A Spy For a Spy Page 6

  First things first. I hurried to my computer. When I found the description of a dead drop online, I breathed a sigh of relief.

  I could do this.

  I flung some clothes into my suitcase and hit the road.

  Chapter 7

  Hoping Stemp’s ‘security bypass’ meant what I thought it meant, I trailed into the Calgary International Airport half an hour late with the guilty weight of my Glock dragging at my ankle, my fake passport burning my pocket.

  I chose to be reassured when a security guard began to tail me as soon as I entered the airport. That’s what they’d done last time.

  Or maybe I was about to be arrested and charged with terrorism…

  But no. Customs passed me through without any alarms, and a guard singled me out of the lineup at security and ushered me aside for my ‘private search’. Easing out a sigh of relief when they turned me loose, I began to relax while I strolled down the concourse to the boarding area. Tammy’s memories were already receding into tolerable distance. Maybe Stemp was right. Maybe a vacation in Vegas was exactly what I needed.

  A snack appeased both my growling stomach and my residual nerves, and I felt almost optimistic when I boarded the plane.

  My improved mood faded rapidly when I entered the bustle of the Vegas arrivals lounge. Jostling along with the crowd toward the baggage carousels, I tried to close my ears to the electronic cacophony of the slot machines, but it nibbled at my nerves like a persistent rodent.

  I survived a kamikaze cab ride to the hotel, and by the time I staggered into the hotel lobby and took my place in the queue, I was beginning to feel a reluctant kinship with the wackos who pull guns and empty them indiscriminately in public places.

  Shit, this was the United States. If I pulled my gun I’d probably be riddled with six different calibres of bullet holes in seconds, just from the little old ladies at the slot machines.

  I shook my head to dislodge the thought and trudged up to the desk to claim my cardkey.

  My room door closed behind me at last, and I was just drawing a breath of relief in the silence when my cell phone vibrated. I yanked it out of my waist pouch, eyeing the display with trepidation.

  My breath blew out in a whoosh. Thank God. A bit of upbeat conversation was exactly what I needed.

  I punched the Talk button, grinning. “Nichele! How are you?”

  “Hi, Aydan.”

  Uh-oh. That subdued greeting didn’t sound like my flamboyant friend. Fear clutched my heart.

  “Nichele, what’s wrong?”

  “Nothing.”

  “Bullshit.”

  “No, really. Nothing.” She sighed. “Well, kind of something, I guess. Dave just broke up with me.”

  “What?” I flopped down on the bed, dumbfounded. “Um, Nichele…”

  “I know, it’s stupid. We were only together for a couple of weeks. But he said I’m too good for him because I’m a rich stockbroker and he’s just a fat, broke trucker. He said a beautiful woman like me should be with some handsome young guy like Dante.”

  “Um… you told him about Dante?”

  “We ran into him at my club and I introduced them.”

  Poor Dave. I dragged my attention back to Nichele’s story.

  “…anyway, I told Dave I don’t care about any of that stuff, but he said it wasn’t fair to expect me to be alone all the time while he was on the road. I told him it was okay, we could be friends with benefits, but he said it wasn’t respectful to use a woman like that and he’d never do that to me…” She paused to draw a breath.

  “Yeah, that sounds like Dave.”

  “…and then he kissed me like he loved me. And he left.”

  “He probably does love you, Nichele. I told you not to break his heart.”

  “I didn’t! I told you, I’ve changed.”

  I massaged my aching forehead. “I’ve lost count of all the guys you’ve fallen in ‘love’ with and then dumped two weeks later. And that’s not counting all your hookups and booty calls. How many guys do you have on the booty call speed dial these days, anyway?”

  “Just Dante.”

  “Nichele, the only reason you’re upset over Dave is because he dumped you before you could get tired of him and dump him first. He’s right, there’s no way in hell it can work between you, and it’ll be kinder if you just let him go now. Call Dante. Take the Italian stallion for a nice long ride tonight, and you’ll be all better in the morning.”

  “I don’t want Dante. I want Dave.”

