“Simple enough. I suppose you swept me off my feet?”
“I did, and right into my bed.”
Alexa swallowed, the image of her in Mike’s arms so vivid, she could actually believe it had happened.
“Good thing I didn’t get pregnant,” she said a few moments later. “That would be a tough thing to fake. Is there anything else I need to know?”
“Not really. There’s an album in your luggage with pictures you took. Andy Photoshopped me into a couple. He even managed to take one of us sitting side by side at dinner last night. We were laughing. I can’t imagine at what, but it looks good.”
“He thinks of everything, doesn’t he?”
“He has to.”
Alexa turned and stared out the window once more, watching the scenery go by. If only she had as much faith in Andy as Mike did. Right now, she felt as if she were aboard a runaway train and all she could do was hang on and pray the damn thing would stop without her getting killed in the process.
“We’re here,” Mike said, pulling off the highway.
“Perfect timing. I’m just like a kid. Road trip, and I’ve got to go again.”
Mike pulled into the parking lot as close to the main door as he could get.
“Ready for this?” he asked. “It’s our first official performance as Mr. and Mrs. Gravelle.”
Alexa rolled her eyes. “It’s a truck stop. How romantic do you expect to get?”
Mike smiled and winked. “You never know. All those horny truck drivers . . . ”
She laughed. “Well, if anyone hits on me, I promise to declare my undying affection for you.” Her cheeks heated.
Mike got out of the car, walked around to the passenger seat, and picked her up. “I’ll hold you to it, although I’d gladly arm wrestle them for you. Restaurant or bathroom first?”
“Bathroom, please,” she answered. An attentive Mike would be hard to resist.
Half an hour later, they were back on the road. The lunch menu hadn’t been available yet, so she’d opted for more tea while he’d grabbed an oversized coffee to go. They hadn’t driven very far when she turned in her seat.
“Monday, I told you all about Richard, and you promised to tell me about Thea. This might not be the ideal time, but I have to ask. Was she the one in the wreckage?”
“No. That was my mother. She and my dad were killed in a plane crash when I was ten. Al pulled me out and saved my life, but there was nothing he could do for the others, although he tried.”
“I’m so sorry. That must’ve been hard on you.”
“It was. Like yours, my dad was in the forces, as were Andy and Al. They were all pilots, and when they got out, Andy went into the diplomatic corps—at least that’s what his biography says—while Dad and Al started their own charter plane service. Flying was Dad’s life. He and Al would take rich American sportsmen up to northern Quebec to fishing camps. They’d pilot floatplanes, land on these tiny lakes where someone from the camps would collect their passengers, and then bring back whoever was ready to leave.”
“I’ve never flown in anything that small. I imagine it would be very exciting.”
He stopped speaking, focused on the road as he passed a slower moving car.
“It is. I loved it, but when I was ten, all that changed. Dad had a friend with a cottage in Algonquin Park who offered him the use of it for a weekend. We hadn’t had a family vacation in years, so Mom came along, too. Al was with us. He had a charter to the same area. When we left Montreal, it was a perfect June day—hot, sunny, not a cloud in the sky. There’d been no storm warnings for that part of Ontario, but sometimes the weather can change just like that.” He snapped his fingers.
“What happened?” she asked. A storm in a small plane like that had to be horrible.
“Our plane was struck by lightning, and we went down. Al landed as close to us as he could, pulled me out of the wreckage, and he tried to pull Mom out of the cockpit, but she was caught on something. Then the wreckage shifted and a piece of jagged metal sliced his hand badly. One of the men in his plane was a doctor and managed to put a tourniquet on him. They put out an SOS call, and the forest rangers came in and rescued us, but it was too late. Mom and Dad died. I had a dislocated shoulder, a broken leg, and a severe concussion. Al lost his left hand.”
