Spy Away Home (The Never Say Spy Series Book 10)

by Diane Henders

  “Maybe once or twice.” Hellhound chuckled. “But if that happens I just take a coupla blondes an’ lie down ‘til I feel better.”

  I laughed in spite of myself. “Smartass.”

  “Seriously, though?” His tone turned introspective. “Nah. Even if I wasn’t so fucked up, even if I didn’t think I’d turn into my fuckin’ ol’ man if I ever had a fam’ly… It’s nice comin’ home to somebody for a day or two, but then I get the cold sweats an’ I gotta hit the highway. Even when you’re stayin’ at my place or I’m stayin’ at yours, I like it for a coupla nights an’ then I want out.”

  “And… how do you deal with it? When people tell you that you’re wrong and sick to live that way and you should settle down with somebody?”

  He barked out a laugh. “Hell, darlin’, I don’t give a shit what anybody says. Fuck ‘em all. An’ if they’re good, fuck ‘em twice.”

  I laughed and rephrased. “Okay, I guess I didn’t ask that question right. I don’t care what anybody says, either, until they get… important to me. That’s when the programming kicks in. So what if somebody you cared about said it? What if… don’t get me wrong, it’s the farthest thing from my mind, but what if I asked you to move in with me?”

  “I’d run like hell.” His answer was swift and firm.

  “That’s it? No second-guessing, no guilt?”

  “Guilt?” He hesitated. “I dunno. I’d hate to hurt ya, but I wouldn’t feel guilty about runnin’. We were clear up front about what we wanted. It ain’t my fault if ya change your mind.”

  I sighed. “In my next life, I want to be a man.”

  Hellhound laughed. “Don’t be in a hurry for that. Guys don’t do it for me.”

  “Oh, sure, always looking out for yourself,” I faux-griped.

  “Hell, yeah, darlin’. Gotta take care a’ Number One. When life gets tough, a man’s best friend is his own right hand.”

  “Uh-huh.” Comforted by our repartee, I relaxed into the chair and tucked the phone closer to my ear, smiling. “Tell me more about your best friend. What are you doing with it right now?”

  “Well, darlin’…” Hellhound’s voice dropped to a sexy growl. “What d’ya want me to do with it?”

  Some time later, Hellhound let out a breath that was half-groan, half-purr. “Damn, darlin’, I shoulda come up there after all.”

  I grinned and stretched languorously as I emerged from the closet where I’d hidden just in case an assassin showed up while I was otherwise occupied. “You came down there. I came up here. It’s all good.”

  He chuckled. “Phone sex’s fine, but there ain’t nothin’ like the real deal. Maybe I could take a bit a’ time off tomorrow, get out the Harley an’ ride up your way…”

  Tension re-knotted my muscles. “Uh… Actually, Arnie, I’ve got a bit of a situation here so I’d rather you stayed away for a few more days.”

  His tone lost its lazy satisfaction. “What kinda situation? Is this the ‘back-to-work bullshit' ya were talkin’ about?”

  “Yeah. I’m not quite sure how it’s going to shake out, but…”

  I hesitated, wanting him with me almost as much as I wanted to protect him. I squared my shoulders and kept my voice calm and confident.

  “…if anybody’s hanging around me it might mess things up,” I finished. “I hope I’ll be ready for company by Thursday, though.”

  “Okay…” He sounded suspicious. “How dangerous is this ‘situation’, Aydan?”

  “Um…”

  I hesitated too long.

  “Fuck,” he said. “Ya sure ya got it under control? Ya got any backup?”

  I sighed. “No; and no. But I don’t have any choice.”

  “Fuck,” Hellhound repeated. “Lemme come up an’ watch your back. I’ll stay away from ya if that’s what ya need, but I could-”

  “No, Arnie. Thanks, but that won’t work.”

  He sighed. “Shit. I figured there hadta be some bad shit happenin’ to make ya melt down like ya did earlier.” He hesitated. “I know ya can’t use any help with your mission right now, Aydan, but how about gettin’ some help with your personal stuff? Doc Rawling-”

  “It’s none of his business,” I interrupted.