  I thumped my head against the pillows a couple of times. “Just sleep on it, Nichele, okay? You know he’s not your type and you know if he stayed you’d just get tired of him and dump him. He’s such a sweet guy, don’t hurt him-”

  “He is sweet, isn’t he? I can’t believe his first wife divorced him.” Nichele sighed. “But he said he didn’t blame her. He’s always playing those country songs about lonely truckers and what a hard life it is for their wives.”

  “Jesus, Nichele, I know how much you hate country music. I’m surprised you’re not out at the club trying to drive it all out of your brain.”

  She chuckled, but it didn’t sound very humorous. Then she sighed again.

  Shit. Nichele never sighed. Well, unless she saw a hot guy in an expensive suit. But that was just the hiss of escaping lust. Not like this sigh.

  “I kind of miss it,” she said in a small voice. “Dave always sang along with the mushy ones.”

  I passed a hand over my face, caught between amusement and a sense of impending doom. “Dave sings?”

  “Actually, he’s a really bad singer.” Her giggle ended in a gulp. “He was so sweet, though, because he was singing them for me.”

  Shit. Doom. Definitely doom.

  “Jesus, Nichele.”

  “I know. What am I going to do?”

  “Just sleep on it, okay?”

  “That sucks. Come on, Aydan, you’ve got to help me get him back.”

  “No.”

  The silence on the other end of the line made slow dread creep into the pit of my stomach. Silence only meant one thing. She was summoning up some devastating personal leverage to bend me to her will, just like she’d been doing since we were five years old.

  “Okay,” she said.

  Her innocent tone sent a cold chill down my spine. When she spoke again in her usual bright and bouncy tone, I knew I was screwed.

  “So what are you up to, girl? Did you get some panty-puddling makeup sex with Hot John?”

  Panty-melting was closer to the truth, but I really didn’t want to discuss it.

  “John is permanently off my to-do list.” Go for a diversion. “Actually, I’m in Vegas,” I added.

  “What?” Her squeal made me yank the phone away from my ear. “Aydan, why didn’t you say so? Girl, that’s perfect, I’ll hop the first flight down and we can cruise the strip for man-candy!”

  “I thought you wanted Dave.”

  “I’m taking your advice, girl. Vegas is just what I need! Where are you staying? Do you have an extra bed in your room? This is going to be soooo much fun! I’m packing now!” Muffled thumps on the other end of the line indicated she was telling the truth.

  I suppressed a groan. “Nichele, no. You can’t. I’m here on business and I won’t have any time-”

  “It’s Vegas, girl, there’s always time to play in Vegas! I love Vegas!”

  “I hate Vegas. I hate cities, I hate crowds, I hate noise, and I’m too cheap to gamble. And I have to work. Just-”

  Her theatrical sigh came through loud and clear. “You need to get laid again, don’t you? Why don’t you booty-call your ugly Hellhound guy, what’s his real name? …Oh, yeah, Arnie. You’re never this cranky when you’re getting some.”

  I balled my free hand in my hair and yanked. Hard. “Not that it’s any of your business, but he ended it. We’re just friends now.”

  “You got dumped, too? Well, don’t worry, girl, I’m coming down there to find us some serious
action.”

  “No!”

  Her blithe chatter didn’t falter. “Oooh, I can hardly wait! Where did you say you were staying?”

  “I didn’t.”

  “Aydan, come on, girl, give! Where? Hurry up, I need to make reservations.”

  “Nichele, no.”

  “Where! Or I’ll post those pictures of you from college…”

  “Fine, go ahead. The whole world thinks I’m a porn star anyway, so a few drunken college photos won’t matter.”

  “Aw, come on, Aydan.” A bit of hurt crept into her voice. “Don’t you want to see me?”

  My heart smote me. “Of course I do, it’s just that I’m really busy and I want to be able to spend time with you…”

  “You’ll make time. You’re ‘way too serious, you need me to lighten you up a bit. Admit it, girl, you always have more fun when I’m around.”

  I couldn’t help smiling. “Yeah, I do, but-”

  “I promise I’ll let you get your work done before I force you to have fun against your will. So where are you staying?”