“Oh, God.” She raised her right hand and covered her mouth. “That’s why you went to live with your uncle. Colette mentioned that you and he had been frequent visitors when you were young—that the bed I slept in last night had been yours. I’m so sorry, Mike. Losing both of your parents at once . . . It must’ve been hard on Al, too.”
“Lucien, remember? We really need to use those names. It was. He blamed himself for not being able to save my mother, but I was too hurt and angry then . . . I haven’t seen him since the funeral. With his artificial hand, he managed to stay in the air and keep the business going. He sent me a message saying he was retiring. Each year, he continues to deposit what he insists is my share of the profits into a bank account. I’ve never touched it. At one time, I considered using it to build my dream home, but . . . ”
She waited for him to continue. “But what?”
“But nothing,” he said, closing himself off from her once more. “If we don’t survive this, it’ll be a nice nest egg for Henri’s kids, but don’t worry, Laura,” he used her alias, “I promise not to give up without a fight.”
“Good, because I have no intention of giving up either,” she answered softly, before opening the paperback she’d borrowed from Colette and trying to lose herself in the story.
When Mike put on the turn signal and pulled onto the ramp, preparing to turn south onto Brookdale Avenue, Alexa exhaled. She was strung more tightly than a fine violin. What if Andy was wrong and they were driving into a trap? If whoever was behind this could change and rewrite the past, anything was possible.
Merging into traffic, Mike turned to her.
“It shouldn’t be long now. The hotel’s on the east side of the road. We’ll get settled and order room service or something. It’s after twelve and that muffin I had in Kanata is long gone. If you don’t want what the hotel has to offer, we can get pizza. The city’s famous for it. One of the guys in my squad has a son who plays minor hockey here, and he brings back half a dozen each time he does. They’re usually gone before I can even get a piece.”
“Whatever you like. I doubt I’ll eat much—nerves, I suppose,” she admitted. “I can’t shake the feeling that this is a mistake.”
“Have faith. Andy knows what he’s doing. Once we eat, I’ll have a look at that map again and you can rest.”
The concern on his face chipped away at her determination not to let him get close. It would be too easy to allow him into her heart, but wanting someone in her life had gotten her into this mess in the first place. Like it or not, her remaining alone was the only way to safeguard her independence and her peace of mind.
“I’m not tired, just keyed up. I’m afraid, more frightened than I’ve ever been, and I didn’t think that was possible. It’s strange. Eight months ago, before all this happened, I wanted nothing more than to vanish off the face of the earth. Now that I have, it’s the last thing I want.” She shivered.
Mike must’ve noticed since he turned the heat up once more.
“It’s okay. I learned a long time ago that getting what you wish for often doesn’t turn out the way you’d hoped it would. If there is a God, he has a warped sense of humor. Now, last-minute cram session. We’re Lucien and Laura Gravelle, madly in love and on our honeymoon.” He pulled under the overhang at the hotel’s main door. “I know you’re going to give an Oscar-worthy performance.” He winked. “I hope I come up as best supporting actor. Have you got your weapon?”
She nodded. “Let’s hope I don’t need to use it now. That would be a hell of a thing to explain.”
He chuckled. “I’ll be right back.”
As soon as he left the vehicle, Alexa locked the doors and lea
ned back in her seat. Despite his cavalier attitude, she could tell Mike was worried, and that added to her discomfort. She closed her eyes, visualizing the scene in the convenience store, fighting to suppress the distress the memory brought back.
The man beside Zabat had been one of his lieutenants, and Mike assumed the man who’d shot her had been his other goon, but what if it hadn’t been? She hadn’t seen the fifth man—couldn’t identify him. She’d redrawn the pictures of the four executioners yesterday but hadn’t had time to be as exact and precise as she would’ve liked. The third man was olive-skinned, probably Mediterranean, most likely Middle Eastern. The fourth man, Slavic or possibly Russian, had looked vaguely familiar, but try as she might, she couldn’t place him. It was as if he were an echo of someone she knew, with his sand-brown hair and piercing blue eyes. Could he be the magician? Had she seen him before?