  “Darlin’, he’s a shrink,” Hellhound said gently. “It’s his business.”

  “No. I’m not going to give him any ammunition.”

  In the lengthy silence that swamped the line, I imagined Hellhound considering and discarding responses. “Listen, Aydan,” he said at last. “I know ya got good reasons not to trust people, but…” He trailed off.

  “I know I’m a paranoid freak, but I’m not quite as nuts as that sounded,” I explained. “It’s just that I’m kind of on probation at the moment.”

  “Why…?”

  “Long story, but the short version is I lost my temper at work and if I can’t convince Dr. Rawling I’m stable they might lock me up in a safe house.” I did my best, but the last part of the sentence still came out sounding squeaky.

  “Shit, Aydan, what the hell?” He blew out a breath. “It’s okay, I know ya can’t tell me. Just promise me this. If there’s anythin’ I can do to help, call me any time a’ the day or night.”

  The tension eased from my shoulders. “Thanks, Arnie.”

  “You’re welcome, but I didn’t hear ya promise.”

  “I promise.”

  “Thanks, darlin’. Be safe. Love ya.”

  “I love you, too.” I disconnected and cuddled the handset close for a moment.

  “Don’t be so fucking pathetic,” I said aloud, and dropped the handset back on its base.

  Chapter 18

  After a slightly more restful sleep in the garage, I rose in the morning with new determination. The previous evening’s sexy sojourn in the closet had done more than relax me; it had given me an idea.

  A few minutes in the basement with a measuring tape confirmed that I’d be able to build a small hidden room concealed by my furnace and water heater on one side and the storage room on the other. The intricacies of its planning calmed me enough that I braved the bathroom for the world’s most awkward shower, soaping and shampooing left-handed while holding my trank pistol outside the shower curtain with my right.

  After a quick breakfast I carried in the leftover studs from the garage addition and began framing, my pistols strapped to my hips like an old-west gunslinger and the telephone handset within easy reach.

  I had relaxed into the comforting rhythm of construction and was securing the last piece of drywall when the ring of the phone jolted me back to unpleasant reality.

  I snatched my Glock out of its holster, then cursed. Capture, don’t kill, idiot. I swapped it for the trank pistol and grabbed the phone left-handed to snap, “Hello?”

  “Hi, Aydan, it’s Lola. Did I catch you at a bad time?”

  “Oh. No.” I let out the breath I’d been holding and holstered my gun. “It’s great to hear from you! How are you? And you’re not interrupting anything, I’m just working on some renovations.”

  “Honey, you never stop, do you? You work too hard.” Her motherly voice warmed me like a hug. “Did you have a nice vacation out on the coast?”

  “Yeah, I did.” Wistfulness overwhelmed me at the thought of peaceful commune life guided only by the natural rhythms of sunrise and sunset, rain and fair weather. I had felt safe out there.

  Vegetarian food wasn’t so bad.

  But no personal vehicles allowed.

  And no beer.

  And then there were the spies and terrorists…

  “…but I’m glad to be back,” I added. “I missed you. What are you up to these days?”

  “Actually, that’s what I’m calling about. The Chamber had a meeting last week and I volunteered to call you. The Spring Thing Committee wants to know if you’ll drive your fancy car in the parade on Thursday.”

  “I’d love to, Lola, but the cam’s so radical and the timing’s so advanced it won’t idle low enough.”
/>   “Car stuff. I don’t have a clue what you just said.”

  I grinned. “Sorry. Translation: I’d like to, but I can’t.”

  “Well, you’ll have to contribute somehow. It’s a membership requirement.” She paused reflectively. “They’re always looking for help with the kids-”

  I interrupted as politely as I could. “No kids. What else can I do?”

  “Well, honey, I thought you’d never ask. I have a great idea!”

  My brain served up a vivid montage of Lola’s previous great ideas, and I shivered. “Stop it, you’re scaring me.”

  “No, this will be fun! This is the first year we’re entering a float in the parade to advertise Up & Coming, and you’d be perfect to ride on it.”

  “Ride on it and do what, exactly?” I demanded with justifiable suspicion.

