“Well, welcome home,” I said. “Did you have a good trip?”
“Hell, yeah.” I could hear the grin in his voice. “Woulda been better if I had my own bike, but that new hog I rented was pretty sweet. How ‘bout you? When did ya get home from the commune?”
“Wednesday afternoon. I had to stay there a few days after you guys left just to tie up the last of the loose ends.” I hesitated. “How did it go, uh…” I wasn’t quite sure how to phrase the question. “How’s John?”
“Okay, I guess…” Hellhound sounded uncertain. “Actually, darlin’, that’s kinda why I’m callin’.”
“Shit.” I sat up, anxiety displacing my lassitude. “What’s wrong?”
“I dunno if there’s anythin’ really wrong…” I imagined his battle-scarred face creased with the concern I could hear in his voice. “But his last mission was a helluva bitch. Did he talk to ya about it?”
“Some. He said there was a little boy involved, and I could tell it really hit him hard.”
“Yeah.” Arnie’s voice was grim. “He’s gonna need some help with this one. I wanted to give ya the heads-up in case ya didn’t know.” He hesitated. “An’, uh… I got the feelin’ he was kinda freaked out about our little threesome…”
“It wasn’t a threesome!” I protested. “Jeez, we just slept in the same tent. Not even really in the same bed.”
“Well, yeah, but… when I brought it up he said he didn’t wanna talk about it. We had a good trip otherwise an’ shot the shit just like old times, but… I dunno. I’m pretty sure it’s buggin’ him.”
“Well, he’s dealing with a lot right now.” I sighed. “Maybe that’s all it is.”
“Maybe. Or maybe he’ll talk to ya about it.”
“Mm,” I agreed. The thought of having that conversation with Kane made my already-complaining stomach tie itself in knots.
“So what sorrows were ya drownin’?” Hellhound asked.
“Um…”
Shit, if I said somebody was trying to kill me he’d drop everything to run to my rescue again, and that would put him in the line of fire.
But having somebody I trusted to watch my back would be heaven…
“Just some back-to-work bullshit,” I semi-lied, trying to ignore my guilty conscience.
It wasn’t a complete lie. Assassins were part of my working life now.
“Anythin’ I can do?”
“Not just now, but thanks for asking.” I hesitated, the words ‘When will I see you again?’ hovering on the tip of my tongue. How could I ask without making it sound like I was pressuring him?
“Are ya gonna be around at the end a’ the week?” Hellhound asked. “I gotta be up there Thursday mornin’ for the parade, an’ then I’ll stick around an’ jam at Eddy’s Thursday night.”
“You’re in the Spring Thing parade?”
“Yeah. Eddy sets up a sound system on a flat-deck an’ everybody rides it an’ jams. This’s the first time I’ve been able to make it, but the other guys say it’s a blast.”
“Oh… that sounds great…”
I swallowed my dismay. So much for riding on Eddy’s float. There was no place in that talented group for a woman whose musical ability consisted of drumming on tabletops and singing off-key.
But oh, please, don’t let me get stuck with the screaming kids…
“Give me a call when you know for sure when you’re coming,” I said. “It’ll be good to see you. Oh, and by the way, I changed the combination on the gate lock.” I recited the new combination, knowing it would be instantly stored in his phenomenal memory banks.
“Thanks, darlin’. Take care, an’ I’ll see ya later. An’, uh… if ya talk to Kane, gimme a call an’ lemme know how he’s doin’, okay?”
“I will. You take care, too. ‘Bye.”
I disconnected and flopped back on the couch to stare at the ceiling. More to worry about. Great.
“Should’ve stayed at the damn commune,” I mumbled, and hauled myself to my feet.
When I descended the stairs cautiously so as not to jar my headache too much, Eddy looked up from behind the bar.
“Good morning,” he said quietly. “How are you feeling?”
“Fine, other than a nasty dry mouth and a bit of a headache. Thanks for letting me stay.” I glanced at my watch. “Hey, it’s nearly eleven. Why aren’t you playing the piano?”