If Mike could get her art supplies, she would draw those two men again, leaving out nothing. The smallest detail could be the one they needed, but maybe it wasn’t one of them she needed to fear. It could be the faceless man who’d shot her. But, with all evidence of the execution gone, what difference did it make?
Chapter Seventeen
Alexa jumped when Mike knocked on the window, startling her out of her musings. She relaxed her hold on the gun and unlocked the door. So much for staying alert.
“We’re to drive around to the back. Scott will meet us there with your new wheels.”
Mike drove the sedan around the building, stopping near the door held open by a man in a white golf shirt and khakis.
“Kind of relaxed around here, isn’t it?”
“Scott owns the place. He comes and goes as he pleases.”
The fair-haired man pushed the folding wheelchair closer to her.
“Welcome to Cornwall,” he said, the tilt of his head and his eyes indicating a security camera.
“Thank you.” She smiled. Hopefully, her new femme fatale look would fool anyone who saw her.
“I was sorry to hear about your accident. If your husband will push your chair, I’ll get your bags.”
Minutes later, Mike opened the door to what he’d told her was a junior suite. They entered a kitchenette that abutted a sitting area complete with sofa and chairs. The bedroom was separate, and through the open door, she could see the large king-sized bed. She swallowed. While that thing looked big enough for four people, the couch didn’t look long enough for either of them. Once Richard found out they’d split a room, sharing that big bed wouldn’t make a difference. They would be dead either way.
“If you need anything, call the desk,” Scott said, setting down the bags. “My manager, Sharon, will deal with you personally. The hotel isn’t very busy right now, but we’ve got a wedding reception and junior hockey teams coming in Friday night. It shouldn’t affect you since you’ll be leaving Saturday morning. Don’t bother coming to the desk to check out. Take the key card with you. I’ll handle your departure myself. Just be gone by noon.” He handed Mike a key ring. “This belongs to the SUV on the other side of where you parked. If I can have Colette’s keys, I’ll get rid of that right now. I’ve got you here for three nights, but the register will indicate you arrived on Sunday. The hotel Wi-Fi code is on the envelope with your key card, but use this one.” He handed him a slip of paper. “It’s a secure line. I’ll check with you if I hear anything.”
“Won’t that camera footage prove we arrived today?” she challenged.
Scott smiled. “I’m on my way to fix that right now. It’s a simple splicing job. With the right equipment, I can do just about anything.”
“What about the housekeeping staff? They’ll know the room was empty.”
He winked. “Was it? I was under the impression there was a honeymooning couple in here who asked not to be disturbed.”
Her cheeks burned at the implication.
“Thanks, Scott,” Mike said, his high color testifying to his embarrassment, too.
“No problem. Andy knows he can call on me at any time. That guy saved my ass more than once.” He nodded and left the room, the door locking itself behind him.
Alexa stood, removed her gloves, hat, and coat, and then collapsed back into the wheelchair. Her back ached, but unless the pain became unbearable, she wouldn’t take the pills. She glanced around the room. This would be her home for the next three nights. Mike flipped a switch, turning on the gas fireplace.
“Will this do?” he asked, picking up her suitcase and carrying it into the bedroom. “There’s only one bed, but I think the sofa is convertible.”
“It’s fine,” she said. “We’ll make it work.” What choice did they have?
Less than two hours later, Alexa leaned back in her wheelchair and groaned. “I can’t believe I ate two pieces. That was the best pizza I’ve ever eaten,” she said, pushing away her plate. “There must’ve been half a pound of bacon on it. I can’t eat another bite.”
“Neither can I,” Mike admitted before refilling her wineglass. “There are a couple of pieces left we can have for breakfast.”
“You can have them both. I don’t like used pizza.”
“Used? Seriously? It’s not as if I licked them,” he answered, pouting as if she’d insulted him.
“No, but you did pick off the bacon,” she answered and chuckled. “That’s used as far as I’m concerned.”
