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

by Diane Henders

  “Um... do you think I should be concerned about staying at the house tonight?”

  Kane regarded me solemnly. “If you feel uncomfortable, by all means go and stay with a friend, or have someone stay with you. If you see or hear anything that makes you nervous, call the city police non-emergency line, and if you feel you’re in danger, call 911 immediately. Don’t hesitate. Better to have a false alarm than to not call in something potentially serious.”

  “Okay, thanks,” I replied, not significantly reassured. He hadn’t exactly answered my question.

  “One more thing,” he added. “Since we’re not sure whether there’s a connection between our investigation and your run-in with Ramos, please don’t mention details to anyone. If you have to discuss it, you can tell people that you were carjacked and the police are working on it, but leave out any mention of INSET and spies.”

  I shuddered. I didn’t even want to think about INSET and spies.

  Chapter 5

  I willed myself not to shriek and lunge for the wheel when the cab driver turned yet again to make eye contact with me in the back seat, waving both hands and driving with his knee while he delivered a philosophical monologue.

  By the time I stumbled out of the taxi and paid the driver to go away, it was all I could do not to collapse into a blob of quivering jelly in my driveway.

  The wound in my leg throbbed, my head seemed trapped in a slowly-tightening vise, and every single muscle I owned ached. In fact, I was willing to swear I had brand-new, previously-undiscovered muscles that were also aching.

  I dragged myself up the front steps and let myself in the door, automatically going to the security panel. I had almost finished punching in my code before I realized the panel wasn’t beeping with my keystrokes, and all the lights were dark.

  Dead.

  “Noooooooo,” I whined.

  I shuffled to the phone, half-expecting no dial tone, but it buzzed reassuringly when I picked up the receiver. I paced while the security company’s on-hold music abraded my already-raw nerves.

  Dammit, could this day get any worse? First some wacko tries to abduct me at gunpoint and then my security system mysteriously packs it in. By the time the dispatcher answered, I had switched to yoga belly breathing, willing calm.

  “When can you have someone come out and look at this?” I asked anxiously after explaining the situation.

  “Our techs go off duty at six o’clock.”

  I glanced at my watch. Seven-ten. Shit.

  “We could have someone there at nine o’clock tomorrow morning.”

  “I’m leaving at nine o’clock tomorrow morning. I really need this fixed now. Is there anybody there who can help me?” I begged.

  “‘We’ll do the best we can for you tomorrow morning,” he assured me. “But we just don’t have anyone available now.”

  Translation: You are completely hooped.

  I said goodbye and hung up in despair. Maybe I should go to a hotel.

  But even a cheap hotel by Calgary standards would strain my budget. I could stay with a friend, as Kane had suggested, but the thought of all the explanations and exclamations made my head ache even more fiercely. I’d had more than enough human contact for one day.

  I jittered back and forth in the echoing living room. With the walkout basement and three glass-panelled exterior doors on two levels, the place was a security nightmare. I didn’t even have my crowbar with me. I wouldn’t sleep a wink without some kind of warning system.

  I blew out a long sigh and locked the door behind me before forcing my protesting muscles into a semblance of a brisk walk to the nearby dollar store.

  Characteristically, I realized as I arrived that I was still wearing my bloodstained jeans and sneakers. I endured looks that ranged from curiosity to alarm, and bought tape, string, pins, and some cheap tins.

  Trudging back into the house, I set up a booby trap inside each exterior door, feeling foolish. On the latch side, I stuck a pin between the trim board and the wall. I taped several tins onto the end of a short length of string and tied the free end of the string to the doorknob. Supported only by the sagging pin, the tins would slide off and clatter against the door at the slightest movement. I hoped it would be enough to wake me.

  As I considered it, I threw in a hope that the pin wouldn’t let go on its own in the middle of the night. I’d probably have a heart attack if it did.

  I double-checked all the deadbolts on the doors and windows before stiffly climbing the stairs to the master bedroom. It had a privacy lock on the door, so I locked that behind me. It wouldn’t stop anybody, but it might buy me a few seconds in a pinch.