  “Just ride on it and wave to the crowd. That’s all. Oh, and throw candy. I was going to do it myself, but you’d be perfect!”

  “I know you better than that. There’s an ‘and’ or a ‘but’ in there somewhere. Knowing you, probably a butt. My butt.” My suspicion flared into certainty. “You want me to dress up in some leather contraption, don’t you? Or those damn thigh-high boots?”

  “No, no, of course not,” she soothed. “This has to be tasteful and G-rated for the kids.”

  “Lola. You own a sex shop and you have a truly twisted sense of humour. You have no concept of ‘tasteful’ or ‘G-rated’.”

  “Oh ye of little faith,” she said with completely implausible injured innocence. “You’re as bad as the Spring Thing Committee. They made me submit a sketch before they’d approve my float.” I imagined her drawing herself up to her full four-foot-ten-and-a-half-inch height. “And I’ll have you know that my design passed with flying colours.”

  “Really?”

  “Really. I’m going to borrow a little pickup truck from one of Spider’s friends and wrap it completely in brown paper. Plain brown wrapper, get it?”

  “Got it. And…?”

  “Oh, just some balloons for decoration,” she said in an airy tone that red-lined my bullshit meter. “And I’ll ride in back and throw candy.”

  “What didn’t you tell them?” I asked cynically.

  “What makes you think I-”

  “Lola. I know you.”

  Her giggle made every hair stand up on the back of my neck. “They’re going to have an absolute cow,” she said with evil satisfaction. “The balloons will be inflated condoms. We’ve got all colours so it’ll be really bright. The little kids won’t get the joke but every single adult will, and none of them will be able to say anything because if they do they’ll have to explain it to the kids. And I’ll be wearing a short trench coat with high heels and a push-up bra.”

  My mind’s eye outdid itself with a detailed mental image of Lola’s still-shapely legs protruding from an inadequate coat, surmounted by bountiful but wrinkled cleavage. Imaginary-Lola gave her characteristic wicked grin and gripped the lapels of the trench coat, clearly ready to expose more than I even wanted to imagine.

  I grimaced, willing the vision away. “Lola, you can’t flash the entire town of Silverside! Not even you could pretend that’s G-rated!”

  “No, of course not, honey. I won’t flash anybody, I’ll just do sexy poses, you know, like the old-time burlesque dancers. And I was planning to wear a bathing suit under the coat. Some of those little kids are pretty low to the ground and if I’m standing in the back of the truck, the angle might be bad. I don’t think they need to see this old lady’s kitty-cat.” I was shaking my head in resignation when she continued, “That’s why I need you to ride instead of me.”

  “What?” The word came out in a yelp, and I hurriedly added, “Wrong! Wrong-wrong-wrong! My kitty-cat only comes out to play in private.”

  “Aydan, what kind of sicko do you think I am?” I knew she was trying for indignation, but the effect was spoiled by her snicker a moment later. “You’re so much fun to tease, honey. No, I don’t want you to expose yourself. But with your long legs you’d look great in a short trench and high heels. And you’re ‘way younger and prettier than me. We’re already going to be throwing candy to the kids; we should give the big boys some eye-candy, too.”

  “No,” I said with as much dignity as I could muster. “There is no way in hell I’m going to ride the parade in a pickup truck decorated with condoms while the wind whistles up the crack of my ass. Trust me on this, Lola, goosebumps are not sexy.”

  “Hmm. That’s right, I forgot it could be nippy out…”

  I imagined her frown of concentration and crossed my fingers.

  My unspoken wish was not to be.

  Her voice rose in triumph. “Ha! I have the perfect solution!”

  “Dare I ask?” I inquired cautiously.

  “No goosebumps required. I’ll dress a blow-up doll in the trench coat; she won’t mind a bit. And we can make up a little bed for you in the back, you know, with a fancy satin coverlet and pillows all over the place, very sexy. You can be cuddled up all nice and warm, and you can tuck the bucket of candy between your knees under the covers so it’ll look as though you’re pulling it out of your-”

  “NO!”

  Her bigger-than-life laughter filled my ear. “Okay, I was only kidding about that part. You’re just so much fun to tease. Come on, Aydan, it’ll be fun! Will you do it?”

