Never Say Spy (The Never Say Spy Series Book 1)

by Diane Henders

  “Did you know Ramos? Have you ever seen him before?”

  “Uh,” I said, my mind working furiously.

  Yes, Officer Kane, I met him in a steamy fantasy. Bad, bad answer, on so many levels.

  “I think... I saw him in Silverside,” I ventured.

  “When and where do you think you saw him?”

  “It’s... a little confusing.”

  Kane was watching me intently, and it took all my self-control to keep my eyes from shifting away from his steady gaze. Lying was probably a very bad idea, but telling the truth would make me sound at best, like a crackpot, and at worst, like a pathetic slut.

  Hell, my fantasies were nobody’s business but my own. I went with simple, true, and incomplete.

  “I slipped and hit my head. I guess I was knocked out for a while. I think I saw him about the time the paramedics arrived.”

  “Exactly where and when was this?”

  “Thursday. Around 12:30 in the afternoon. I slipped on the sidewalk in front of the ice cream shop on Main Street.”

  “So there should have been a few witnesses,” Kane said.

  “Um, I don’t know. Maybe the paramedic saw him.”

  The paramedic sure as hell did see him, but I’d be damned if I knew how. How did he get inside my head, anyway?

  “Maybe I hallucinated the whole thing,” I added. “I was a little disoriented.”

  “Are you sure the man in your car today was the same one you saw in Silverside?”

  “I... think so. But that wouldn’t make any sense. If I saw him in Silverside, how could he possibly show up at my house here in Calgary? It’s not like he would have had my name and address.”

  ...Because I’d been too busy sucking face with him to exchange names...

  Gah. Focus.

  Kane exhaled wearily. “I’m sorry to ask you this, but will you look at the body and see if you can be positive about whether it’s the same man?”

  My stomach lurched, but I nodded. Looking at dead people wasn’t high on my list of favourite activities. And I didn’t think I was going to like seeing somebody freshly dead from a gunshot wound.

  “I’m going to have to eat first, though,” I said.

  Webb spoke up. “You may want to wait until after we visit the medical examiner’s office.”

  “No, I’ll definitely want a full stomach.”

  Both of them regarded me doubtfully. “Okay, whatever you say,” Webb replied.

  “When should I go? And where’s the morgue? Oh, and I forgot to ask, what about my car? Were you able to get it stopped before anybody got hurt? Where is it?”

  “Ramos had to stop it before he could get out and start shooting,” Kane responded. “Leaving it in gear probably saved your life. The car will be impounded until our team gets a chance to check it for possible clues, but that should only take a few days. Your insurance may cover the repairs.”

  I felt the blood drain from my face. “Repairs? How bad?”

  My poor little car.

  “Just a couple of bullet holes. You can ride with us to the medical examiner’s office, and then we’ll call you a cab to get back to your house.”

  Just a couple of bullet holes. Bullet holes were not minor in my world.

  I faked calm. “Okay. I’ll grab a sandwich and a drink to go and eat them on the way, if you don’t mind me eating in your truck.”

  Kane shrugged. “It’s a surveillance vehicle. It’s already full of fast-food wrappers.”

  I rose to go to the sales counter and stopped as a thought hit me. “Oh, crap! I forgot, all my overnight stuff is in the car. I have nothing at the house. Can I get my backpack out of the car, or is that impounded, too?”

  “It’s part of a crime scene, so technically it should stay. But you can get a few things if I supervise and catalogue their removal,” Kane replied.

  “Good, that’ll work.”

  Lucky I’d worn my waist pouch as usual. Someday the fashion police were going to take me down for wearing it in public, but it was convenient and impossible to leave behind. I might not be stylish, but at least I still had all my money, credit cards, and other essentials despite my wild flight.

  I paid for my food and we left the coffee shop to head toward the cordoned area in the street. The ambulance had departed, but there were still two police cruisers and a fire truck parked in the street along with Kane’s Suburban and my Saturn. As we approached, a television van drove away, and I thanked my lucky stars they’d given up moments too soon. I could imagine the TV reporter slavering over an interview with a carjacking victim.

