake!” His hands closed around my shoulders, the firmness of his grip undiminished by age. “Sit down. You and I need to have a talk.” He pressed me gently down on the sofa and sat beside me.

  “Now.” He took my hand. “Look at me.”

  When I reluctantly looked up, I met eyes of grey steel. “Aydan, my sons don’t lie to me.” His gaze bored into me. “John said that without you, the plane probably would have crashed and killed you both. Is that true?”

  “That’s not the point-”

  “Answer my question. Is that true?”

  I swallowed, silently cursing the prickling behind my eyes. “Yes, but-”

  “Shush. Arnie said you broke into his apartment and found him barely conscious and called the ambulance, which probably saved his life. Is that true?”

  “Well, yes, but-”

  “Aydan.” The steel softened, his eyes warming with a bittersweet smile. “You and my sons do dangerous work. Someday they might not come home, and I’ve prepared for that as best I can. You’ve given me more days with them than I would have had otherwise, and I will always be grateful for that.”

  My vision blurred with unshed tears. “B-but…” My voice came out in a child’s quaver. “What if I’d k-killed them? It almost happened. I can’t-”

  “What almost happened doesn’t matter.” His grip tightened on my hand. “If not for you, I would have been spending this Christmas alone.” He smiled, his gaze steady. “Live in today, Aydan. You can’t change yesterday with regret and you can’t change tomorrow with worry.” He rose and squeezed my shoulder. “I’ll get you another beer.”

  I had regained my composure by the time he returned bearing a frosty bottle, and he smiled as he handed it over and resumed his seat in the chair across from me. “Now, tell me how that ’53 Chevy restoration is going.”

  I seized the subject gratefully, and we were deep in car talk when Kane and Hellhound returned from the kitchen. Kane took a seat at the opposite end of the sofa and Hellhound sank into the other chair, reaching down to the leather motorcycle saddlebag that sat on the floor beside it. He withdrew a beautiful jewel-coloured afghan and began to ply a crochet hook, the yarn twisting into complex stitches under his deft musician’s fingers.

  I couldn’t suppress my smile at the big badass biker with his ‘Live to Ride’ T-shirt and a lap full of crocheting. He glanced up, his bruised face softening into an answering smile.

  “Where’s your guitar?” I asked. “Don’t tell me you left her at home by herself on Christmas.”

  “Hell, no. She’s over behind the Christmas tree.” He gestured with his crochet hook. “But I started this blanket last week when the doc said I hadta take it easy after that concussion, an’ I wanted to get it done. What d’ya think?” He held the almost-complete afghan up for inspection.

  “I love it. You have such a great eye for colour and your designs are always so sophisticated.”

  His smile widened. “Thanks, darlin’. Yeah, I don’t do that lacy shit. I make blankets, not fuckin’ doilies. An’ I’m glad ya like it, ‘cause you’re gettin’ it for Christmas.”

  “Oh, thank you!” My rush of warm pleasure subsided into chagrin. “But… I’m sorry, I didn’t get you anything.”

  Another uncomfortable thought occurred to me and I avoided glancing at Kane. Shit, what was the gift-giving protocol after having red-hot adrenaline-fuelled sex but rejecting a relationship?

  Hellhound’s reply pulled my attention back to the conversati
on at hand. “Jesus, darlin’, ya know I got a shitpile of ‘em at home an’ you’re doin’ me a favour takin’ it off my hands.” He sent a not-too-convincing scowl my way. “We ain’t doin’ the gift thing. It’s too much like commitment, so stop scarin’ me with that shit. I’m too full a’ turkey dinner to run away tonight.”

  I let out a breath of relief. “Have I told you lately how much I love your commitment phobia?”

  “Nah, but now’s a good time.”

  We exchanged a grin.

  The knots in my belly slowly eased under the soothing effects of beer and an evening of laughter while the men reminisced, regaling me with tales of outrageous childhood exploits. At last I hauled myself out of the seductive comfort of the couch to stand blinking at the four empty beer bottles on the coffee table beside me.

  So much for my usual limit of two. Not to mention the wine with supper. And the beer before that…

  “I guess I’d better get going if I’m going to find a hotel tonight,” I enunciated carefully. The carpet felt distant under my feet as I concentrated on walking a straight line over to the window to peek out between the blinds into the whirling whiteness. “Shit, that’s ugly,” I mumbled.