  Lying in bed, my eyes refused to close despite my best relaxation exercises. At last, I blew out a tense breath and rolled off the bed to get dressed again. After a few moments of thought, I removed the window screen and disengaged the crank mechanism, just in case I needed to make a quick exit.

  I gazed down at the long drop to the back yard. If I had to go out the window, I’d have to be careful to go over the tiny section of roof that projected out from the bay window directly below me. It slanted toward the deck, so it was only an eight-foot drop. I thought it would be doable if I slithered over and clung to the rain gutter to break my fall.

  I felt increasingly ridiculous as I made my elaborate plans, but hell, I’m a bookkeeper. We get anal about details.

  I rehearsed my plan while I changed into my black yoga pants and a T-shirt and pulled my baggy navy blue hooded sweatshirt over top. I surveyed my bloodstained jeans and shoe irritably. I needed the shoe. At least it wasn’t squishy anymore. The jeans were ruined. Dammit, that was exactly why I wore crappy clothes most of the time.

  Granted, I didn’t usually ruin my good clothes by getting shot and bleeding all over them. That was a first.

  I threw the jeans in the garbage and put the shoes back on with clean socks underneath. It wouldn’t be the most comfortable sleep I ever had, but if I had to run or fight, I’d be ready.

  “This is stupid!” I said aloud. “Why didn’t I just go to a hotel?”

  Nobody supplied any useful answer, so I sighed and lay down again.

  The faint clanking of tin woke me from a fitful doze. I was wide awake and rolling off the bed before the sound ceased. I snatched up my backpack and dove for the window, my stiffened muscles screaming in protest.

  As I lunged out the window onto the roof, heavy footsteps pounded across the floor below me. Slinging my pack on my back, I flopped onto my stomach and slid feet first over the edge of the roof. As I slithered by, I caught the rain gutter with a wild one-handed grab, throwing myself completely off balance. With a wrenching squeal, the eavestrough pulled loose from the house. I dropped onto the deck below and landed hard on one foot before falling on my butt.

  “Shit, shit, shit!”

  I scrambled up and dashed across the deck. Frantically blessing my long legs, I hopped over the deck railing onto the shed roof, then down onto the top rail of the fence. I dropped to the ground and scuttled across the front of my neighbour’s house, concealed by her tall hedge.

  As I turned the corner, the sound of my outside door opening triggered a fresh burst of fear. I cut across the neighbouring tree-filled yard as stealthily as I could on shaking legs, trying to stifle my panting.

  In the corner of the yard, I hoisted myself over the back fence and into the unlit strip of parkland that wound through the neighbourhood. I flew along the path, heart hammering, and dodged around the first turn. Trying to pant silently, I flattened myself against someone’s back fence to listen for sounds of pursuit.

  Nothing.

  Squatting down in the deepest puddle of shadow near some shrubs, I pulled my cell phone from my backpack to dial 911, my shaking fingers fumbling at the tiny buttons. When the display illuminated, I discovered a serious flaw in my planning. My cell phone battery was almost dead.

  Dammit!

  As soon as the police dispatcher answered, I babbled my addre
ss and told him that someone had broken in.

  “Get out of the house!” the dispatcher barked. “Get out immediately!”

  “I’m already out of the house,” I whispered. “I’m calling from my cell phone, and the battery is about to die.”

  “Stay with me on your cell phone,” he commanded. “Go to a neighbour’s house and call me from a land line as soon as you get there.”

  I was about to agree when it occurred to me that if I was being stalked by spies and/or nutcases, there was no way I wanted to involve some innocent bystander. And I had to talk to Officer Kane before I talked to the city police.

  And the thought of getting cornered inside a strange house made my skin crawl.

  “I can’t do that.” My voice shook with the beat of my heart. “I’ll wait until I hear the police sirens, and then I’ll go back to my house.”

  The dispatcher argued forcefully and tried to keep me on the line, but I remained adamant, told him my battery was dying, and hung up. I spared the poor man a pang of guilty sympathy as I imagined him cursing my idiocy, but I didn’t feel guilty enough to obey.

