Spy Now, Pay Later

by Diane Henders

  Apparently delighted with our new game, Max bounded beside me, letting out little whuffs and whimpers and pushing his wet nose over to lick my face.

  “Jesus, dog, fuck off,” I crooned in loving, encouraging tones. “I don’t want to- Bleah!” Slinking steadily toward the side of the house, I wiped the dog slobber off. “…get frenched by some big dumb pooch that probably just finished licking his own dick…”

  The dripping tongue went into overdrive, nailing me square in the mouth.

  “Gross!” I spat and scrubbed my sleeve across my lips before cooing some more. “Good boy, Max, you big dumb shit-pumping spit factory-” The tongue slathered me again. “Blech!”

  Past the side of Kane’s house at last. Out of camera range. Now all I had to do was get over the fence without getting caught by the neighbours.

  “Sit, Max,” I hissed. “There’s a good boy. Sit.”

  Max obediently thumped his hindquarters into the snow, his lashing tail sending frozen turd bombs hurtling in all directions.

  “Great, fabulous. Good boy. Why does this corner of the yard have to be your favourite place to take a dump?” I grabbed the top of the fence. “Sit, Max, good boy…”

  It took everything I had to clamber to the top of the fence again. The reek of dog shit closed my throat and I had to suppress my gag reflex when I looked down at the dark smears on the white boards below me.

  Oh, God, please tell me I don’t have dog shit all over me…

  “Good dog, Max,” I choked, and toppled over into Kane’s yard.

  Max immediately began to whine and scratch at the fence.

  “Sit, Max,” I hissed. “Sit, dammit!”

  The stench surrounded me and I scuffed my boots frantically against the snow. Max’s whimpers got louder and he emitted a sharp little ‘let’s play’ bark.

  Dammit, if his owners came out now and found my footprints in the snow they’d call the police for sure.

  But I just couldn’t bring myself to track dog shit onto Kane’s nice basement carpet.

  Cursing under my breath, I whipped my boots off and stepped onto what I sincerely hoped was a clean patch of snow. The frigid moisture bit through my cotton socks instantly, and I dropped to my knees to fumble Kane’s window open.

  The fence rattled under a barrage of scratching.

  I gave one last despairing hiss of “Sit, Max!” and dropped to my belly to squirm feet-first through the window, boots clutched in one hand, the other hand flailing for purchase on the window frame. My jacket and sweatshirt bunched up under my arms as I slid. Snow bit my bare stomach and I bucked at the icy shock, throwing my descent completely out of control.

  My wildly waving feet slammed against a flat, hard surface that hadn’t been under the window when I left.

  My wet socks slipped on it. Oh-God-this-is-going-to-hurt…

  A moment later my upper body jounced over the windowsill, my fingers raking uselessly past the frame.

  Falling-oh-shit!

  I tumbled off the hard thing and crashed to the floor.

  For a moment I sprawled unable to move or breathe, my arms immobilized above my head by the bonds of my scrunched-up parka, my stinky boots still clutched aloft in a rigor-mortis grip.

  Then pain and oxygen deprivation hit simultaneously and I sucked in an agonizing breath.

  My exhalation was a piteous whine that put Max’s efforts to shame, and I lay immobile for a few more torturous breaths while the apocalyptic agony faded slowly to garden-variety pain.

  “Oh-God-oh-goddamn…”

  Groaning and whimpering as quietly as possible, I eased onto my side, still holding my boots clear of the carpet. After a few more moments of intense contemplation of life and the universe, I managed another quarter roll, then gradually straightened into kneeling position.

  Everything seemed to be working. Not willingly or comfortably, but working nonetheless. Emerging from my painful preoccupation, I gathered my wits enough to take stock.

  A tiny nightlight provided the only illumination. The house was completely silent. Kane must still be gone.

  I dragged myself to my feet to stagger over and close the window, leaving it unlatched so he could return later. The hard object under it proved to be a sturdy wooden dresser. He must have used it to get out the window himself, or maybe he’d left it to provide me with a landing zone.

  That would’ve been nice, if I’d known about it.

