Spy, Spy Away Read online

  Option three; phone Kane and wait two hours or more for him to arrive.

  He would come if I asked him. It was his job to deal with dangerous situations. Besides, maybe by two A.M., the denizens of the bar would be getting tired and heading for home.

  Yeah, right.

  Option four. Pull up my big-girl panties, walk the hell in there, and get the goddamn money.

  Option five…

  There had to be an option five, dammit. I was too tired to wait for Kane and too scared to walk in there by myself.

  I straightened in the seat. What the hell was I afraid of? So they were bikers. So what? This was just a seedy bar in a big city with a competent police force. I might get hassled, but it wasn’t like I was going to get gang-raped and killed. Just because they were bikers didn’t mean they were criminals. And even if they were, a dead body was more trouble than they needed.

  Probably.

  I swallowed.

  Minutes ticked by while I sat paralyzed by indecision. Kane’s words about mitigating risk and avoiding conflict rang in my ears. If anything happened, how could I face him knowing I’d brought an attack on myself through willful stupidity?

  Assuming I was alive to face him at all…

  Shit.

  Maybe I should just call him.

  But dammit, I couldn’t expect him to run to my rescue every time Stemp gave me an assignment. He couldn’t do his job and mine, too. And Stemp was going to keep giving me assignments, since I obviously hadn’t managed to convince him of my incompetence. Yet.

  Well, maybe it was time to change that.

  I slid my hand under my jacket to touch my Glock and the small trank gun I’d requisitioned, and got out of the truck before I could second-guess myself.

  I had only taken a few steps when the flashback ambushed me.

  Hard hands pinning me spread-eagled, naked and utterly helpless. Struggling uselessly while the abhorrent touch slid up my leg...

  My heart lurched into a choking rhythm, hammering in my throat and temples. I forced my shaking legs to keep moving, rejecting the fear with all my will.

  That wouldn’t happen again. And if it did, so what? Old news. I dealt with it before; I could deal with it again.

  Another wave of memory dragged me into its vicious undertow. That nasal voice was seared in my mind: ‘First I’ll strip you naked.’ The agony of my bonds. The horrible portent of the sex toys laid out on his bed. The red-hot slash of his whip...

  I flinched and an involuntary whimper squeezed from my throat.

  Cut it out, dammit. Just breathe.

  Keep walking.

  Kane’s voice echoed in my brain. “Listen to your fear. If you’re feeling fear, it means you need to remove yourself from the situation, no matter how unreasonable that may seem. Always trust your instincts.”

  “Yeah, unless you’re me,” I muttered. “Then it’s your stupid job to face your stupid fear.”

  I tottered closer, forcing my wooden lungs to expand and contract. Belly breathe. In. Out.

  Two burly figures exploded from the door of the bar, fists flailing. Even from half a block away, the smell of liquor and stale cigarettes carried on the cold air. I pressed against the building beside me, knees trembling.

  One man swung a haymaker, the meaty thud flashing memories of blood and broken bone before my eyes. His victim dropped like a stone.

  Roaring, the first man kicked the huddled figure over and over, the thumps of his boots overlaid by his grunts of effort. At last he hunched over the motionless heap, gloating or catching his breath, before lurching away down the sidewalk. A snatch of drunken song floated back to me as he receded.

  “Listen to your fear.” Kane’s voice rang so clearly in my memory that I twitched a glance up and down the street despite the knowledge that I was alone.

  The body on the sidewalk lay silent and unmoving.

  I fled as fast as my shaking legs would carry me.

  Safely locked in my truck again, I leaned my forehead against the steering wheel, panting and quivering. When I finally brought my breathing under control, I peeled stiff fingers off the steering wheel and straightened. The dark bundle still lay on the sidewalk, and it occurred to me that I should probably call the police.

  Even as the thought crossed my mind, the fallen man stirred and rolled slowly over to haul himself to hands and knees. He wobbled for a few moments before creeping over to the building to crumple into a semi-seated slump against the wall.

