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

by Diane Henders

Alanna turned to me. “Do you want another?”

  I summoned up a smile. “Yeah. One more for the road. Thanks.”

  Arnie turned to me, frowning. “Ya ain’t drivin’, are ya?”

  “Hell, no, it’s a joke. Alanna knows I never even have one if I’m going to drive. I walked tonight.”

  “Ya walked? In this weather?”

  I shrugged. “I wanted beer more than I feared frostbite.” Alanna arrived with our drinks and I took a long swig. “Ahhh, liquid courage.” I toasted Arnie with the bottle.

  “Don’t think ya need any more courage, darlin’,” he observed. “Ya ain’t afraid of much that I can see.”

  “Are you kidding? I’m afraid of lots of things. I’m afraid of carjackers with guns. I’m afraid of wacko home invaders. I’m afraid of politicians. I’m afraid of music played by 80’s boy bands.”

  Hellhound chuckled. “Well, that ain’t anythin’ to be ashamed of. All sane people’re afraid a’ those things.”

  “Well, there you go. It’s nice to know I’m sane. That was in question for a while this weekend, too.” I gulped more beer.

  Two was usually my limit. The third was probably a bad idea, but what the hell. Maybe it would help me sleep.

  God, I was tired.

  I slouched down on the couch and stretched my legs out, and we sat in silence for a while. I drank more beer and laid my head back.

  “Don’t pass out on me, now,” Hellhound teased.

  “That’ll never happen. I’ve never been that drunk, and I never will be. Just in case I have to run for my life again.”

  His coffee cup paused halfway to his lips. “Why would ya have to do that?”

  “I’m kidding. I hope.”

  He frowned. “Where’re ya stayin’ tonight?”

  “At my house.”

  “Did they catch the guy that busted in yet?”

  “Not that I know of.”

  “Darlin’, I know you’re strong, an’ you’re brave, but that really ain’t a very smart idea,” he said gently.

  I sat up. “Well, I can’t just go running away and staying at a hotel every time I feel nervous. I don’t know how long it’ll take for them to catch this guy, if they ever catch him. And I’m not going to go snivelling to my friends every time something goes bump in the night, either.”

  “Ya ain’t snivellin’. Somebody broke into your house an’ ya barely got away. That was what, two days ago, for chrissakes? It’s okay to be nervous, darlin’.”

  I blew out a breath of frustration. “I’m not saying it’s not normal to be nervous. I’m just saying, I can’t let it rule my life. I live alone. Yeah, I’m nervous. The best way to stop being nervous is to go and sleep in the damn house and get over it.”

  “An’ I’m sayin’ it ain’t a smart idea. Let Kane find out what’s goin’ on. What if ya sleep there tonight an’ some fuckin’ dirtbag breaks in again?”

  I threw up my hands in irritation, rapidly adjusting the gesture when my beer sloshed. “What if?” I demanded. “What if I get hit by a bus walking home? What if a chunk of frozen shit falls off an airplane toilet from 40,000 feet and lands on my head? You can’t live your life constantly worrying.”

  Hellhound regarded me intently, his ugly face creased in concern. I swigged some more of my now-foamy beer and leaned back in the couch again while he drank his coffee, frowning into middle distance. After several minutes of silence, he turned to face me again.

  “Come home with me tonight,” he said quietly.

  I searched his face, trying to read his mood. “Is this an invitation to come up and see your etchings?”

  He grinned. “Hell, yeah, if ya want it to be. The ladies tell me I got the finest etchin’s they ever did see.” He winked, then sobered. “Nah. Seriously. No pressure, no strings attached. I don’t think ya oughta be walkin’ home alone, an’ I don’t think ya oughta be stayin’ there.”

  “Thanks, Arnie, I really appreciate the offer. But I’ll be fine. And anyway, I can’t stand cigarette smoke.”

  “I don’t smoke.”

  “Bullshit! You were smoking the night I met you!” I retorted. “What was that, you didn’t inhale?”

  He chuckled. “Part a’ the character. What’s a biker do with his hands when he’s hangin’ in a parkin’ lot? He don’t play games on his cell phone, that ain’t cool.”

