Spy Away Home (The Never Say Spy Series Book 10) Page 4

  “Um, yeah, kinda…” I turned to face him, cursing my social ineptitude.

  He smiled. “It’s okay, Aydan, I didn’t mean for that to be an awkward question. I’m your neighbour and your friend no matter what. I just like to know where I stand.”

  “Right, sorry,” I mumbled, bending to lace my boots and hide my burning cheeks. “Thanks.”

  “I’ll walk you back,” he said, reaching for his fleece-lined denim jacket.

  “Um, no, it’s okay…” I began.

  “No strings attached,” he said earnestly. “If you’re seeing somebody, I’d never overstep the boundaries. I just want to make sure you get home safe.”

  Yeah, and if he walked me home I’d have to explain why I had a barricade of plywood instead of a front door.

  I straightened and tried for a humorous but decisive tone. “Remember, I just got back from living in the wilderness for four months. I’m used to moving around in the woods after dark, and I have my shotgun. Thanks for being concerned, but I’ll be fine.”

  He smiled. “That independence is another thing I admire about you. Just give me a quick call when you get in so I know you got back okay.”

  “I will. Thanks again.” I stepped out into the darkness before I could change my mind.

  Only a few yards beyond the reassuring glow of Tom’s yardlight, I was already regretting my choice.

  Squaring my shoulders, I donned the small LED headlamp I’d brought and strode forward with my best imitation of bravery.

  Tom’s company wouldn’t make me any safer. I was probably better off without him. At least if I had to react to an attack I wouldn’t have to worry about protecting him as well as myself.

  That train of thought did nothing to reassure me. The silent wooded darkness brought back the too-recent memory of muzzle flashes blazing in the night and the hellish cries of dying men.

  Dammit, this headlamp might as well be a glowing target on my forehead. Why the hell hadn’t I brought my night-vision headset?

  Because I couldn’t risk Tom discovering it when he handled my jacket, that’s why…

  The snap of a twig and rustle of undergrowth made me jump sideways, pumping a shell into the chamber and landing in a crouch with my shotgun at the ready.

  Heart hammering, I glimpsed a deer’s hindquarters vanishing at the edge of my headlamp’s range. I straightened slowly, panting and trembling.

  Down by the creek a lone coyote howled and its fellows answered from somewhere to my right. The eerie cries curled like dark smoke through the cold night air, making me shiver even though I knew they were probably more afraid of me than I was of them. I’d rather face a pack of coyotes than a human predator any day…

  Oh, God, what if somebody was stalking me right now? My headlamp was like a beacon.

  I clicked the light off and sucked in shaky breaths, straining my eyes and ears against the night.

  Okay, breathe. Just breathe. Nobody’s there.

  My heart pattered like the footfalls of fleeing prey. If they had night vision I didn’t stand a chance…

  All rational thought vanished and I clicked the headlamp back on and ran. Feet thudding unevenly on the treacherous path, breath sobbing in my chest, I crashed through the woods. Twigs slashed my face and tore at my hair, and the racket of my own charge through the underbrush spurred me to even more frantic flight.

  Heart thundering, lungs labouring, I hesitated for an instant at the edge of the woods just outside the warm glow of my yardlight.

  If somebody was waiting with a rifle I’d be an easy mark when I crossed the open space between the woods and my house…

  Gulping down a sob, I forced my trembling legs into a final dash for the back door. I nearly dropped my shotgun in my frantic scrabble to get my key into the lock. And dammit, I’d forgotten that the surveillance analysts would see me as soon as I got within ten yards of the house.

  I let my hair swing forward to hide my face and exerted all my will to calm my shaking hands enough to unlock the door. But they’d still be able to see my shoulders heaving with my struggle for air.

  God, how humiliating.

  Maybe they hadn’t noticed anything amiss. They’d have seen me bounding up the stairs, but I hadn’t paused long enough for them to get a good look at me…

  I twisted the key in the lock, pasted a smile on my rigid lips, and saluted the hidden camera with my shotgun before diving through the door and slamming it behind me.

  I snapped a hurried glance around the quiet entry, all my senses strained to their limits. Everything seemed undisturbed.