  I glanced up at Kane pacing beside me. He had to be at least six-foot-four. It was unusual for me to have to look up at anybody, and it was a nice change. He noticed my glance and returned a questioning look.

  “I was wondering about the media coverage,” I explained. “How did you get rid of them without a whole round of interviews?”

  “Part of the clean-up crew’s job is to deal with media questions. Tonight on the news, they’ll report that there was a shooting this afternoon, and that it was probably drug-related. That keeps the public calm, thinking it can’t happen to them. In a couple of days, it will be old news.”

  “Drug-related? Jeez, I hope nobody recognizes my car.”

  Kane flashed his ID at the uniformed officer and lifted the police tape for Webb and me to duck under. Webb winced when he folded his skinny torso, and I offered him another repentant ‘sorry’. He waved a magnanimous hand.

  When we arrived at my car, I sadly regarded the bullet hole in the trunk. With the white topcoat cracked away and the grey primer showing underneath, it looked very much like the gunshot decals the kids put on their cars to look cool. I wasn’t feeling very cool at all.

  I brushed my fingers over the hole and murmured, “Poor little car.”

  Realizing Kane and Webb were watching me, I reached into my waist pouch for my keys and encountered empty space in their usual pocket. “Oh, my keys are still in the ignition.”

  Kane strode to the open driver’s door and reached in around the steering wheel. I started to follow him, but jerked to a halt when I noticed the ugly splatter at the top of the rear passenger door and over the roof. I looked away quickly. Maybe their evidence team would clean it off.

  Kane handed over my loaded keychain, and Webb raised amused eyebrows. “How many keys do you need, anyway?”

  “All of them. Believe it or not, I actually know what each of those keys is for. My friends call it the janitor’s set.”

  “I know janitors that don’t even have that many keys,” he chuckled as I unlocked the trunk.

  Before I could touch anything, Kane reached in and retrieved my small backpack. “Is this it?”

  I nodded, and he opened the zipper. “Tell me what you need from this,” he said as he began to withdraw items and lay them out in the trunk.

  “I’ll need everything in there,” I blurted, hoping to forestall the unpacking process.

  He continued without comment, and I felt a blush spreading up my face when he pulled out my bright yellow thong underwear. Webb strolled away with heavy nonchalance, his face scarlet.

  Yeah, that was probably more than he wanted to know about me.

  As Kane extracted the matching yellow bra, I took myself in hand. Dammit, I was pushing fifty. Surely I was past adolescent simpering over my undies. Kane’s face showed nothing but professional detachment, so I stood a little taller and watched in silence while he completely unpacked my few items from the backpack and checked the pack itself over thoroughly.

  He laid the pack in the trunk before taking a small camera out of his inside pocket to photograph the trunk and its contents. He made a note in his notebook, then methodically repacked the bag and handed it to me.

  “What’s in these other bags?” he asked.

  “Oh, just my winter survival gear,” I responded, glancing at their familiar lumpy bulk. “I always take it when I’m driving the highway. You know how fast
the weather can change around here in March.”

  As I eyed the bags, a dark spot on one of them caught my eye. No, it was a hole.

  “Oh, no,” I said as I reached in before Kane could stop me. I gazed up at him. “You killed my sleeping bag.”

  Chapter 4

  When we got into the battered Suburban, Webb offered me the front passenger seat while he got in behind. I’d noticed a couple of bullet holes in the driver’s side of the truck, but apparently nothing vital had been hit. Kane pulled smoothly into traffic and we headed north.

  I devoured my sandwich while Kane drove in silence and Webb chattered incessantly from the rear seat. In short order, I discovered he had two older sisters, still lived with his parents, had a computer science degree, and was a fan of World of Warcraft and Star Trek.

  “You like the new Star Trek best, I suppose?” I asked.

  “No, I love them all. The original ones are the best,” he enthused. “Besides, you can’t get all the in-jokes in the new movie unless you’ve seen the originals.”