He gave me an incredulous grin and spoke at his normal volume. “Are you kidding? I thought you’d have the granddaddy of all hangovers this morning. I was trying to be quiet.”
My heart swelled at his thoughtfulness. “Aw, thanks, Eddy, you’re the best! I don’t really get hangovers, though. It’s this fast metabolism of mine. I feel like absolute crap about two hours after I go to bed, but I’m usually okay in the morning as long as I drink lots of water the night before.”
“I guess you won’t need my patented hangover cure, then,” he teased, and removed a glass filled with red fluid from the bar fridge.
“If it’s got tomato juice in it, I’ll take it,” I assured him. “And then I’m going to go hunt down the greasiest breakfast I can find. Fried eggs and sausages and hash browns and buttered toast and bitter black coffee. It’s funny, the only time I ever want a greasy breakfast with coffee is after a night of drinking.” I took a swig from the glass he handed me and sighed. “Ah. Thanks, this tastes so good!”
“You don’t have to go hunting for breakfast,” he protested. “Remember, we do breakfast from eleven ‘til one on weekends. The kitchen will be open in about ten minutes, and yours can be the first grease off the grill.”
“Fabulous! I like it here. I think I’ll just move in upstairs,” I joked as I slid onto a bar stool and sucked back some more ice-cold tomato juice.
Eddy smiled, but his keen gaze appraised me. “Did you get through the night without too many bad dreams?”
I shrugged, embarrassed that I’d revealed my weakness to him. “If I had any, I don’t remember.”
“If you want to talk, remember I’m a bartender,” he quipped. “Cheaper than a shrink and tight-lipped as a priest.” He sobered. “Seriously, though, is something bothering you? If you’re having nightmares that often…”
“Um, no, not really…” I mumbled, cursing myself for blabbing the truth. “I was just afraid that if I was drunk I might… um… not sleep as well as usual…”
“Drinking brings on the nightmares?” He eyed me shrewdly. “Last night when I told you not to drive… The way you reacted… did that have something to do with it?”
I drew a breath of relief at the realization that I could tell him a truth without revealing anything about my current nightmare-inducing life.
“Um… yeah…” I studied my glass, not really wanting to tell him. But it gave me a plausible excuse for the nightmares, and it didn’t include secret government agencies and assassins.
I sighed. “About ten years ago a drunk driver ran a biker off the road right in front of me.” I took a gulp of tomato juice as my throat closed at the memory. “It was… really bad.” My voice came out in a whisper. “The biker was thrown. Landed on a fence post. Impaled.”
Eddy went still. “Oh, God, Aydan, I’m sorry.”
“But he didn’t die.” The thin distant voice trickled from my lips even though I tried to stop it with all my might. “He was conscious the whole time. Screaming. Horrible screams. Begging to die…”
My hand curled unconsciously into a bloodless claw, making me shudder at the memory of the biker’s reaching hands, so taut with agony the bones and tendons nearly split the skin.
“I was pinned. In front of him. Couldn’t help him. Couldn’t even look away…” My voice mercifully choked off.
I clutched the glass in icy fingers. When I raised it shakily to my lips it clattered so violently against my teeth that Eddy reached out to steady my hand.
“So that’s why I never drink and drive,” I finished, the words falling like hollow pebbles into the well of silence
between us. “Because if I had even one drink and something like that happened, I’d always wonder if I could have prevented it if I’d been stone-cold sober.”
Eddy stood immobile for a moment. Then a shudder shook him and he relinquished my hand to pour himself a shot of whiskey, which he downed in a single gulp.
He tilted the bottle wordlessly in my direction and I shook my head. “No. I have to drive.”
He shuddered again and rounded the bar to fold his arms around me. I leaned into him for a moment, taking comfort.
“I’ll go and find you some breakfast,” he said.
Shortly before noon I dragged my grease-distended belly out of Eddy’s. Emerging from the windowless back door with my customary paranoid sidestep, I kept my back to the wall and snapped a glance around the parking lot and rooftops.