  Straining my ears and scanning warily, I still couldn’t detect anyone trailing me, but I moved on anyway, vibrating with tension.

  I hugged the fence and shrubbery, getting further away from my original location. Still no police sirens. I hunkered down behind some bushes and brought up Kane’s number.

  God, please let it be a manned message centre, and please let somebody be there at... I squinted at my phone’s display. Shit, three o’clock in the morning.

  The phone rang once before a deep voice snapped, “Kane.”

  Oops. I hadn’t realized it was his personal number. He sounded alert, but judging by the raspy edge to his baritone, the phone had awakened him.

  Any other time I would have taken a moment to appreciate that sexy bedroom voice. Hell, who was I kidding? I appreciated it anyway. You know it’s time to get laid when you start calling guys at three o’clock in the morning just to hear a husky voice.

  I herded my strung-out brain back to the situation at hand. “Officer Kane, it’s Aydan Kelly calling. I’m so sorry to bother you at this time of night. But somebody has broken into my house and-”

  “Get out of the house!” Kane interrupted. “Get out now! Go!”

  “That was the first thing I did,” I reassured him. “I’m on my cell phone.”

  “Hang up and call 911.”

  “Already did that, too. The police should be on their way to my house now.” I heard a surge of noise in the background at Kane’s end, and realized that he had turned on a police scanner to track their progress.

  “Go to the nearest house and knock on the door. Tell them you have an emergency, and call the 911 dispatcher on their land line.”

  “I don’t want to do that,” I argued. “If this is related to the carjacking this afternoon and you say this guy, what’s-his-name, Ramos, was a spy, then I could be putting innocent people in danger if I go to their house in the middle of the night.”

  I didn’t add that I felt safer outside where I could run. Claustrophobia isn’t exactly a logical argument.

  “If you stay on the street, you’re a sitting duck,” he snapped. “Go to a house, now!”

  “That’s not going to happen, Officer Kane. I told the 911 operator I’d meet the police at my house. My battery is about to die, so that’s what I’m going to do.”

  “No! Do not approach your house! Dammit!” I heard him take a deep breath. When he spoke again, his voice was even. “If you go near your house, you’re in danger if the intruder is still in the vicinity, and you’re making the officers’ jobs much more difficult. Also, if we’re dealing with organized criminals, they could be listening in on your call or using your cell phone signal to track you.”

  A wave of dread washed over me. I peered wildly into the darkness, straining my eyes and ears.

  “If you won’t go to a neighbour’s house,” he paused hopefully, and when I didn’t respond, he continued, “I want you to listen to my instructions, and then leave your phone where you are. Meet me... where you ran through the spider web. Got it?”

  My mind raced. Spider web? What?

  Spider. Web.

  Oh! Spider Webb. Where I ran through the Spider Webb. That would be the back of the coffee shop.

  “Got it.”

  “Turn off your phone. Throw it away. Run. Do it now!”

  “Roger that,” I said smartly. I turned off the phone, pitched it under a bush, and ran down the path as quietly as I could.

  Chapter 6

  I zigzagged through the park until I was close to another neighbourhood access path. Dodging into the cover of a copse of trees, I hunched over, gasping and trembling.

  How long would it take Kane to get to our meeting place? I had covered a lot of ground, and I’d been veering gradually toward my destination. I was only about five minutes away if I took a direct route.

  I was soaked with sweat and by the time I’d caught my breath, I couldn’t tell whether my shivering was from fear or the chilly wind. I delved into my backpack for my old baggy jeans and pulled them on over my yoga pants. My winter coat was back at the house, but I pulled the hood of my fleecy jacket over my head and moved out into the well-lit residential street.

  Setting a leisurely course for the coffee shop, I kept my head down to hide my face and adopted a slouching swagger. With the baggy pants and hoodie, I hoped to pass for a skinny teenage boy returning from a late-night party. With any luck, my intruder would be looking for a woman with long red hair creeping fearfully through the streets.