  I sat back and drank some more beer while I considered him. There was more to Hellhound than met the eye. Kane trusted him. That had to say something. Kane didn’t strike me as a man with poor judgement. And I really didn’t want to stay at my house alone.

  “Please tell me you’re not riding the Harley tonight,” I begged.

  Hellhound shot me a mischievous grin. “Is that a yes?”

  “Only if you sit on the P-pad. The only way I ride a bike is if I’m driving.”

  He laughed. “Don’t worry, I got the Forester tonight. I don’t put my knees in the breeze when it’s thirty below. I might freeze off somethin’ dear to me.”

  I blew out a long breath. “I must be crazy. Okay.”

  “Finish your beer, then, an’ let’s go.”

  I chugged back the last of the bottle and threw some cash on the table.

  Chapter 23

  It was just a short drive to Hellhound’s place, but by the time we arrived, my beer-fuelled courage was wearing off. I didn’t know this man at all. I’d only met him once before, chaperoned by an RCMP officer. What the hell was I thinking, going home with him? Once we were alone, there was no telling what he might do.

  He pulled into a numbered parking stall in front of a block of apartment-style condos, and we got out. I closed the passenger door and hesitated, wrestling with my better judgement. The newspapers were full of stories about women who’d made such ill-advised choices.

  Which was worse? Suffering and death at the hands of a total stranger who might break into my house, or at the hands of a man I barely knew?

  Hellhound walked around the front of the SUV and stopped, surveying my face. “Aydan, I know ya been through some bad shit lately. If ya want me to take ya to a hotel or call ya a cab, I’ll do it, no questions asked, no hard feelin’s. Just say the word.”

  I stood there for a long moment. I’ve never been good at trusting people. I should probably go to a hotel.

  Kane’s voice came back to me: ‘He’s the best friend you could ask for.’ I sighed.

  I was tired. I was a bit drunk. And I hated being scared.

  Kane trusted him.

  “Fuck it,” I said.

  I followed Hellhound inside and up the stairs. He unlocked his door and cracked it open cautiously with one foot jammed in the opening. Then he slipped inside, stooping as he went. When he turned to face me, he was holding an enormous battle-scarred cat.

  “Hope ya ain’t allergic,” he said. “I forgot to mention Hooker.”

  I laughed, sounding more nervous than I wanted to. “I should have known you’d have a hooker in your apartment.” I stepped inside and closed the door behind me, leaving it unlocked.

  Hellhound put the big cat down and kicked off his boots. He shrugged out of his parka, expertly tossing it and his hat past me to land atop the leather jacket already draped over the half-wall beside the door.

  “He ain’t that kinda hooker,” he growled good-naturedly. “This here’s John Lee Hooker.”

  “Oho!” I knelt down to the cat’s level. “Boom, boom, boom, boom,” I sang softly to Hooker.

  He stared back at me with round yellow eyes. “Mmow, mow,” he replied hoarsely.

  Hellhound and I both laughed. “Sounds just like John Lee,” I said.

  I extended my hand slowly. The scarred nose travelled the length of my fingers, and then Hooker pushed his broad face against my palm, begging for attention. I petted him and rubbed under his jaw. His eyes slitted with pleasure and a booming purr filled the room. I chuckled, relaxing. “Hey, big guy. Do you like to be picked up?”

  “He loves any kinda attention
,” Arnie said. “The cat an’ I have a lot in common.”

  I slipped off my jacket and shoes and carefully scooped up the big cat. When I rose holding him against my chest, he squirmed up until he could push his face under my hair. As his cold, wet nose tucked under my ear, his purring reached a rapturous crescendo. He squirmed some more, then placed one paw on either side of my neck, hugging me tightly while he purred in my ear.

  “Aww,” I said, my heart squeezing. I buried my face in the long, tickly fur.

  “You’re special, darlin’,” Arnie said. “He won’t hug just anybody. I’m gonna make some coffee. Want some?”

  “No, thanks.”

  He disappeared into the kitchen, and I wandered around his shabby but clean living room, still cuddling the cat. The decor consisted mostly of tall shelves sagging under hundreds of record albums and CDs, interspersed with speakers and stereo components.

