A Spy For a Spy

  A Spy For A Spy

  Book 6 of the NEVER SAY SPY series

  By Diane Henders

  Published March 2013 by PEBKAC Publishing

  Smashwords Edition v.4

  ISBN 978-1-927460-05-4

  The town of Silverside and all secret technologies are products of my imagination. If I’m abducted by grim-faced men wearing dark glasses, or if I die in an unexplained fiery car crash, you’ll know I accidentally came a little too close to the truth.

  This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this novel are products of my imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to persons living or dead is entirely coincidental.

  Please respect my hard work by complying with copyright laws. This e-book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. You may not resell this e-book under any circumstances.

  Thank you for reading!

  Copyright © 2013 Diane Henders

  All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book, or portions thereof, in any form.

  Books in the NEVER SAY SPY series:

  Book 1: Never Say Spy

  Book 2: The Spy Is Cast

  Book 3: Reach For The Spy

  Book 4: Tell Me No Spies

  Book 5: How Spy I Am

  Book 6: A Spy For A Spy

  Book 7: Spy, Spy Away

  Book 8: Spy Now, Pay Later

  Book 9: Spy High

  Book 10: Spy Away Home

  More books coming! For a current list, please visit www.dianehenders.com

  Or sign up for my New Book Notification list at

  www.dianehenders.com/books

  For Phill

  Thank you for being my technical advisor and the most tolerant husband ever. Much love!

  To my beta readers/editors, especially Carol H., Judy B., and Phill B., with gratitude: Many thanks for all your time and effort in catching my spelling and grammar errors, telling me when I screwed up the plot or the characters’ motivations, and generally keeping me honest.

  To the other Phil, with appreciation: Thanks for your patience with all my dumb trucking questions. Time for some more beer-and-bullshit sessions…

  To Rick and Sandy H. at Hand Crafted Images: Your talent makes my covers extra-special, and your sense of humour makes photo sessions fun even for a camera-hater like me. Thank you!

  To Steve A. and the staff at The Shooting Edge: Thank you for lending us your excellent facilities for our cover photo sessions. You guys rock!

  To everyone else, respectfully:

  If you find any typographical errors in this book, please send an email to errors@dianehenders.com. Mistakes drive me nuts, and I’m sorry if any slipped through. Please let me know what the error is, and on which page (or at which position in e-versions). I’ll make sure it gets fixed as soon as possible. Thanks!

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  Chapter 43

  Chapter 1

  Damn, nothing rearranges your priorities like narrowly escaping a fiery explosion. Priority number one: A hot shower.

  Oh God, yes.

  I limped into my house and made for the bathroom with the kind of ardent longing I usually reserve for cold beer.

  The pain of squirming out of my too-tight biking leathers made me catch my breath, too exhausted to even swear. Some pebbles and dirt sifted to the floor when I dropped the scuffed garments in the corner, and I leaned over to brush the last of the debris out of my hair as well. The stench of smoke clung to me like acrid cologne, overlaid by the faint antiseptic smell of a night spent in the hospital.

  Straightening and twisting cautiously, I examined the dark bruises on my back and side in the mirror.

  Could’ve been worse. At least I hadn’t been blown into strawberry jam. Now if I could just make it through tomorrow unscathed…

  I sighed and crept into the steamy rapture of my shower.

  Some painkillers, food, and a few hours of pleasantly routine bookkeeping soothed my physical discomfort but did nothing for my apprehension. After supper, I picked up a long-neglected book and tried to prevent my mind from skittering to nervous speculations about what the next day might hold.

  Dammit, lying to the director of clandestine operations had been my only option at the time, but what the hell was I going to do now? Tomorrow he’d expect me to act like the experienced secret agent I’d told him I was, not the shit-scared civilian bookkeeper I truly was…

  The muffled thud of a car door slamming in my driveway made me hurry for the door, mentally cataloguing the reassuring weight of my gun in its ankle holster.

  Who the hell would be driving into my yard this late in the evening?

  The doorbell rang just as I reached the front door. When I peeked through the fisheye lens, a sigh of mingled relief and worry leaked out.

  Two uniformed RCMP officers. An unmarked black sedan faded into the darkness in the driveway behind them, its shape suggested only by the gleam of its curves in my porch light.

  I composed my expression into polite inquiry and drew a deep, careful breath before unlocking the deadbolt to swing the inside door open.

  “Aydan Kelly?” The shorter, dark-haired man spoke through the screen door, his face expressionless while his hard blue eyes memorized me.

  “Um...”

  I tried to hide my hesitation while my tired mind riffled through the possibilities. Tell them my real name? Or use my cover identity? The police were supposed to know about my fake death, weren’t they? Dammit, I should’ve clarified that with Stemp...

  “...yes?” I ventured.

  The two officers exchanged a split-second sidelong glance, their posture stiffening almost imperceptibly.