  “I can’t believe you’re into a show that started, what, twenty years before you were born?”

  “I’m a serious movie and TV buff,” he replied proudly. “I watch everything.”

  We spent the rest of the short drive debating the merits of the latest Star Trek movie. When we arrived at our destination, Webb grew increasingly subdued while we waited for the medical examiner in the reception area. When the examiner arrived and we began the walk down the long hallway, silence reigned.

  I swallowed nervousness. Death didn’t disturb me and I’d never been squeamish, but I hoped I didn’t throw up or pass out. That would be an embarrassing show of weakness.

  The medical examiner led us into a room containing a drape-covered gurney. Kane glanced at Webb’s pale face.

  “You stand over here by the door,” he said. “I’ve already got your puke on my pants; I don’t need any more of it.”

  I glanced reflexively at Kane’s legs, and sure enough, there was a splatter on his right shoe and pant leg. I averted my eyes. Didn’t need to see that just now.

  Kane took me gently by the arm and the medical examiner led us to the gurney. “Ready?” he asked.

  I nodded, and the examiner lifted the sheet away from the dead man’s face.

  Clearly, Kane was an excellent marksman. There was a neat dark hole in the forehead. There was very little blood on the face, but I was glad I couldn’t see the back of the head. I’d seen what a .22 bullet would do to a two-by-four as it went through. Tiny entry hole, total devastation on exit. Kane had said his gun was a .40 calibre. I really didn’t want to see the exit wound.

  Holding onto composure, I concentrated on the face, trying to see it as it would have been in life. I’d only seen Beefcake for a short time, and I hadn’t been paying much attention to his face. And death changes even your dearest loved ones into remote strangers.

  “I’m pretty sure it’s the same guy,” I said as I turned away from the table.

  Kane’s hand was still under my elbow. He came around in front of me without letting go of my arm and looked down into my face. “Are you all right? Do you need to sit down?”

  I shook my head. “I’m fine,” I lied.

  A tremulous voice floated from the vicinity of the doorway. “I think... I might need to sit down.”

  We turned to see Webb propped against the wall. His pale face had taken on an unflattering greenish cast, tastefully highlighted with a sheen of sweat.

  Kane let go of me and grabbed a handful of Spider’s shirt, lifting and swivelling him into a chair. He shoved Webb’s head down between his bony knees and held him in place with a hand on the back of the young man’s neck.

  “Breathe,” Kane said. “Slow and easy. That’s it.”

  I turned to the medical examiner, who had by now mercifully covered the damaged face on the gurney. “Could we get him a glass of water?”

  He nodded and wheeled the gurney out of the room. By the time he returned a minute or two later, Webb was sitting up again, and he sipped shakily at the water.

  “Are you going to be okay now?” I asked, and he nodded and rose tentatively from the chair. I noticed Kane didn’t put a hand out to steady him. I guessed it was a guy thing. Besides, Kane had moved remarkably fast for such a big man. He could probably catch Webb before he hit the ground if necessary.

  It seemed Spider was sufficiently recovered, though, and we proceeded uneventfully back to the reception area. When we arrived, Kane sprawled into one of the chairs in the deserted room, indicating with a wave of his hand that we should do the same. Webb and I sank into chairs of our own.

  “Let’s talk this back,” Kane said, and I wondered if he was being considerate, tactfully allowing us to recover without fuss, or whether this was just for his own convenience.

  Kane turned to me. “You’re reasonably sure this is the same man you saw in Silverside.”

  “Yes.”

  “How could you... How could you just look at him like that?” Spider burst out, apparently still reliving the grisly vision. “Like he was a... a... piece of meat in the supermarket.”

  “He is just a piece of meat now,” I replied as gently as I could. “There’s nobody left inside. Whoever he was, he isn’t in there anymore. Besides,” I added, mostly to myself, “It’s not the worst thing I ever saw.”

  The memory of tortured screams echoed again in my mind. I shook my head slightly and banished the ghost with the competence of long practice.