  “Mirage, but Nichele…”

  I should have known she wouldn’t take no for an answer. By the time I disconnected, she had booked her flight online, packed, and extracted a promise from me to meet her in the hotel lobby the next morning at eleven-thirty.

  For a few moments, I lay recovering from Hurricane Nichele until anxiety prodded me upright again. Pacing from door to window and back again, I forced my over-stressed brain into planning mode.

  Okay, I had to find somewhere to hide a USB stick. A place that was quick and easy to access, but not easily discovered by anyone except the person who would retrieve it. A place that could be easily described to Stemp. A place I could get to without arousing suspicion, because, dammit, now Nichele would be shadowing me. And when the hell was the damn USB stick going to be delivered?

  I gave the bed a couple of indecisive kicks. At least this shouldn’t be actively dangerous, but it was going to be damn tricky. If that stick fell into the wrong hands…

  My mind skittered away from that possibility. Stemp hadn’t mentioned what the stick contained, but I was pretty sure it wasn’t cupcake recipes.

  I jittered back and forth a few more times before blowing out a breath. Might as well go for a walk and start scoping out potential hiding places.

  Back in the casino area, I leaned next to the elevators, getting my bearings. The nonstop hum of voices and chiming of slot machines wove into an irritating fabric that abraded my already-frayed nerves. A constant stream of people wandered by, eyes glazed with alcohol and greed. I shuddered and turned my attention to the casino layout.

  No hope of hiding anything here with surveillance cameras blanketing the whole area. I pushed off from the wall and joined the flow of the crowd, longing for wide-open country.

  The urge to run quivered in my belly, and I split off from the casino to make for the exit. Outside, the backlit waterfall glowed red while I wove through the crowd of spectators, barely noticing the light show in my search for likely-looking places to leave a USB stick.

  I blew out a pent-up breath and rubbed at the frown lines on my forehead. Too many people. And there were probably surveillance cameras outside, too.

  Letting the movement of pedestrians carry me down the sidewalk, I peered around with increasing desperation. So many damn people! Where could I hide a USB stick without being noticed? Stick it in a friggin’ palm tree?

  Yeah, that’d be unobtrusive, wouldn’t it? ‘Don’t mind me, I’m just inspecting this palm tree for…’ what, fungus or something?

  I shook my head and kept walking. Maybe I should get off the strip and find someplace quieter. But then I’d be even more obvious without the cover of the crowd…

  Overwhelmed by the unrelenting lights and noise and motion, I felt the Vegas stare settling onto my face. I was about to abandon the effort when my blank gaze slid across some newspaper vending machines on the opposite side of the street.

  Inspiration flashed like an Elvis impersonator’s rhinestones, and I cut through the crowd to the nearest crosswalk.

  Ambling up to the painted boxes, I was reaching for my change purse when I remembered I had only Canadian cash. I retraced my steps to one of the many ATM machines I’d spotted and subtracted some money from my bank account, making a mental note to ask Stemp about expenses when I got back.

  God, talk about a babe in the woods. If I didn’t drop dead of sheer incompetence, it’d be a miracle.

  A whiff of barbecued meat made my stomach roar its displeasure at the long interval since my snack in the Calgary airport, and I rejoined the moving throng on the sidewalk to follow my nose. Unwilling to take the time for a full meal, I settled for a quick slice of pizza instead and pocketed the change, feeling smug.

  Back at the vending machine, I plugged in the coins and opened the door to extract my newspaper, casually running my hand along the upper inside edge of the box.

  Perfect. There was a small lip above the opening.

  I let the door close and tucked my paper under my arm to stroll down the street again. A bit of double-sided tape and I’d be all set.

  The tape proved more difficult to obtain than I’d anticipated. Averting my eyes from the sidewalk carpeted with business cards featuring mostly naked women, I wasted nearly an hour searching through shops that contained a bizarre amalgam of tacky souvenirs and insanely expensive clothing and jewellery.