  A couple of men emerged from the bar to lean against the front of the building, and cigarette lighters flared. The seated figure groped in his pocket and a moment later he lit up, too. Red embers glowed while the three men apparently enjoyed a convivial smoke and a chat. Several minutes later, the two men ground out their cigarettes and returned to the bar, and the human punching bag staggered to his feet to weave an uncertain path down the sidewalk.

  And a good time was had by all.

  Shit.

  I’d had a brief but happy vision of the police arriving to question everybody in the bar and take my statement, allowing me to plead a long journey and stroll into the women’s washroom unmolested. So much for that bright idea.

  Three more men came out to smoke, their voices rising in coarse laughter. It seemed incongruous, these rough outlaws obediently observing Calgary’s strict indoor smoking ban, but I guessed even the Hogback had to knuckle under to the bureaucracy that granted its license.

  Wait a minute.

  Spider’s floor plans rose in my memory. The washrooms were right next to the back door. And I’d never been in a bar where the smokers didn’t slip out the back door and leave it ajar while they had a quick puff.

  I put the truck in gear and headed for the convenience store I’d spotted on the way in.

  Cigarettes in hand, I scooted around the corner into the dark alley and pressed myself against a garbage dumpster.

  Stay calm. This would work.

  Old nightmares clawed at the edges of my mind, but I drove them back. No time for that now.

  I peeked around the dumpster and drew a breath of relief at the sight of the single bulb that cast a jaundiced glow over the back door of the bar. Male laughter and a female giggle made me draw back as a couple of men and a woman came out. Moments later, the smell of cigarette smoke wafted over.

  I hunched against the cold steel, waiting. A few minutes later, the voices receded and the door banged shut.

  Showtime.

  I scuttled over to the door, fumbling a cigarette out of the pack. The lighter gave me a moment’s trouble. How the hell did these things work? Smokers made it look so simple.

  After a couple of tries, I managed to generate a flame. I held the cigarette over it. A few wisps of smoke rose, but not the cloud I’d hoped for. Dammit, I needed to smell of fresh smoke just in case a real smoker showed up.

  I fitted the filter to my lips and sucked cautiously without inhaling. No time to get caught helplessly hacking up a lung. I exhaled smoke and stepped into the cloud. That should do it.

  With shaking hands, I stubbed out the cigarette and reached for the door.

  Locked.

  Son of a bitch.

  I hovered, shivering with cold and nerves. Dammit, my destination was only a few feet on the other side of this door. Why didn’t they leave the fucking door unlatched?

  I was fighting the urge to run back to my truck and drive far, far away when the door swung open, thumping me on the shoulder. To my relief, the man who emerged was shorter than I was. He mumbled what might have been an apology as I grabbed the door and pushed past him.

  For a moment, I actually thought I was going to make it.

  The door was already swinging shut behind me; the women’s washroom only a few steps away when a yank on my sleeve stopped me.

  Adrenaline slammed into my veins as I whirled, my hand already seeking my holster.

  A familiar miasma of stale cigarette smoke and beer registered along with recognition.
<
br />   “Jane Crazy-Bitch!” The weedy little slimeball clinging to my sleeve grinned hugely, revealing uneven teeth the colour of tobacco. “I been dreaming about your sweet pussy for months!”

  I backpedalled as he stepped closer, invading my personal space to push his face close to my neck and sniff deeply. “Goddamn, you still smell crazy good! You wanna fuck now?”

  “Not now, not ever. Back off, Weasel.”

  Loud thumps inside the men’s washroom made me shoot a fearful glance over my shoulder.

  “Aw, come on, Jane Crazy. You wanna hit me. Admit it.”

  “You have no idea.” Inspiration bloomed, and I suppressed my disgust to lean close. “I just have to go to the bathroom and then I want to sneak out the back door without anybody seeing me. I promise I’ll take you out in the back alley and beat you up if you stand guard for me.”

  His face lit up. “Awesome, Jane Crazy!” He shoved his hand down his pants. “Mmm, I’m getting hard just thinking about it. Promise you’ll whip my ass!”