  The smell of my boots was even worse in the warm enclosed space. Holding them at arm’s length, I stared around the dim basement.

  Maybe a washtub? There should be a laundry room…

  The first door I tried gave onto an exercise room, the chrome bars of the equipment gleaming softly through the darkness. When I opened the next door, a hint of Kane’s citrusy scent tickled my nostrils while I surveyed the small tidy space with its washer and dryer. No sink or washtub. Damn.

  Heaving a painful sigh, I trudged for the stairs, enveloped by the vile canine miasma. God, that was one sick dog. What the hell were they feeding him?

  I limped upstairs, mentally cataloguing my injuries as the all-over pain began to resolve into distinct areas. My poor kneecap felt as though it had been replaced by a pulsating grapefruit, and a jab when I bent my elbow made me catch my breath. A largish ache in the vicinity of my hip indicated one of my landing points, but it didn’t hurt enough to be serious.

  I’d live. Unfortunately.

  Shuffling through the darkened hallway, I headed for the kitchen. Should be garbage bags there.

  It seemed like sacrilege to bring my disgusting boots into the pristine steel-and-granite kitchen where Kane produced such delicious meals. My arm was beginning to ache from holding the boots as far away from my nose as possible, and I ransacked the cabinets one-handed, finally discovering plastic garbage bags under the sink.

  With a breath of relief I double-bagged my foul footwear and carried the bag to the back door.

  The reek persisted and I hovered uncertainly. Was it just the lingering fumes from the boots? Or did I have something unspeakable stuck to some other part of me?

  The urge to strip and shower immediately was almost overpowering, but I decided against it. Better to get the hell out before anything else went wrong.

  Bag in hand, I slipped out the back door and scurried down the frigid sidewalk, my wet socks alternately freezing to the concrete and pulling loose with muffled Velcro-like noises. In the back alley, I reluctantly unwrapped my smelly boots and stuffed my half-frozen feet into them before trudging back to my car.

  When it came into view, I dragged to a halt, my shoulders slumping.

  I had forgotten about my broken window.

  No tape, no extra garbage bag, no hope of repair.

  Well, fine. Fuck me.

  A one-hundred-kilometre-per-hour windchill at sub-zero temperatures provided the perfect finishing touch for my shitty evening. Even though I ran the heater full blast, my ear and the side of my face ached with cold after fifteen minutes on the road. I drew a breath of relief when I slowed to turn the corner into my lane.

  Home at last, thank God. Now for a hot shower with lots of soap. Some painkillers, a warm bed…

  I had just parked in front of my gate when headlights turned onto my road from the highway a couple of miles away.

  Damn, hardly anybody drove this road in the winter. And I was really not in the mood for a neighbourly chat.

  I struggled out of the driver’s seat and hurried to unlock my gate, fumbling at the combination lock with cold, stiff fingers. Squinting in the glare of my headlights, I finally flipped the lock tumblers to the correct combination and swung the gate open.

  Too late.

  A dark SUV pulled to a stop behind my car, its headlights blinding me. A large all-too-familiar silhouette approached from behind the glare.

  Fear slammed my pulse into overdrive.

  Chapter 25

  Too late to make a grab for my ankle holster.

  My heart
scaled the inside of my chest to batter my throat as Sharkface approached, the muzzle of his gun looking like a giant gateway to hell. Christ, what was that thing, a .50 cal? He could blow away half my torso with a single shot…

  “Give it to me.” His voice broke into my frantic thoughts.

  I had to swallow twice before a dry croak emerged from my throat. “Wh-what?”

  “Give it to me, bitch!” He must have seen the blank incomprehension on my face. He elaborated. “The fucking bottle. That you took from Kane’s.”

  “Wh… I d-didn’t…”

  I managed to throw up a defensive arm an instant before his pistol would have shattered my cheekbone. The blow slammed me to the snow, exploding my bruises into fresh agony.

  He loomed above me while I lay gasping, his inhuman grin thrown into deep-shadowed contrast by the blaze of our combined headlights. “You left Kane’s place carrying a bag. Where is it?”