A couple of incoming patrons gave me quizzical glances, but I returned a bland smile and headed for the truck. Climbing into it, I settled in the seat and rechecked my phone for text messages just in case.
No ‘call home’ or ‘I’ve been thinking of you’. So everything must be quiet around my house and the analysts had no further information about the identity of my enemy. I let out a breath and put the key in the ignition.
A sudden thought froze me in place.
I had left my truck unguarded for hours. Between closing time last night and Eddy’s arrival to open the bar this morning, there wouldn’t have been any passersby to witness anybody tampering with it. Any assassin with even a speck of competence could have wired a bomb to my ignition.
A too-vivid memory of my red Legacy engulfed in a fireball made me leap out of the truck. Crouched on the pavement beside it, I studied the mud-caked undercarriage and wheel wells.
Thank God I lived on a gravel road. I’d be able to spot any areas where the dirt had been disturbed.
There weren’t any.
Drawing a slow breath, I reached into the cab to disengage the hood latch. When I went around to gingerly open the hood, the familiar twang-clunk of the ancient springs made me flinch in spite of myself.
The old engine looked the same as always. Maybe a bit more oil caked around the valve covers. Should clean that up and replace the gaskets one of these days…
I hunkered down to look under the front bumper, then stood again to give the engine a final inspection. No packages that looked like grey modelling clay. No clean new wires anywhere…
“Need help?”
“Agh!” I spun to face the source of the voice, my hand diving toward my holster.
At the sight of an alarmed-looking man taking a rapid step backward, I converted my grab into an odd scooping motion ending in a convulsive clutch at my chest.
“Jeez! Sorry, you scared me…” I sucked in a breath and patted my heart back to where it belonged.
“Sorry…” He eyed me warily and nodded toward the open hood. “Engine trouble?”
“Oh. No. It’s fine.” I drew another breath and managed to bring my voice back down to a normal tone. “It’s just got a sticky choke plate, so when I’m starting it cold I sometimes have to manually reset it.” I tried a chuckle. “I call it my anti-theft system.”
“Oh. Ha-ha. Good one.” His laughter didn’t sound any more convincing than mine. “Well, I’m glad everything’s okay.” He backed away.
“Yeah, thanks for asking.” I pasted on a smile and turned away from the awkward encounter, then snapped a glance over my shoulder to make sure he wasn’t sneaking up on me.
He wasn’t. He was hurrying away, undoubtedly resolving never to play Good Samaritan again. Poor bastard.
I stifled a groan and slammed the hood with a little more force than necessary.
A couple of hours at Sirius Dynamics running Drake Mallard’s contacts through the law-enforcement database gleaned nothing but a list of petty criminals I didn’t recognize and a resurgence of my headache. At last I gave up, checked the truck over one more time, and headed home.
Chapter 13
I cruised slowly past the woods and creek that separated Tom’s farm from mine, straining my eyes. The still-leafless branches formed a complex network of browns and greys, but I didn’t spot anything that looking like a camo-clad gunman. Still, when I got out to unlock my gate, it took all my willpower not to cringe and scuttle back to the truck.
Hissing out a breath between my teeth, I deliberately slowed my stride when I got out again to close the gate behind me. Dammit, I wouldn’t give in to fear…
A dull report from the direction of the creek made me yelp and dive behind the truck, my body already in motion by the time my brain identified the familiar sound of Tom splitting wood.
As the regular thumps continued I crept back to the driver’s seat, trying not to hyperventilate.
Cursing quietly, I drove to the house and backed the truck up to the front porch. The plywood barricade behind the screen door looked exactly as I’d left it. A tense scrutiny of the surrounding hills and fields assured me that I was as safe as I was likely to get, and I abandoned the shelter of the truck to scoot around to the back door.
Inside, I resisted the urge to clear the house. The analysts would have notified me if anybody had been caught on camera. Nobody could possibly be hiding inside.
Don’t give in to fear.
My resolve lasted precisely fifteen seconds. Then I drew my Glock.
Okay, so maybe I’d give in to fear a little bit.
But only a little. With an effort of will I re-holstered the Glock and drew the trank pistol instead.