  I backed away, tension winding up in my gut when a large leather-clad man gave me an interested glance before shouldering past to disappear into the men’s washroom.

  “Okay, fine! Just watch out for me, all right?”

  Weasel groaned, his hand movement accelerating into a vigorous tempo. “That’s so fucking hot. I’m gonna jizz in my pants right now.”

  “Don’t,” I snapped. “Stay alert. If you let me down, I won’t lay a finger on you.” I followed the dire warning with a ferocious glare and ducked into the women’s washroom.

  Seconds later the wall shivered under a tremendous thud from the men’s room next door. Enraged bellows erupted, and I flinched with the not-too-unreasonable fear that the combatants might crash right through the wall. The shouting and banging continued as I dove for the middle stall only to pull up short.

  Occupied.

  Goddammit!

  I wavered in fear-soaked indecision for a moment before whisking into the adjacent cubicle and closing the door behind me.

  A dismal groan from beside me was followed by retching, and the smell of vomit made my stomach lurch.

  Great, just great. How long was this going to take?

  More groaning and heaving.

  I huddled in the stall cursing my luck. What the hell was I supposed to do now, just hang around until she was done? I doubted Weasel had much of an attention span at the best of times, and he was drunk tonight. How long before he lost interest or forgot? Or worse, blabbed to somebody?

  The only marginally good news was that I wouldn’t have to manufacture an excuse for hanging around. I was pretty sure the occupant of the other stall was too immersed in her own misery to care about me.

  The truth of that supposition was brought home only moments later when a wet thud emanated from the next cubicle and a limp arm flopped under the divider.

  Shit, now what?

  No way I was going to hang around until she came to. Or until somebody came looking for her.

  Clenching my teeth, I eased out of the stall and stood staring down at the feet protruding from under the adjacent door. I heaved a long sigh.

  “Sorry,” I muttered insincerely as I grabbed the unconscious woman’s feet and dragged her out. Fortunately she wasn’t large, but I was sweating and out of breath by the time I manoeuvred her flaccid body to a relatively out-of-the-way location beside the grimy sinks. A smear of vomit marked her progress across the floor, and I gulped down nausea while I wrangled her into recovery position with her head turned to the side. At least she wouldn’t choke on her own puke.

  Turning back toward the stalls, the full horror of the situation dawned on me. The damn cubicle door was locked from the inside.

  I hesitated queasily for only a few seconds. This was far beyond my gross-out threshold, but gross was better than dead. I paved the disgusting floor with paper towels and squirmed under the door, arching my back to keep my face as far from the malodorous mess as possible.

  Averting my eyes from the revolting spectacle inside the cubicle, I managed to lift the lid off the toilet tank and retrieve the dripping plastic-wrapped envelope with only two dry-heaves. Thank God the water in the tank was clean. It was the only thing in the cubicle that was.

  Bursting from the stall holding my breath, I scrubbed my hands compulsively, trying not to look at the nameless grime caking the sink. Copious amounts of soap later, I stowed the envelope in my jacket pocket and turned toward the door, my heart rising with cautious hope.

  In a few moments I’d be out. Come on, luck, just hold a little longer…

  I cracked the door open and hissed, “Weasel!”

  No reply.

  I clenched my teeth. Goddamn that slimy little shit.

  I poked my head out for a quick reconnaissance and came face- to-face with Paul Hibbert.

  Chapter 14

  Hibbert smiled and leaned close to yell over the ear-splitting music. “Good evening, Arlene. Or I understand it’s Jane tonight?” His eyes glittered dangerously in the dim light of the corridor, and the solid kick of alcohol on his breath did nothing to reassure me.

  Goddamn Weasel. Sold me out.

  A surge of adrenaline blocked my voice, but I was saved from replying when the fight in the men’s room spilled out into the hallway. Two thrashing bodies slammed into the wall and tumbled to the floor at our feet, fists and obscenities flying.

  “Can it!” Hibbert shouted, and the combatants froze before scrambling to their feet to hang their heads like chastised children.