“Fine,” he acknowledged and laughed. “I’ve got no problem recycling it. Why don’t you relax while I have another look at that map? The restaurant next door is a small one and serves high-end meals. We can get dinner there later.”
“How can you even think of dinner after eating four pieces of pizza?”
He furrowed his eyebrows in a “what’s wrong with that” look. “I’m a growing boy.”
“Growing boy, my ass.” Her cheeks heated again.
He looked at her with sad, puppy eyes that made her laugh.
“Fine, if you won’t share my food, how about a bath? Not with me,” he backpedaled. “There’s a Jacuzzi tub and a walk-in shower.”
She had to be beet red by now. Swallowing the mouthful of wine she’d almost choked on, she tried to look blasé.
“Your food is safe. As far as a Jacuzzi bath goes, there isn’t anything I would enjoy more, but I’m certain I can’t get in and out, so the shower will have to do. Most of them have seats at one end. After that, it’s into that monster bed to watch some old movie and take a nap.”
“I could help you in and out of the tub,” he offered. “I’m a professional, you know. It would be strictly business.” He wiggled his eyebrows, belying his words.
Her eyes opened wide at the implication. While they might be pretending to be married, there was no way she would let him see her naked—professional or not.
“I don’t think so.”
He chuckled and shrugged. “If you change your mind, let me know. I promise to be a perfect gentleman. Tomorrow, we’ll drive to Perth and I’ll contact Henri. After I do, I’ll dump the phone there just in case they manage to track it. If they do, hopefully they’ll keep looking for us up the Ottawa Valley.”
“Why not just call from here?”
“Because we need to lay down a false trail. If they do lock onto my cell phone signal, I don’t want it to lead anywhere near us.”
“I see,” she said. He might believe all these extra precautions were necessary, but she wasn’t sure she did. They hadn’t been followed from Andy’s. How could anyone know where they were now? “Where are we going after we leave Cornwall?”
“Magog. It’s a small town near Owl’s Head, a ski resort south of Montreal not too far from the American border. Since our cover is a honeymoon skiing vacation, we need to keep up the pretense. According to the coded information on the back of this map, we have a two-night reservation there.”
She pointed to the map. “Why didn’t Andy just give you that himself? Why go through a third party?”
“He’s not the one who arranged this. Funny thi
ng about spies. They spread the work around so that no one person knows it all . . . you know, in case they get caught and tortured.”
She swallowed. “Andy thinks there’s a chance of that?”
“The body in the river was, so who knows?” He shrugged. “Colette used her CSIS contacts to arrange this, but we’ll have to be careful. Andy explained it all in the e-mail I read before the pizza arrived. He’s in Toronto, looking into those pictures of Alexa O’Brien. He’s handed off your sketches to a contact who’s going to run them through some foreign databases and facial recognition software. By the way, apparently you’re better than any sketch artist the man’s ever used, so that could be a potential career choice.”
“Maybe.”
He rubbed the back of his neck. “Lex, we have to know who that woman is.”
“Or who I am.”
“The two go hand in hand, don’t they?”
“You may not believe I’m Alexa, but I do.” Finishing the wine in her glass, she set it down on the desk next to her. “What I don’t understand is how Andy and his friends expect to learn the truth in this when the police haven’t been able to do it in all the time they’ve had.”
“What do you mean?”
“You told me the police haven’t identified two of the men in the sketches I drew. Now, just like that, you expect a retired spy to do it.”
“You’re forgetting something. According to the records, what you saw didn’t happen. Ergo, no one’s been trying to identify those sketches.”
“What about the chief inspector? He sent you to protect me.”
“And I’m not sure why. Either he’s part of this, or he’s the world’s biggest sucker. If someone fed him this bullshit and did it through what looked like the right channels, he’d swallow it hook, line, and sinker. He’s always considered himself the great crusader, determined to bring down organized crime. Doucet’s conceited enough to believe he can do what no other man can.”
No Good Deed Page 21