  Shit!

  “Um, actually, sorry, no,” I babbled. “I meant, yes, this is... was Aydan Kelly’s place. I’m not Aydan Kelly, I’m Arlene Widdenback. Aydan died recently and I’m just taking care of things...”

  This time their shared glance included frowns. The taller officer turned a disapproving gaze back to me. “May we come in?”

  “Uh...” I pushed the screen door open, forcing them to move back as I stepped out onto the porch. I pulled the interior door closed behind me and propped the screen door open with my hip. “Let’s talk out here.” I offered a friendly smile and a placating tone. “How can I help you?”

  The taller officer eyed my bare arms, already rising into gooseflesh in the frosty late-October wind. “We should go inside. You’ll be more comfortable.”

  “No, that’s okay.” I suppressed a shiver along with the urge to glance up at the surveillance camera silently recording us from its concealment in the eaves
. No way I’d leave its benevolent scrutiny, not even for uniformed police officers. Especially if they decided to arrest me for something. Like lying about my identity...

  As if reading my mind, the shorter officer withdrew a photo from his inside pocket. He studied it briefly before turning it toward me. “This is a picture of Aydan Kelly. Forty-seven years old. Long red hair. Brown eyes. Five foot ten, a hundred and sixty pounds. You look just like her.”

  I resisted the urge to gulp as I eyed the photo and held my voice steady. “Yes, I guess we look... looked a lot alike. I’ve had quite a few cases of mistaken identity.”

  The blue eyes skewered me. “Intentionally mistaken?”

  Oh. Apparently they were familiar with my sleazy cover identity. Thank God. At least now I knew how to react.

  I let my shoulders slump and added a hint of whine to my voice. “No, I’ve turned over a new leaf. It was just the stupid reporters that got us mixed up. It wasn’t my fault. I didn’t do anything wrong.”

  I cast my eyes down and scuffed a toe at my doormat in not-too-feigned discomfort. Fear chilled my gut when my conscious mind finally registered the detail that had been nagging at me.

  Brown shoes.

  They both wore RCMP uniforms, but the dark-haired man was wearing brown tasselled loafers.

  I jerked my gaze up in time to see them eyeing each other as if reaching a silent agreement.

  “Ms. Widdenback, we have a search warrant for this house.” The shorter officer flashed a closely-typed sheet of paper in my face before refolding it and returning it to his pocket. “Please step aside.”

  “Okay…” I backed up a pace and gauged the tensing of their shoulders when I reached for the doorknob. Why the hell hadn’t I worn my waist holster tonight? They could shoot me twice over before I could grab my gun. Shit, even if the surveillance analysts had already called in an alarm, help was still at least ten minutes away.

  I gulped down my pounding heart and held my voice steady. “May I have your badge numbers, please? I’d just like to call and check with your detachment.”

  The shorter officer scowled and took an aggressive step forward. Adrenaline searing my veins, I sprang backward into the house and slammed the door, scrabbling frantically at the lock. The deadbolt snapped into place an instant before the door shivered under a heavy thud.

  Bolting for the basement, I lurched down the stairs, nearly tripping myself while I fumbled the gun out of my ankle holster.

  Great, fucking great, break my neck falling down the fucking basement stairs trying to avoid being shot or kidnapped or whatever they wanted…

  Find a defensible position. I dashed around the corner to flatten myself against the wall beside the stairs.

  With my back pressed to the cold concrete, I trained my gun on the foot of the stairs. I’d hear them coming. I should be able to get a shot in before they spotted me…

  Tension racked my shoulders while long minutes crawled by. No more sounds came from above and at last I surrendered to aching fatigue and lowered my shaking gun.

  What the hell were they doing? Were they still outside? And why the hell hadn’t I asked Stemp for a monitor for the surveillance cameras so I could see what was going on? Surely the Department could spare me one lousy monitor.

  I strained my ears. Still nothing.

  Should I just wait it out? Either John Kane or helicopters full of armed men or both would likely arrive on my doorstep in a few minutes, but it was stupid to cower in my basement if the fake officers were already gone.

  I levered myself away from the wall and scuttled over to grab the phone handset. Clutching my gun, I fumbled at the phone with my other hand, trying to watch the numbers and the stairs at the same time. I had only managed the first two digits of Stemp’s number when the doorbell rang again.

  Jesus Christ, now what? My heart battered my sore ribs.

  I jabbed the Off button with a shaking finger and crept up the stairs to jitter a safe distance away from the door, swallowing hard and weighing the possibilities. If it was the fake RCMP officers again, did they really think I’d answer the door if they rang the doorbell?

  The chime sounded again, making me start violently and hiss through my teeth at the resulting pain. A knock and the sound of a too-familiar voice from outside made me bite back the obscenities that begged to be shrieked.