  Returning to the present, I realized something must have shown on my face. Webb was staring at me, and Kane was frowning subtly. Why the hell had I said that out loud?

  Kane apparently decided to let it go. “So when you saw Ramos in Silverside, was that the first time you’d ever seen him?”

  “Yes.”

  “So Ramos sees you, once, in Silverside, on Thursday. Instead of tracking you down in Silverside, where he saw you, he travels two hours to Calgary to stake out an empty house with a For Sale sign on it.”

  I shrugged. “I don’t get it either. First, how would he know who I was, and second, if he did know who I was, why would he come to Calgary instead of Silverside, and third, why the heck would he want to find me anyway?”

  I could think of one reason, but I was pretty sure that hadn’t been lust in his eyes.

  “Oh, and fourth,” I added. “How did he know I was going to show up at an empty house at all?”

  “That one’s easy,” Kane replied. “See a For Sale sign, call a realtor.”

  “That makes sense.” I sat up straighter. “My realtor called me and said she had a hot prospect who wanted to meet me in person. We both thought it was unusual, but she set up the appointment – and then the guy never showed.”

  “He showed, all right,” Kane said. “You just didn’t see him until it was too late.”

  Webb chimed in, “But it still doesn’t make sense to lure you down here. Unless... he was planning to kidnap you and take you somewhere in Calgary.”

  My skin crawled at the thought. “Maybe he was just some nutso stalker, and it has nothing to do with your case at all,” I said. “But that still doesn’t explain why he would lure me here instead of just snatching me in Silverside. And anyway, that brings us back to... how did he find out who I am?”

  “Think back,” Kane urged. “Was your name ever mentioned in his presence? Could he have asked somebody your name and looked you up? You said you hadn’t completed all your address changes yet.”

  That rang a faint bell. I sat still, trying to sneak up on the thought. Who had I discussed address changes with recently?

  “No. Crap. Not that I can think of. The only place I’ve given my name and address recently was at the Silverside Hospital, and they wouldn’t give that record out to anybody.”

  “You saw Ramos for the first time around twelve thirty on Thursday. You were admitted to the hospital on Thursday afternoon, correct?”

  I nodded and Kane c
ontinued his analysis. “Ramos must have discovered your name and address sometime between Thursday afternoon and early Friday morning, because he left Silverside around eight AM Friday morning. That’s when we started following him.” He shook his head. “The hospital records are still the most likely source of his information. Records confidentiality wouldn’t stop a spy.”

  “Oh!” I bolted upright. Kane and Webb both sat up fast.

  “What?” Kane snapped.

  “You’re right, it had to be the hospital records! I just remembered the Silverside hospital had my Calgary address. They took it off my driver’s license, and I forgot to tell them it had changed.”

  Kane relaxed back into his chair. “Okay, so now we know when and how. Which leaves us with why. Think. Did he do or say anything to give you a clue?”

  My guilty conscience twinged again. I hate lying. The few times I’ve told white lies, the consequences turned out to be worse than if I’d told the awkward truth in the first place.

  Well, too late now. I took a deep breath.

  “Like I said earlier, I was pretty confused. It might help to talk to the paramedic who attended me, though. Maybe he saw or heard something.”

  Or more likely, he’d look at me like I was crazy and ask what man I was talking about.

  “Do you know the name of the paramedic?” Kane asked.

  “No, I haven’t got a clue, but he shouldn’t be hard to track down in a town that size. I’d like to talk to him, too. Just to find out what really happened.”

  Kane eyed me, apparently considering. “I think that’s a good idea. Can you be ready to leave for Silverside tomorrow morning? Your car won’t be released yet, but we’re going up anyway, so you can ride with us.”

  “Okay, that sounds fine,” I lied again.

  Two hours of driving, cooped up in a car with strangers. Not fine.

  “We’ll pick you up at your house at nine o’clock tomorrow morning. If you think of anything else in the mean time, please give me a call.” He scribbled a phone number on one of his notebook pages and tore it out to hand it to me.