  “You don’t need to go to a hotel,” Kane said. “You can sleep in my bed…”

  I turned, my brain splashing through the alcohol to rummage for a polite way to decline in front of our audience. “Um…”

  A flush climbed his neck. “…and I’ll sleep on the couch,” he finished.

  “Oh, no, don’t do that.” Dammit, that sounded like an invitation. I tried again. “I mean, I don’t want to kick you out of bed…”

  I hid a wince. My Freudian slip was definitely showing tonight.

  Come on brain, get it together.

  “I’ll go to a hotel,” I said firmly. “Arnie, will you take me?”

  “Sure, darlin’,” he began, but Doug overrode him.

  “Nobody should drive in this unless it’s absolutely necessary, and it’s not. John’s got his bed, I’m in the spare bedroom, and Arnie’s been using the hide-a-bed in the office. It’s a double, so…”

  Doug trailed off as if suddenly sensing our discomfort. He eyed Hellhound and me in the short silence, obviously wondering if we’d stopped sleeping together since we’d stayed at his place in the summer.

  Awkward.

  My booze-soaked brain blundered through rationalizations. Why shouldn’t I sleep with Hellhound? After our conversation on the plane, Kane knew I wouldn’t offer him a commitment regardless of any jet-fuelled orgasms. And he knew Hellhound and I had been lovers long before anything ever happened with him.

  But it still seemed like a slap in the face to bed down with Hellhound right under his nose…

  “I gotta sleep diagonal in the double ‘cause it’s too short for me,” Hellhound said casually. “So Aydan can take it an’ I’ll sleep on the couch.”

  “Uh, okay, thanks,” I muttered. “I’ll go and get my stuff from the car.” I hurried to the door and bent to lace my boots, hiding my burning face.

  Chapter 5

  Flames tore at Kane’s flesh. His eyes met mine, filled with agony and desperate appeal. I jerked the lever of the fire extinguisher frantically. Only a few drops trickled out. Kane was burning…

  Hellhound lunged out of the smoke-filled darkness and yanked the cylinder from my hands. The flames leaped to consume him, withering skin and muscle to expose stark white ribs, his heart still beating inside them.

  My gun kicked as I shot Hellhound once; twice; his naked heart spurting crimson blood into the flames. Screams ripped my throat.

  The two corpses burned, their beloved features slagging into charred oblivion while I screamed and screamed…

  “Aydan, wake up! Wake up, darlin’!”

  My eyes jerked open, my last scream tearing the air. Disoriented in the bright light of an unfamiliar room, I struggled against the big tattooed man who pinned me against his chest…

  “Aydan, wake up! Just a dream.” Hellhound’s rasp chased away the last of the nightmare and I collapsed in his arms, burying my face in his shoulder.

  “Oh, Jesus. Jesus. Shit.” I gasped a couple of ragged breaths. “Shit. Sorry.”

  A moment later I woke up enough to register the scene I’d glimpsed when my eyes opened.

  I mashed my face into Hellhound’s shoulder and vented a groan of sheer humiliation before dragging myself upright to face my audience.

  Pajama-clad Doug peered around the doorjamb, his brow furrowed in concern. Kane filled the doorway beside him, gun at the ready, wearing nothing but extremely well-fitting black briefs. His combat stance relaxed as I looked up, hard muscles rippling into smooth curves like running water.

  God. Damn. Even waking from the jaws of a nightmare, that body was enough to send a flush of heat from my head to my toes.

  Or maybe that was embarrassment.

  Thank God I’d borrowed one of Kane’s T-shirts for nightwear. The only indignity that could top screaming everybody awake would be screaming everybody awake to see me naked.

  “Hey, darlin’.” Hellhound smoothed my hair with a gentle hand. “Ya awake now? Ya okay?”

  “Yeah.” I sank my face into my hands. “God, you guys, I’m so sorry. Go back to bed. I’ll sit up for a bit.”

  “No need to apologize,” Doug said. “We’ve all been there. Good night.”

  “Good night,” I mumbled through my fingers.

  After a moment, I looked up. Doug had left, but Kane still lingered in the doorway. His uncomfortable gaze flitted between Hellhound and me. “Can I bring you anything?” he asked. “A glass of water?”