  But somebody could be hiding, ready to ambush me…

  Fighting to control my ragged breathing, I crouched to draw my Glock from the ankle holster. Shotgun in one hand, Glock in the other, I hesitated. Stupid to try firing the shotgun one-handed, and the Glock was a better close-quarters weapon anyway.

  But there was no way I’d risk getting shot with my own shotgun. I fumbled the shells out and dropped them into my pocket before lowering the empty shotgun to the floor. Trembling, I crept forward with my Glock at the ready.

  Each blind corner hoisted my heart higher in my chest, nearly incinerating it in the blaze of adrenaline as I pivoted around the corner pistol-first. A few moments to draw a breath. Then repeat the process at the next corner.

  And the next.

  At last I’d cleared every closet and corner, and I was certain I was alone. I pressed my back to the hall wall and stood still.

  Breathe. Slow like ocean waves. In… two, three, four; out… two, three, four…

  Idiot. I thumped my head gently against the wall behind me. The analysts would have texted me if anybody had broken into my house. I was fine. I would have been perfectly safe without clearing the house.

  My heart lolloped in an uneven rhythm, my tense muscles resisting my efforts to belly breathe. Maybe I was safe now, but any minute the phone could ring. Any minute a fusillade of bullets could rip through my walls.

  Okay, stop it. Just breathe…

  The phone rang.

  I flung myself to the floor, gun in hand. Heart pounding, I belly-crawled with frantic speed to the living room phone and snatched up the handset. My ‘hello’ came out in a breathless gasp as I wedged my back into the corner beside the sofa. Only some foam and a bit of wood between me and a bullet. No protection at all if somebody fired through the window…

  “Aydan?” Tom’s concerned voice made me suck in a breath that was half relief, half chagrin. “Is everything okay over there?”

  “Fine.” The word came out weak and tremulous and I did my best to cover it with a laugh that didn’t sound much better. “I’m sorry, Tom, I just got in…” I had to stop and gasp a couple of breaths to supply some oxygen to my still-racing heart. “Sorry, I’m out of breath…”

  I racked my brain for some logical reason why I’d be out of breath. Preferably a reason that didn’t include being a shit-scared wimp.

  “Um… I’m sorry I didn’t call you right away,” I began. “It was such a nice night that I dawdled on my way back…” I crossed my fingers, hoping I wouldn’t be struck by lightning for the giant lie. “And when I got home I realized, um…”

  I cast a frantic glare around the room, searching for inspiration. Relief filled me at the sight of my fresh drywall patches.

  “…I realized I’d left my bucket of drywall compound just inside the door and I nearly tripped on it when I came in. I just finished carrying it downstairs and had to run back up to get the phone.”

  “Oh, right, I forgot to ask about your renovations earlier. What are you working on?” The warm interest in his voice steadied me like a friendly hand and I hugged the phone closer.

  “Nothing much.” My voice sounded more like me now. I kept my tone light. “Just a few touch-ups to the drywall before I paint the entry. And I thought I’d replace my front and back door with those insulated steel ones. I’ve been meaning to install new weatherstripping on the wooden ones, but they’re
so old I think it’ll be better to just get new ones.”

  We chatted about renovations for a few more minutes before Tom wished me good night and hung up.

  I let out a long breath, the phone sagging to the floor beside me while my shoulders eased down from around my ears.

  A creak from the kitchen sent my heart rate into orbit all over again, but a moment later I realized it was the normal sound of the house contracting in the cool night air.

  I blew out a shaky breath. This sucked.

  There was no way I’d be able to sleep here tonight. Every time the house creaked I’d be leaping out of bed with my gun drawn.

  I fought the urge to call Tom back and tell him I’d been fibbing; that I wasn’t seeing anybody and I’d like to come over and spend the night.

  He’d jump at the chance. And he’d almost certainly be good in bed. He was a considerate guy, and the couple of kisses we’d shared last summer had been decidedly promising…

  No.

  Just no.

  I rose and firmly replaced the telephone handset on its base unit. Then I went to unearth my camping gear.