  Involuntary tears of pain and fear chilled my cheeks. “B-boots, it was j-just my b-boots in the b-bag, I d-didn’t f-find anything…”

  The high-pitched quaver of my own voice infuriated me. Goddamn snivelling chickenshit, about to die grovelling in a snowbank from your own fucking stupidity…

  “Try again, bitch.” He levelled his gun at my head. “Last chance.”

  “D-driver’s seat of m-my c-car,” I gabbled. “B-bags in the f-footwell. I s-stepped in d-dog shit and p-put my b-boots in the b-bag in the h-house b-but I had to p-put the b-boots back on-”

  He swooped down, his massive hand driving toward my face. I jerked my arms up to protect my head, but his fist clenched on my hair, hauling me to my feet. His gun muzzle jammed into the back of my skull as he shoved me in front of him. “Move.”

  I stumbled forward, pain and terror fuzzing my mind while he herded me to my car door before yanking me to a halt.

  The driver’s door was still open, the dome light revealing the two white garbage bags I’d worn over my boots while driving. The aroma of overripe shit hung in the air.

  Sharkface barked out a laugh. “Okay, sweet-ass. But let’s just make sure. Open the back door and the trunk.”

  Still restrained by his painful grip on my hair, I leaned slowly in to press the lock button and trunk release. Sharkface kept his gun at my head while I opened the back door for his inspection.

  Then he pushed me around to the rear of the car to survey the almost-empty trunk. “Dump that shit out.”

  The only ‘shit’ was my emergency kit and toolbox, so I reached slowly for them, my hands trembling in the illumination of his headlights. When my ski pants and sleeping bag and tools were scattered across the snow, he grunted and stepped back, mercifully releasing his grip on my hair at last.

  My wobbling knees almost gave out. I propped my hands on the back fender of the car, gulping shaky breaths.

  “Strip.”

  I froze at his command, my heart and breath dying in my chest.

  “Now. Strip.”

  As if controlled by an invisible puppet-master, I turned slowly to face him, my surge of adrenaline sweeping me beyond panic into cold detachment.

  His massive form was backlit, his features lost in the glare of headlights, but I could make out the shining length of his gun barrel. Still levelled at me.

  So that was it. I’d die broken and naked in a snowbank, alone in the icy darkness.

  I drew a breath at last, my heart kicking my ribs. I wasn’t dead yet…

  I reached for my parka zipper with numb fingers.

  Unzipped it and let it fall.

  My breath plumed in the cold darkness. My trembling hands closed on the hem of my sweatshirt. Tugged it up and over my head.

  The arctic air bit my naked skin.

  Waist pouch next.

  Sharkface said nothing as I dropped it beside me. Gooseflesh pebbled my body, tremors rocking me.

  Easy now…

  I unbuttoned my jeans.

  Slid the zipper down.

  Pushed the denim over my hips and eased it down my legs.

  Closer and closer to my ankle holster…

  Sharkface laughed, a sound as dark and cold as the frigid night air. “So you weren’t hiding anything. You’re not as dumb as I thought. Get me that bottle. Two days. Or else.”

  Snow crunched as he strode to his vehicle and got in. A moment later he reversed onto the road and drove away.

  My knees gave out completely. Sobbing and shaking, I struggled into my sweatshirt, barely feeling the snow that sifted onto my icy skin.

  Parka. Hood up. Conserve body heat.

  Violent tremors wracked my body and I lurched to my feet, hauling my jeans up. My shaking fingers couldn’t manage the button or zipper, and I stumbled around to the driver’s seat holding my pants up with one hand.

  Falling into the car, I slammed it into drive and stomped on the gas, leaving tools and emergency gear strewn behind in the darkness.

  It took two tries for my shaking finger to hit the button for my garage door opener. At last the door rolled up, the warm light of safety spilling out over the snow.

  The car was halfway into the garage before my tear-blurred eyes focused and my brain registered what I was seeing.

  I coasted in and shifted into park, mechanically turning off the ignition and punching the button to close the garage door. Then I sat quaking in the seat with both arms locked around my body, my mind fading to merciful blankness while I absorbed the chaotic scene.