  I sighed. Yep, that heat was definitely embarrassment.

  “No, thanks. I’m fine. I’m really sorry. I hope you can get back to sleep.”

  “It’s all right.” He hesitated. “I hope you can, too. Good night.” He turned and left, and a moment later I heard the quiet closing of his bedroom door.

  I turned to Hellhound. “You should go back to bed, too. I’m sorry I woke you. I’ll just sit up for a while so you can get some sleep.”

  “Hell, darlin’, no big deal. I wasn’t asleep. It’s only a little after midnight.”

  “Oh, God, really?” I groaned and leaned my forehead against his shoulder. “I should have gone to a hotel.”

  “Why, so ya could wake up a buncha strangers an’ have ‘em call the cops thinkin’ somebody was gettin’ axe-murdered?”

  I winced, and he dropped a whiskery kiss on my temple. “It’s better that you’re here. Like Dad says, we all been there, so don’t feel bad. Why don’t ya lie down an’ see if ya can get back to sleep? I’ll stay with ya for a while.”

  I shuddered. “I’m not quite ready to try again.”

  “Well, shove over, then, darlin’.”

  I squirmed over and he swung his legs onto the bed, reclining to prop himself against the sofa back. He raised a welcoming arm and I cuddled under it, soaking up his warmth. Sliding a hand across the solid planes of his chest, I paused over his heart.

  The story of his life was inked in his skin, and the tattoo under my hand was his first. He’d gotten it as a teenager decades ago, an ugly crudely-drawn heart oozing blood, pierced by swords and bound in chains. His later body art swirled in complex patterns that flowed into finely executed vignettes, but the ugly heart had always lain alone in a barren circle on his chest.

  I didn’t know if it commemorated his mother, beaten to death by his alcoholic father before his five-year-old eyes; or maybe his pregnant high-school girlfriend who had been brutally gang-raped and murdered. Overwhelmed by the magnitude of pain expressed in that tattoo, I had never asked.

  But now…

  I traced the lines of a new tattoo. Graceful hands occupied the previously empty space on his chest, tenderly cradling the suffering heart while angel wings unfurled to shelter it from above.

  “You got some new ink,” I murmured.

  “Yeah.” He took my hand and kiss
ed the palm before returning my hand to his chest, pressing it against the tattoo.

  Tears stung my eyes.

  “I ain’t gonna forget what ya did for me,” he whispered against my hair.

  I blinked back the moisture and summoned up a teasing grin. “Well, you know what they say. A good friend will visit you in jail, but a really good friend will help you hide the body.”

  He snorted, laughter fading into seriousness. “That ain’t supposed to be literal.” He hesitated. “Everythin’ okay with…?”

  I slid my arms around him, avoiding the worst of his bruises. “Everything’s fine. Stemp believes I did it. He gave me a little lecture about too many dead bodies and assigned me to an anger-management class, and that’s it. The body’s long gone and nobody has any reason to access the redacted records.”

  Hellhound blew out a long breath and rested his forehead against mine. “I’m the one that should be takin’ the anger management class. I should be takin’ the responsibility for-”

  “Arnie, no!” I gave him a little shake. “You have more self-control than anybody I know. If you’d feel better taking a class, that’s fine, but don’t ever feel guilty about killing that rat-bastard. It was self-defence, pure and simple. He killed your mother. He beat the shit out of you as a kid. He assaulted you a dozen times as an adult. He flat-out told you this time he was going to beat you to death-”

  “Yeah, but I shoulda called the cops an’ told them that, ‘stead a’ lettin’ ya pretend ya killed him.”

  “Arnie.” I sat up to face him, grasping his powerful shoulders to make sure he was listening. “It’s done. Trying to change it now would just get us both in trouble. You’re finally free of your father, and you don’t have any reason to feel guilty. Don’t let him hold any power over you now that he’s dead.”

  He regarded me for a moment before letting out a short breath as if in resolution. “You’re right, darlin’. I’m gonna let it go. Thanks.”

  I settled back into his embrace and we lay in silence, my cheek pillowed on his chest while he stroked my hair. The strong steady beat of his heart lulled me into drowsiness, and my eyelids were drooping when he spoke again.