  When I caught myself fantasizing about charging through the mob of pedestrians like a bull escaping the pack at Pamplona, I knew it was time to quit.

  Calm. Just stay calm.

  Clinging to the last vestiges of my patience, I made my way back to the Mirage and gratefully shut myself into the silence of my room.

  The ring of the phone jerked me out of a violent nightmare. Heart rattling my rib cage, I floundered across the bed to fumble at the receiver with a shaking hand. A wide-awake voice answered my slurred ‘hello’.

  “Ma’am, we’ve had complaints about noise from your room. The callers said it sounded like screaming. Are you all right?”

  “Shit.”

  “Pardon me?”

  I thumped my forehead with my free hand. “Sorry. I… uh… I turned the TV on, and somebody had left the volume turned up to max. Please tell everybody I’m sorry.”

  “That’s quite all right, ma’am, as long as you’re okay.”

  “I’m fine. Thanks. Sorry.”

  I hung up the phone and collapsed face-first onto the mattress, groaning into the unsympathetic bedding. For shit’s sake, did I really have to embarrass myself this frequently? A glance at the glow of the clock-radio turned my groan into a whine. Only two A.M.

  I rolled over and straightened the churned-up covers into a semblance of order before settling on my back, belly-breathing in an attempt to regain some composure. A wistful memory of Hellhound’s muscular bulk made self-pity well up.

  If we were still friends with benefits, I could invite him down here and he’d put a smile on my face that would last all weekend. And he’d soothe my nightmares with strong arms and whiskery kisses. And he’d watch my back while I hid the USB stick, his keen vigilance hidden behind his devilish grin and dirty jokes.

  Or if Kane was here…

  I hissed out a breath between my teeth and flipped over, giving the pillow a couple of vicious punches.

  Dammit.

  Chapter 8

  After dozing fitfully for the rest of the night, I hauled myself out of bed much later than usual and staggered into the shower. Letting the hot spray drum against my closed eyelids, I dragged my sleepy brain into action.

  If Nichele was arriving at eleven-thirty, I only had a couple of hours to procure some double-sided tape. And where the hell was the USB stick? And how the hell was Stemp planning to deliver it to me…

  A knock made me jerk my head out from under the shower to listen. When it came again, louder this time, I swore and snatched up a towel to hurry d
ripping to the door. Peering through the fisheye lens, I saw nothing but flowers.

  I opened the door a crack, leaving the security bar in place.

  “Ms. Widdenback?”

  My nod was slightly belated while my exhausted brain processed my cover identity and reminded me to react.

  “Flowers for you.”

  Suspicion flared. “Who are they from?”

  The uniformed delivery boy consulted the card. “It says, ‘Dearest Arlene, Good luck and best wishes, Charles’.”

  “Oh.” Realizing he was waiting for some useful response from me, I added, “Just put them on the floor outside the door.”

  “But…”

  I gave him a don’t-mess-with-me look. “I’ll bring them in when I get dressed.”

  “Okay…”

  I closed the door on his uncertain face and peered through the fisheye lens. After hesitating for a few moments, he placed the vase on the floor as instructed and walked away. A few moments later, the ding of the elevator indicated he’d gone.

  Paranoia kept me glued to the peep-hole for another couple of minutes, but there was no movement in the corridor. When I was sure nobody was out there, I unlocked the door and whisked the flowers into the room, locking the deadbolt and security bar behind me again.

  A rapid examination of the vase and flowers revealed nothing. Dammit, there was no way Stemp would send me flowers out of the goodness of his heart. ‘Dearest Arlene’, my ass. The USB stick had to be in here somewhere.

  I started again, systematically inspecting every inch of the vase and pressing every lump and bump.

  I was shivering by the time I discovered the tiny plastic-wrapped wafer attached to the stem of one of the roses, well below the water line. I had been expecting a drive about the size of my thumb, but this was closer to fingernail size. I debated for a moment before turning away, carrying it with me.

  Halfway back to the bathroom, I turned to scrutinize the flowers one more time. They were beautiful. And I didn’t trust Stemp any farther than I could throw him.