  Chapter 5

  Making a nest with my air mattress and sleeping bag in the corner of my garage, I sniffed appreciatively. The happy smells of rubber and motor oil mingled with a faint whiff of gasoline to create a blanket of reassurance almost as palpable as the warmth of the heated concrete floor.

  No assassin would think to look for me here in the middle of the night. I straightened and drew a few more breaths, easing the tension from my shoulders. Wandering around the garage taking yoga breaths, I trailed my fingertips over the smooth shiny surface of my tool chest and patted the fenders of my automotive friends.

  The ’66 Corvette, exuding raw power and tempting me to fire it up for its first joyride of the spring. My patient ’53 Chevy sedan, its faded rust-pocked paint urging me to finish its restoration. My battered, indomitable half-ton. The dirt bike waiting next to the door like an eager puppy begging to get out and run the fields. My blue Subaru Legacy, serene and confident in its role as the most modern vehicle in the garage.

  Drifting over to the edge of the addition, I surveyed the excavation crisscrossed by heating pipes, and imagined a smooth concrete floor with my new hydraulic lift ready and waiting. With a sigh of contentment I turned away, then hesitated and turned back to eye the reinforcing steel poking up from the footing-to-be.

  It’d be just my shitty luck to go sleepwalking in the middle of the night and fall off the edge of the slab to impale myself on the damn rebar.

  With a shudder, I upended a plastic pail over the spikes. Just in case.

  A final tour of my domain left me feeling relaxed enough to turn off the lights and retreat to my sleeping bag. The cool darkness enfolded me and I drew a long breath and let it out slowly.

  Safe.

  Be calm. Breathe…

  I drifted into uneasy dreams wracked by violent nightmares.

  The peal of my cell phone’s alarm jerked me to wakefulness. I let out a heartfelt groan as I silenced it, then pried myself reluctantly from my warm nest to stand shivering in the chilly air. I’d worn the T-shirt and long johns that served as my winter-camping pajamas, but the garage was the right temperature for working on cars, not standing around in my underwear.

  The thought of a hot shower attracted and repelled me in equal measures. The hot water would be glorious, but the thought of being cornered naked in my shower if someone attacked…

  Nope.

  I sighed and made for the house, where I stayed exactly long enough to throw on clean clothes and grab my gym bag and a couple of granola bars along with my work paraphernalia. Five minutes later I was on the road to Silverside, munching my unsatisfying breakfast and looking forward to a quick workout and the hot showers at the gym.

  When I arrived freshly showered in the Sirius Dynamics lobby on the dot of eight o’clock, Leo the security guard offered me a warm greeting. We chatted for a few moments, catching up on the last four months, and I was leaning over to sign for my security fob when a familiar voice made me straighten and turn with a smile.

  “Aydan! Welcome back!” Clyde Webb’s cheeks were flushed with delight above his broad grin as he hurried across the lobby, his beanpole six-foot-two all awkward angles and bony elbows. He flung his arms around me and exclaimed, “It’s so great to see you!”

  “Spider! It’s great to see you, too!” I replied, and returned the hug before withdrawing to survey him with a grin of my own. “Being engaged seems to agree with you.” I reached up to pat his glowing cheek. “Just think, in another four months you’ll be an old married man.”

  I tactfully refrained from voicing the thought that he looked far too young to be getting married. No need to bring up the boyish features that were the bane of his twenty-seven-year-old existence.

  “Thanks, Aydan! I can’t believe it’s only four months away. I can hardly wait! And you look great, too!” His enthusiasm faltered as he took in the dark circles under my eyes. “Um, but you look a little tired. Are you still recovering from your trip?”

  “Yeah.” I turned away to retrieve my security fob and changed the subject as I stepped aside so Spider could sign in. “So what’s new? How’s Linda? Are you enjoying your promotion to team leader? How are Brock and Jill and Tammy getting along?”

  I was pretty sure I hadn’t imagined the stiffening of his shoulders as he bent to sign for his fob. When he straightened the joy had drained from his smile, leaving an anemic replica in its place. With heartiness that sounded forced, he replied, “We’ve got tons to catch up on! Come on upstairs and I’ll update you on everything. The team doesn’t start ‘til nine, so you’ll see them later.”