I cleared the house, cursing my own weakness but unable to stop myself.
Several long minutes later I finished in the last corner of the basement and drew a deep breath as I climbed the stairs again.
Okay. Now I was okay.
Reaching for the blinds, I stopped myself before I could lower them.
“Cut it out,” I snapped. “If you want to hide behind closed blinds, call Stemp and go to the damn safe house. Otherwise get it together, chickenshit.”
I squared my shoulders. I’d take reasonable precautions. Nothing more.
My answering machine’s light was blinking, and I skirted the bright flood of sunlight from the window to head for it. As long as I stayed in the shadows, nobody could get a scope on me…
When I pressed the button, Tom’s voice issued from the speaker. “Hi, Aydan, it’s Tom. I just wanted to let you know that guy in the silver SUV was hanging around again. I told him to take a hike and he won’t be back, so don’t worry about it. Talk to you later. ‘Bye.”
Heart pounding, I stood staring into space while my mind rocketed from dismay to irritation to fear.
Shit, that silver SUV was the only clue I’d had. And if Tom had intervened, did that mean he was in danger now, too? Dammit, I should have known better than to go over there for dinner. I should’ve just dropped off a cheque with a polite but distant thank-you…
But, hell, I hadn’t had much choice.
Growling, I picked up the handset and punched in his number.
The phone rang several times and I was mentally composing my message for his answering machine when he picked up with a breathless, “Hello?”
“Hi, it’s Aydan. Sorry, I must have gotten you from a long way away.”
“I was just finishing up splitting some wood.” I could hear the smile in his voice. “You know the old joke. It warms me up twice: once when I chop it and once when I burn it.”
“Right.” I managed a chuckle. “So I got your message. What was that all about?”
“Oh, yeah. I saw that silver SUV cruising by again yesterday. I was eating lunch and just happened to glance out the window as it went by. I thought about chasing after it but I figured by the time I got out the door and into my truck it’d be gone again.”
“But you said you talked to him.”
“I did. A few minutes later he drove onto my yard.”
I swallowed, my grip turning sweaty on the handset. “So what happened?”
&
nbsp; “Well, it was like this,” he began in his laid-back manner, and I stifled my impatience with an effort. “He drove onto the yard,” Tom went on. “Knocked on my door and asked if I knew whether Arlene Widdenback had been home lately. So I knew right away he must have read that newspaper article that got you mixed up with that porn star back in October. I told him you were Aydan Kelly, not Arlene Widdenback or Arlene Cherry, and I said you were at work and by the time you got home he’d better be gone. He tried to argue, but I told him the newspaper had gotten it wrong and you weren’t Arlene Widdenback, and if I saw him hanging around your place again I’d get out my shotgun.”
I thumped my forehead with a fist, clamping my teeth on my tongue so I wouldn’t say something I’d regret. When I spoke my voice came out surprisingly calm. “Thanks, Tom, but I don’t think you should have threatened him.”
“Huh.” The single syllable came out laden with disdain. “I know his type. If you don’t face them down they never go away. This isn’t the city, Aydan, and the police aren’t right next door. The best restraining order out here is the business end of a shotgun.”
I eased my tension out in a sigh. No sense in arguing. “You’re probably right,” I agreed. “Did you get a license number just in case?”
“Uh… no.” Tom sounded slightly less sure of himself. “He drove in and backed out so I couldn’t see his plate.” His voice firmed. “But I got the make of the SUV. It was a Hyundai Sport.”
“Oh… Good… Thanks.”
No, not good. Totally bloody useless.
I kept my voice calm through sheer force of will. “What did he look like?”
“Uh… I don’t know, just average, I guess.”
I tried again, holding onto my patience with all my might. “How tall do you think he was? What kind of build? What colour eyes and hair?”
“Well… he was a few inches shorter than me, so I’d say a little less than six feet. Not fat but not skinny, either. He was wearing a ball cap and sunglasses, so I didn’t see his hair or eyes, but he had a brown beard.”
Spy Away Home (The Never Say Spy Series Book 10) Page 10