  The residential area was silent and deserted, but a few cars moved on the streets as I approached the small strip mall that housed the coffee shop and the roar of a Harley split the night. Some biker must be enjoying the ice-free roads and chinook temperatures.

  A few minutes later, I slouched against a light pole within sight of the parking lot to scan for Kane’s beat-up Suburban.

  No luck. The only vehicle in the lot was the Harley propped on its kickstand, its beefy rider leaning against it. The tip of his cigarette glowed as he sucked in smoke. When I circled closer, I could just make out the lettering on the back of his leathers: ‘Hellhound’, accompanied by a large illustration of a snarling black beast. The orange of the streetlights made its red eyes glow with life-like savagery.

  Great, just great.

  I wandered across the street, moving closer to the parking lot and ignoring its leather-clad occupant. The cluster of newspaper vending machines on the boulevard seemed like my best bet, close to the parking lot but somewhat concealed from the street.

  I meandered over and lowered myself to the cold ground behind the machines, leaning my back against one of them and facing the parking lot. The biker glanced my way, but I dropped my head to dig in my backpack, coming up with a cereal bar. I tore off the wrapper and chowed down, resting my elbows on my drawn-up knees and keeping my head hanging to hide my face.

  Just a drunk kid hanging out. Nothing to see here.

  Booted footsteps approached, and I caught a whiff of cigarette smoke.

  Shit.

  The boots stopped inside my peripheral vision, but I didn’t look up as I stuffed the last of the cereal bar in my mouth.

  A rough whiskey voice rasped, “Get the fuck outta here, kid.”

  I slouched to my feet and turned away, still hiding my face. In my best sullen-teenager voice, I mumbled, “Yeah, man, whatever,” somewhat muffled by the last of the cereal bar.

  A violent shove to my back sent me stumbling away. “I got shit goin’ down here,” the biker growled. “Fuck off before I kick your fuckin’ scrawny little ass to hell.”

  “Okay, chill, dude!” I whined, and beat it down the sidewalk fast, head down.

  That was all I needed. What were the chances this loser would pick this exact spot for his drug deal?

  On the up side, my disguise seemed to be effective. People see what they ex
pect to see. Nobody expects a middle-aged woman to hang out in a parking lot at three A.M.

  Or so I hoped.

  That put a serious crimp in my plans. As I turned the corner, I chanced a quick glance back at the biker. He had resumed his position, and I realized he had chosen his vantage point as carefully as I had chosen mine. He had a clear view of the entire parking lot, including all the driveways and access points.

  Shit, shit, shit!

  What would Kane do when he arrived and realized what was happening? If this was a bike gang dealing drugs, things could get ugly fast. I had to find a spot where I had a clear view of the back door of the coffee shop, but was invisible to the biker. Then if Kane drove up and decided not to stay, maybe I could signal him and follow him to a new meeting place.

  I strolled across in front of the coffee shop, making sure I was in plain sight as I walked away. As soon as the buildings blocked the biker’s view, I turned the corner again to get at the back of the other wing of the L-shaped mall. There was a space between two of the buildings, probably a loading dock. I should be able to sneak in there undetected.

  All I had to do was get over the eight-foot-high stucco wall.

  I smothered a groan and surveyed it with a decided lack of enthusiasm, rubbing my stiffening legs with shaking hands. Limping closer, I eyed the pillars that decorated the wall. Each pillar had a projecting base at the bottom. If I stood on the base and hopped from there, I should be able to catch hold of the top of the wall where it met the pillar.

  I managed the jump, banging my kneecap painfully in the process. The stucco scraped my skin but at least its deep texture provided a secure handhold. I hauled myself upward, scrabbling up the wall with my feet. At the top, I squirmed around until I was hanging by my midsection, my feet on the mall side. Slithering down, I clung to the stucco with sore fingers until my arms were fully extended.

  The ground sloped away from the wall on the inside, and I lost my balance when I landed on the short grade. I rolled and tumbled onto the paved laneway behind the mall, trying to bruise as quietly as possible and clenching my teeth on the profanity that begged for utterance.