  Uh-oh.

  Worry nibbled at me while I followed him through the security doors and up the stairs.

  “I have a permanent office up here now,” Spider said as we strolled down the second-floor hallway. “I’m right next to you, and Brock’s a couple of doors down on your other side.” His words were delivered in a tone that would have been appropriate for ‘I have an office on death row’, and his smile looked as though it hurt his face.

  We turned into the office next to mine, instantly identifiable as Spider’s by the half-assembled electronic gadgets and parts crowding the desk and the large worktable beside it.

  I swung the door shut behind me. “Spider, what’s wrong?” I demanded.

  He sank listlessly into his chair. “Oh… nothing…” He pasted on the painful-looking smile again. “It’s been great to have the promotion; the extra money’s really nice now that Linda and I are racking up bills for the wedding…”

  “Bullshit.” I pulled a chair over beside him and dropped into it, taking his hand to still the bony fingers that fidgeted with the armrest. His nails were bitten down to the quick. “Talk to me, Spider,” I coaxed. “What the hell’s wrong?”

  “Oh, Aydan…” His face crumpled. “Thank God you’re back! You’re the only person I can talk to-”

  A knock on the door made him bolt upright and pull his hand from my grasp, his expression smoothing into composure that didn’t quite hide the distress darkening his hazel eyes.

  “Come in,” he called.

  The door swung ajar and Stemp’s reptilian features appeared in the opening. “Kelly; Webb; good morning.” His expressionless gaze fastened on me. “Kelly, I’d like a few moments of your time.” He didn’t add ‘now’, but he didn’t need to.

  I rose with a sigh. “Talk to you later, Spider.”

  He nodded unhappily, and I followed Stemp’s sinuous stride down the hall.

  In his office, Stemp closed the door and motioned me into the chair in front of his desk. I sat cautiously, my pulse ticking up a notch. Meetings with Stemp tended to end badly for me, but maybe today would be an exception…

  “The cleanup crew is finished with the body,” he said without preamble. “Drake Agnew Mallard, age twenty-four, a small-time thug with various convictions fo
r assault, possession of weapons, uttering threats, breach of parole…” Stemp trailed off with a gesture that indicated ‘et cetera’.

  “The cash in his wallet was almost certainly a payment for the attack on you,” he continued. The faintest hint of a frown creased his brow. “The usual deal is half up front and the other half on completion of the job, but five thousand dollars seems a paltry sum for a contract killing even for a bottom-feeder like Mallard. We did, however, find nylon zip ties and a strip of fabric that might have served as a gag in his car, so perhaps he was only intending to abduct you.”

  “Great.” I held my voice completely flat to hide my surge of fear. “That might explain why he didn’t have a shell chambered when he was waving that shotgun around. Was there any clue as to who might have hired him?”

  “The analysts are forwarding a report to you containing the contacts and call data from Mallard’s phone. Maybe you’ll recognize something there. Forensic examination of the body and car yielded nothing, but there were fingerprints on the photo.”

  My pulse quickened. “Could you identify them? Or the handwriting?”

  “There wasn’t enough handwriting for a conclusive match, but we found four separate sets of fingerprints. Three of the four came up in the law enforcement database.” Stemp’s reptilian gaze raked over me as if to gauge my reaction. “One set belonged to Paul Hibbert.”

  I took a slow calming breath at the memory of Hibbert’s bullet-riddled body bleeding all over my front porch last winter, and held my voice level. “Who did the other fingerprints belong to?”

  “Drake Mallard. And Nicholas Parr.”

  “Oh, shit.” The words squeezed out of my throat.

  Please, not Fuzzy Bunny again. No matter whether they believed I was Aydan Kelly, the holder of classified network technology, or Arlene Widdenback, the porn-star fraud artist and arms dealer who had destroyed their organization, the end result would be a slow and agonizing death if they caught me.

  “But Parr and all Fuzzy Bunny’s guys are in jail, aren’t they?” I silently cursed the pleading note in my voice.