  With secret amusement, I noted the crocheted afghans folded on the battered end tables and draped over the back of the well-worn couch. When Kane had mentioned crocheting, I’d automatically thought of fussy old-lady ruffles, but the clean-lined designs were masculine and contemporary, the colours masterfully selected. There was more to Arnie than met the eye, indeed.

  He returned to the living room bearing a steaming mug of coffee and sat down, moving slowly and circling me widely. I recognized the technique. I used to use the same one with feral kittens.

  “These afghans are beautiful,” I complimented him. “Where did you get them?”

  “Oh, that’s what I do to keep my fingers nimble,” he said as he reached down beside his chair. He pulled up a guitar and played a blues riff.

  I stared at him in surprised delight. “You’re a musician!” I sat on the sofa across from him, still cuddling Hooker. “I’m feeling blue. Play me some blues, baby,” I sang.

  He grinned and launched into a piece I didn’t recognize, a classic Chicago blues style. He sang along with the guitar, his rough-edged voice a perfect tool for the music. By the time he finished, I was beaming.

  “You’re an artist!”

  He inclined his head modestly. “I do some jammin’ sometimes.”

  “Will you play some more?” I entreated.

  He chuckled. “Hell, yeah, darlin’. Your problem is gonna be gettin’ me stopped.” Then he sobered. “Aydan, is it okay if I lock the door now?”

  “It’s okay. I have your character reference right here.” I nodded down at the big cat, still purring and nuzzling under my hair. “Thanks for giving me space, though.”

  Arnie got up and locked the door, then resumed his seat in the chair. “First time I ever got a reference from a cat. How d’ya figure?”

  “Here’s my theory. First of all, a lot of men prefer dogs. It’s all about possession and dominance. So if you have a cat, it’s a point in your favour. But if the cat is friendly and cuddly, if he goes to a stranger, it shows he trusts you, and he trusts all your friends. Hooker knows you better than anybody. If you’re good enough for him, you’re good enough for me.”

  “Well thanks, darlin’.” He bowed from sitting position, smiling. Then he picked up the guitar again and began to play. “How d’ya like this one?”

  I sank back on the couch, letting Hellhound’s music flow over me. Hooker purred hypnotically, a warm weight on my chest. Surrounded by safety, the stress of the past few days ebbed away, leaving me heavy with exhaustion. I gradually snuggled into a comfortable position and tucked my feet up.

  I was barely conscious when Arnie laid aside the guitar and covered me with a soft afghan before turning off the light. I floated away in blissful slumber.

  When my phone vibrated in the dark, I jerked awake, disoriented. Hooker’s purring bulk immobilizing my right arm reminded me where I was, and I made a left-handed grab for my phone to avoid disturbing him. After a short fumble, I pressed the button and mumbled an incoherent hello.

  Kane’s voice crackled through the speaker, wide awake and urgent. “Aydan, where are you?”

  “Wha...?” I croaked muzzily. “I’m at Hellhound’s.” I yawned hugely. “Get off me, big guy,” I murmured to Hooker as I freed my arm and sat up.

  There was a moment of silence on the other end of the line. “I see,” Kane said neutrally.

  “Huh?” My brain spun up to speed, replaying the conversation. “No! Jeez! No, you don’t ‘see’. I was talking to the cat. I’m sleeping on the couch!”

  “I see.” This time he sounded amused. He paused as if in thought. “Good.”

  “What do you mean, good?” I sputtered. “Since when do you get to judge my sleeping arrangements?”

  He chuckled. “I meant, ‘good, I’m glad you’re at Hellhound’s’. That’s a good place for you right now. Stay there.”

  “What, you woke me up at oh-dark-thirty to tell me to stay where I am? What time is it, anyway?”

  “It’s two A.M. We had some developments at this end today, and we just uncovered some new information that makes it look like you could be in very serious danger. I called Richardson to go over to your house and get you. He said your car was in the drive, but you weren’t there. I tried your phone expecting the worst.”

  “Oh,” I mumbled, trying to process the new information. “More danger. Fabulous. What do you want me to do?”

  “Just stay there. That’s the safest place for you right now. I’m going to call off Richardson, and then we can all get some sleep.” I heard the tiredness creep into his voice now that the urgency was gone.