  I stuffed my gun back into my ankle holster, yanking my pant leg over it while my lips moved in silent but earnest supplication.

  God, why me? And why don’t You just smite me and get it over with instead of tormenting me like this?

  Chapter 2

  The voice called again from the other side of the door. “Hello? Anybody in there?”

  I blew out a short breath and unclenched my teeth and fists before opening the door, trying for a pleasant expression.

  The lean, handsome Stetson-clad man staggered back a step, his face blanching.

  “Aydan...?” His voice was a bare whisper.

  “Tom, uh...”

  What the hell was the matter with him? His frozen expression suddenly clued me in. Shit, I hadn’t seen or talked to him since my supposed death last week. As the realization dawned on me, his paralysis broke.

  “Aydan!” He sprang forward and swept me into his arms, crushing a yelp of pain out of me. “Aydan...” He kissed me hard before pulling away to cup my face in his callused palms, his sky-blue eyes dancing. “Aydan, thank God!”

  His lips met mine again, and heat flashed through me when he pulled me against his work-hardened body. Before I could stop them, my hands slid inside the warmth of his fleece-lined denim jacket to find the lean muscle of his chest. His kiss changed from joyous celebration to seductive invitation. To hot temptation.

  Common sense kicked in a moment later and I jerked away.

  Dammit, this was far too dangerous. The fake RCMP guys could return at any moment with violent intentions. I couldn’t tell Tom anything about my secret life, but my secrets could harm him just the same. And Stemp’s team was going to be all over the place in minutes, and how the hell would I explain that?

  “Aydan, what’s wrong?” Concern sharpened his voice. “You’re shaking.”

  “Nothing, I’m fine.”

  Get rid of him, fast. Think, think!

  “I’ve just had...” I fumbled for words while considering and discarding options at light-speed. “The last few days have been...”

  Maybe he was safer here inside the house. At least I had a gun. If he went back outside, they could easily pick him off from the concealment of the darkness. He’d never even know what hit him.

  Right. Keep him here.

  “Come on in and sit down.” I manufactured a smile. “Would you like something to drink? I’m just going to grab an orange juice.”

  I waved him in the direction of the kitchen table and headed for the fridge.

  “No thanks, I’m fine.” He waited until I took my seat at the table before pulling up a chair to sit beside me. “What happened?” he demanded. “Thank God you’re alive! Are you all right? Are you safe?”

  “Yes...” I sipped my juice, stalling. “Kind of... I, um...” Dammit, I really didn’t want to get into that.

  “How did you know I was here?” I asked, postponing the inevitable.

  “I didn’t. I thought you were dead.” He frowned. “I was coming home, and I saw lights through the trees when I turned in my lane. I thought maybe one of your friends was here packing up your things. I was going to offer to help.” His hand closed around mine. “Thank God you’re alive,” he repeated.

  “I’m really sorry you were...” I trailed off, not quite knowing how to finish that sentence. Worried? That didn’t quite seem to cover it. I tried again. “I’m sorry, I should’ve called you. I thought everybody knew...”

  “It’s all right, you wouldn’t have been able to get me,” he interrupted gently. “I was in Arizona with my folks. We left the day after your funeral. They go down every year at the end of Octobe
r, and I always go with them to get them settled for the winter.”

  His brow slowly furrowed and he drew back, his sky-blue gaze searching my face. “What do you mean, you’re kind of safe? What were those police officers doing here?”

  Shit, he’d seen them. And double-shit, that meant they’d seen him, too.

  I eased out a breath. “Long story.”

  His eyes narrowed, taking in my hunched posture and cautious breathing. “You’re hurt. Were they here about John Kane? Has he been harassing you again?” His grip tightened on my hand. “Aydan, did he hurt you?”

  “No, no,” I gabbled, hurrying to quench the anger kindling in his eyes. “No, it was nothing to do with John.”

  He studied my face as if searching for evidence of a lie. The tension eased from his body when he apparently found none, and he continued, frowning. “Was it about your car accident? Or the men who kidnapped your friend and tried to kill you last week? Are they still looking for you?”

  “Like I said, it’s a long story. Short answer: no, no, and no. The police caught those men and the car accident was just a dumb coincidence.” It was sort of the truth.

  “Nichele is safe.” Thank God that part was true. I bit back a sigh and laid out the rest of my cover story.

  “The police got Nichele back from the kidnappers and arrested them, so that took care of the guys who were trying to kill me.”

  Which was neither a direct outcome nor true.

  I forged on. “The car accident was just some poor dumb schmuck who stole my car and crashed it. I was in Victoria at the time, so I didn’t realize until I got back that everybody thought I was dead and my funeral was already over.”

  Not only untrue but also a cruelty to my friends for which I’d never forgive Stemp. I swallowed a burning lump of anger and kept my face under control.