  Of course he had searched my place while I was at Kane’s.

  Of course.

  I blinked and drew a long shuddering breath.

  I was still behind the wheel of my car, sitting in darkness.

  The garage door opener’s timed light had gone out, so at least ten minutes had passed. Probably more, judging by the screaming muscles in my arms and shoulders.

  I eased my arms down from their taut hug around my body, wincing.

  Thank God my garage was heated. It would have been the height of stupidity to freeze to death huddling brainlessly within a few yards of a warm house.

  Assuming the house was still warm. Maybe he’d broken the windows and the whole place was frozen by now.

  I didn’t really want to know.

  I eased out a breath, trying to relax my rigid diaphragm. Belly breathe. Slow like ocean waves.

  Quivers still shook me, the constant fine vibration of overstressed muscles.

  I should call this in to Stemp.

  But I needed to check the house before I could give my report.

  I couldn’t face that yet. Not alone.

  I needed Kane.

  My shaking hands fumbled my phone free, but I hesitated. If Fuzzy Bunny was monitoring my calls…

  But wouldn’t it be natural for me to call him? Wouldn’t they expect that?

  Too strung out to care, I pressed the speed dial button and listened to the ringing on the other end. After four rings, his usual terse voice message played. “Kane. Leave a message.”

  I disconnected and let my hand fall to the seat beside me, staring through the windshield into the darkness.

  Arnie would come if I called him. A single word, and he’d leave his bed and drive two hours in the middle of the night on icy highways just to offer gruff comfort and gentle kisses. The thought of his steadfast bulk brought tears to my eyes.

  I wouldn’t ask that of him.

  And anyway, it would be pathetic to just sit here for two hours waiting to be rescued.

  So suck it up.

  I shook myself and blew out a breath. So I’d gotten a little chilly standing half-naked in the snow, so what? Nothing bad had happened. True to his promise, Sharkface hadn’t laid a finger on me.

  And there weren’t any breakables left in my house after they’d trashed it a couple of months ago, so the cleanup should be easier this time.

  And I was safe as long as Parr still needed me. Sharkface wouldn’t harm me…

  “Get going,” I said aloud, and pressed the garage d
oor opener.

  Driving back to my gate brought a rush of reflexive terror.

  I drew a deep breath and let it out slowly. Just a reaction. No need to let it control me.

  Hauling myself out of the car, I limped over to retrieve my tools and gear. In the glare of the headlights, my shadow swooped and undulated, the dark movement a horrible reminder of Sharkface…

  Cut it out.

  Clutching my sleeping bag to my chest, I straightened and tipped my head back to study the distant serenity of the stars sparkling across the black velvet sky. The country silence wrapped around me and I concentrated on relaxing the tension in my muscles, absorbing the tranquillity.

  I wouldn’t let him take this from me. This was mine.

  This peace. This place. This life.

  Mine.

  Spine straight, shoulders square, I strode back to reload my trunk and lock the gate behind me.

  Chapter 26

  I hesitated shivering on my front porch, trying to prepare myself for the disaster that likely awaited me inside.

  Maybe it wouldn’t be too bad.

  Sharkface’s search of the garage hadn’t been wanton destruction. He had ransacked any spot that might have concealed something the size of the bottle-shaped weapon, but left my tools still neatly arranged inside the flat drawers of my floor-standing tool chest, just as I’d left them…

  I blew out a breath between my chattering teeth. Stop stalling.

  Pushing my key into the lock, I swung the door open and stepped inside. My security system chimed as the door opened, but it didn’t emit its warning tone. He must have disarmed it with a valid code. How the hell did he get that? I wasn’t in the habit of mumbling my master code aloud while I punched it in, so they couldn’t have gotten it via the bug…

  I braced myself and flipped on the lights.

  “Oh, fuck you, Sharkface!” The words spilled from my mouth before it occurred to me that I might be bugged again.

  I whipped out my bug detector, and sure enough its light flashed red. I groaned and took off my boots before hurrying over to gather up the frozen food scattered across my floor. After replacing it in the chest freezer, I padded over to survey the rest of the damage.