  “Sorry, Mr. Hibbert,” one of them mumbled as they shuffled back in the direction of the bar.

  “Now, where was I?” Hibbert turned back to me, his gaze skimming contemptuously over my unclean jacket. “Not flattering, I’m afraid. We’ll have to get you out of that.”

  I found my voice. “No need. I was just leaving.”

  His arm flew up to bar my way as I turned for the back door, and a vision of Kane’s wrist-lock flashed through my mind. My hands were rising as if of their own volition when Hibbert grabbed my arm, twisting viciously.

  I let out a yelp and folded at the waist, following the path of the force to prevent my arm from breaking. Bent double, my mind floated up through the fear to distantly note that this must be the arm-bar hold Kane had mentioned we’d learn tomorrow night. Assuming tomorrow ever came for me.

  Shut up, Garth.

  Something hard/soft pressed against the side of my head. Please don’t let that be Hibbert’s crotch.

  His next slurred words confirmed my fear. “You owe me a thank you.”

  A shove on my shoulder dropped me to my knees. My cry of pain was lost in the thunder of the music. Concealed by my bent posture, my free hand flew to my Glock.

  Through my panic, the voice of reason whispered.

  Stop. Think.

  I couldn’t deliver what he wanted when he was securing my arm this way. He’d have to change his grip. Let me straighten a little…

  He grabbed a handful of my hair, jerking my head toward him. I catapulted beyond fear into detachment.

  The music would hide the gunshot.

  My gun was half-drawn when a second thought stilled my hand. If I killed Hibbert now, my cover would be completely blown with Fuzzy Bunny.

  And the consequences would be as bad as blowing Hibbert. Probably worse.

  I left the gun in its holster.

  Contorting my neck at a painful angle, I met his eyes. “You don’t seriously expect me to give you a decent blowjob here in the hallway with these wackos interrupting us, do you?”

  He sketched a bow, his sophisticated business veneer not quite hiding the drunken animal behind his eyes. “Where do you want to go? Lady’s choice.”

  I seized the opportunity. “Anywhere but here. Do you have a car?”

  “Of course I have a car. But my office upstairs is much more comfortable.” He yanked my arm, the jolt of pain jerking me to my feet. “Let’s go.”

  Get out. Jus
t get out of here.

  “Do you have a bed in your office?” I blurted in desperation.

  “No.” He squinted at me.

  I summoned the sexiest voice I could manage, considering I had to shout over the music. “You’ll get a whole lot more than a blowjob if you take me to a nice hotel. After all, if we’re going to have a mutually beneficial relationship, we should start off on the right foot. So to speak.”

  He shot me a suspicious glance from unfocused eyes. “Why are you being so nice all of a sudden?”

  “I have your money now.” I patted my pocket with my free hand. “And I got your point. I don’t like doing business in places like this. I’m sorry for being such a bitch, and I want to make it up to you.”

  What a load of shit. If he was sober, he’d see right through me. He hesitated, swaying slightly, while my mind ricocheted through possibilities.

  Shooting him was out, but what if I tranked him? The trank guns were classified weaponry, so I’d have to find a way to do it when he wasn’t looking. If I could get him alone…

  My heart pounded, churning out more adrenaline. The noise of the bar receded into distant buzzing.

  His voice sounded too loud in my fear-induced bubble. “Let’s go.” He spun my arm up behind my back and shoved. My shaking legs barely cooperated while he propelled me through the crowded bar toward the front door.

  When we entered the vestibule, a buzzer sounded and a scowling giant of a man rose from behind a scarred counter. When Hibbert patted his chest where I’d seen his concealed holster the previous day, the man’s face relaxed and he returned a nod.

  Holy shit.

  They had a metal detector at the front door. Thank God Hibbert was carrying, or I’d have been busted. And thank God I hadn’t blundered in here as I’d originally planned.

  My knees weakened at the thought and I stumbled on the uneven floor. Hibbert yanked my arm, jerking a cry of pain out of me.