  I seized the only lifeline I’d spotted. “I don’t think you need me,” I demurred. “Your blow-up doll will have the long legs and high heels, and you can throw the candy.”

  “But you’d be so much better as the candy-thrower. And you have to be involved in the Spring Thing somehow.”

  “I’ll think about it and get back to you,” I lied. “Well, gee, look at the time! I’ve got to get back to work here before, um… before my drywall mud dries up. Talk to you later.”

  “Chicken.” Her laughter filled the phone before she hung up.

  Shaking my head, I exchanged the phone for my cordless drill and drove in the last few drywall screws.

  By the time I finished, I was slightly unnerved to realize I was actually considering Lola’s offer despite my misgivings. Riding in the back of a pickup truck and throwing candy didn’t sound so bad. And it would be fun to watch the adults’ expressions when they identified the true nature of Lola’s balloons.

  But Lola’s schemes had a way of backfiring in truly mortifying ways. And while most of my bookkeeping clients were as easy-going as Blue Eddy, I wasn’t sure all of them would see the humour in their bookkeeper promoting the sex shop that had polarized the tiny town into heated debates over morality…

  My stomach growled, cutting short my deliberations. I collected the phone and headed upstairs to the fridge, but the sight of Kane’s lovingly-prepared leftovers made my appetite shrivel and die.

  “Don’t be stupid,” I said aloud, and served up a generous helping.

  The scent of garlic and ginger wafting from the microwave oven should have made my mouth water, but it made my eyes water instead.

  “For shit’s sake, cut it out!” I scrubbed the moisture away and carried the warm plate to the table, where I determinedly shoved noodles past the lump in my throat.

  By occupying my mind with the construction of my secret room I managed to finish the whole meal. As soon as the plate was empty I rose and dropped it into the dishwasher, concentrating on the design of the hinged panels that would provide access to my hidey-hole while looking like solid walls. Surely the internet would yield some kind of specialty hinge I could use…

  When I plopped down in front of my computer, I reflexively checked my email. My heart clenched into a small hard ball before clattering to the pit of my stomach.

  A message from Kane.

  Trying to ignore it, I dealt with the rest of my email, but its subject line nagged at me.

  “Important: Please read.”

  No.

  No, dammit, this had to end, and the sooner the better.


  I clicked on the message, trying not to look while my cursor tracked to the Delete button.

  The preview screen sprang up. “Dear Aydan, I realize it’s over between us and I want to apologize.”

  “Fuck,” I said, and gave in.

  “I’m sorry,” the message went on. “I never wanted to hurt you, and I hope you can forgive me enough to remain cordial. If you can’t, please reply to this email with the word ‘no’, and I’ll contact Stemp and apply for an immediate transfer. Please believe that I never intended to manipulate you and I am truly and deeply sorry for causing you pain. Sincerely, John.”

  “Oh, Jesus,” I choked through a tear-clogged throat and lurched up from my chair to pace.

  He knew exactly how to push my buttons.

  Oh, God. What had Hellhound told him?

  I snatched up the phone, my shaking fingers getting Hellhound’s number wrong twice before the call finally went through.

  “Hey, darlin’,” he greeted me. “How ya doin’?”

  “Fine.” I forced the word out through a throat that felt too small for the words. “How about you?”

  His tone sharpened with concern. “Ya don’t sound fine. What’s wrong, Aydan?”

  “Nothing,” I said faintly. “Have you, um… did you talk to John?”

  “Nah, he never called me back last night. I figure he’s prob’ly still pissed over your fight so I’ll try him later. Why, what’s wrong?”

  “Oh, good.” The constriction in my throat loosened. “Arnie, can I ask you a favour?”

  “Sure, darlin’.”

  “Would you, um… Would you please not mention to John what we talked about last night?”

  “What d’ya mean?” Hellhound asked cautiously. “Ya mean when we talked about your ex?” His tone turned teasing. “Or ya mean the part about my right hand?”

  My laugh was a poor counterfeit of the real thing. “You can tell him whatever you want about your right hand and what you did with it last night. I’m sure he’ll be riveted. Not.”