  “I’ll call Hellhound’s place tomorrow morning at nine o’clock,” he continued. “He should be approaching consciousness by then. If you want to do us both a favour, you could make some coffee around a quarter to nine. Otherwise, we’ll have to listen to him complain for the first half hour.”

  “Will do, thanks. I’m sorry for the scare,” I said. “Goodnight.”

  “Goodnight,” he replied, and hung up. I held the phone to my ear for a few seconds longer. When a voice like that says goodnight in your ear, you can’t help thinking about a good night.

  I sat thinking lustful thoughts for a few minutes, then shrugged and gave it up as pointless. I snuggled back down onto the couch and pulled up the blanket again.

  Then I considered what the words ‘very serious danger’ would mean to a guy like Kane and shuddered.

  Chapter 24

  I woke to sunshine streaming in the window. The cat had deserted me at some point in the night, but there was still an indentation on the blanket where he had curled up. I squinted at my watch. Eight o’clock. I sat up and stretched, trying to ease the kink in my neck. It was a comfortable couch, but it was still a couch.

  Soft snoring emanated from the bedroom, and I got up quietly to carry my backpack into the bathroom. I washed and dressed, congratulating myself on my foresight in carrying the backpack along to Kelly’s the night before. At the time, it had only been a convenient way to carry my books, but it had turned out well in the end.

  I felt so much better. Amazing what a full nights’ sleep could do. Kane’s dark words seemed far away from the bright, cozy apartment.

  I slipped into the kitchen to search for coffee and filters, trying not to clatter around too much. Hooker appeared, winding around my feet and demanding breakfast with hoarse meows, and I found the bag of dry cat food and put a few morsels in his dish.

  Not being a coffee drinker myself, I wasn’t too sure about the mix, but strong seemed best. Promptly at 8:40, I pushed the button to start the coffee maker.

  A few minutes after the brew scented the air, I heard the bathroom door. Shortly afterward, Hellhound shuffled into the kitchen, eyes half-closed.

  I averted my gaze.

  “Darlin’, I love ya. Will ya marry me?” he croaked, heading for the coffee pot.

  “No thanks, I’m trying to quit.”

  He slopped some coffee into a mug and sucked back a swallow. “Goddamn, that’s good,” he groaned. “How’d ya know the way to my heart?�
��

  “Kane called last night about two o’clock. He gave me the heads-up.”

  Hellhound glanced up warily. “What’d ya tell him?”

  Something about his expression made me wonder. I decided to see what was going on.

  “I told him I was here, and he did this ‘I see’ thing. I got pissed off and told him you and I had been doing the nasty all night long, and he was interrupting my seventh orgasm,” I embellished cheerfully.

  His jaw dropped. Shock, delight, and dismay chased themselves across his face. I had expected the first two. The third confirmed my suspicions. Hellhound was in trouble again.

  He settled on a rueful grin. “Thanks for the boost to my rep, darlin’, but a dead man can’t enjoy it.”

  “Why should Kane care if you get lucky?”

  “He couldn’t care less if I get lucky. But if he thinks I got lucky with you last night, I’m in deep shit.”

  “Why?”

  He hesitated, then gave it up. “I was s’posed to be watchin’ ya yesterday. He told me to just watch, stay hidden.”

  I stared in disbelief. “You were following me all day?”

  “Nah. That was my first fuckup. Kane knew ya were takin’ the bus into town yesterday to pick up your car, so he called me to follow ya. I knew what time the bus came in, an’ you’d be easy to spot.”

  He slurped some more coffee moodily. “So I got to the bus depot on time but I ate a bad burrito the night before an’-”

  I held up a restraining hand. “Spare me the details.”

  “Anyway,” he continued, “By the time I got off the shitter, the bus was there an’ ya were gone. I pissed away a bunch a’ time tryin’ to find out where. The lady at the C-store remembered your gorgeous red hair, darlin’.” He smiled at me. “An’ she said ya bought a transit pass. So I was hooped. No fuckin’ idea where ya went. Kane about tore me a new one when I told him.”

  He slopped some more coffee into his mug. “We knew you’d be at the impound lot in the afternoon, though, so I was waitin’. Saw ya pick up your car, but I lost ya in that goddamn traffic clusterfuck. Figured you’d go home, so I drove straight there. Found your car but not you. So there I was, up shit creek again.”