A Spy For a Spy Page 8

  She chuckled. “Honey, I hope your life never depends on your ability to lie. I’m not selling anything. I’m on a buying trip. But don’t worry, I’ll cover for you. I’m glad you’re finally taking a holiday. You’ve been working too hard lately.”

  I breathed a sigh of relief. “Thanks, Lola, you’re the best.”

  Down in the lobby, I surveyed the crowd without spotting Nichele. Backing away from the busy central area, I propped myself against a wall, smiling with the exasperated fondness that usually accompanied my interactions with her. She’d be here. Probably with some new way to make me laugh while simultaneously wanting to throttle her.

  A few moments later, her chirpy voice emanated from the centre of a large group of dark-suited Asian men. “There she is!”

  Faces turned my way and the suits parted to reveal Nichele’s curvy figure stunningly arrayed in a wisp of a dress and platform stilettos that added six inches to her diminutive stature. Her glossy dark hair was piled atop her head in an elegant updo, her nails and makeup impeccable as always. I couldn’t decide whether she looked like a movie star or an astronomically-priced hooker.

  Or hell, maybe just a regular office worker. Fashion isn’t exactly my forte.

  “Arlene!” Nichele gave me a fingertip wave. “Come and meet Aki and Hiro and Takao and Kin and all their friends.” She beamed at the man nearest her. “Arlene is a movie star, too!”

  Oh, God.

  I plodded over, feeling like an ox in my hiking boots, faded jeans, and T-shirt, my waist pouch slung on my hips. The group offered me a courteous half-bow like some land-locked synchronized swim team.

  I managed a jerky nod in return, hoping I wasn’t doing anything overtly offensive. If I was, they were too polite to react. Their eyes widened as I loomed up beside them, tall enough to look down into their dandruff if they’d had any.

  “Nice to meet you,” I mumbled. “Come on, Nichele, let’s go.”

  “May we take photographs?” one of the men asked with a barely-noticeable accent.

  “Of course,” Nichele said graciously at the same time I said ‘no’.

  “I’ll be happy to take pictures of you with Nichele,” I added hurriedly.

  The subsequent deluge of cameras kept me occupied for some time while Nichele posed smiling with each man, all of them beaming as though they’d just landed a prize tuna. Fortunately, none seemed inclined to insist on a photo with a red-haired amazon, and at last I got close enough to Nichele to seize her arm and drag her away from her new-found admirers. The receding click of cameras followed our retreat.

  “Jesus, Nichele-”

  “Oooh, Aydan, did you see their suits? They were fabulous! All Armani and Gucci and Hugo Boss! And they were all so charming and polite!” She turned to smile and flutter coquettish fingertips at them.

  I kept a tight grip on her wrist, but I had to laugh in spite of myself. “You’re such a suit slut. What is it with you and guys in suits?”

  “Oooh, I just looove men in suits. Yummy!” She shot an unrepentant grin up at me. “And I just looove getting men out of their suits… wait, where are we going?”

  “The Sands convention centre. It’s just a few blocks away.”

  “Aydan,” Nichele said with the patience reserved for small children and idiots. “I’m not going to walk on the sidewalk, girl. I have nine-hundred-dollar Louboutins.”

  “Can you take penicillin to cure that?”

  “Very funny. I’m talking about my shoes.” She waved a cab to halt. “Come on, get in.”

  We arrived at the Sands about thirty seconds later, and I smothered amusement while Nichele gaily tipped the driver approximately ten times the price of the actual fare.

  Tickets in hand, I smiled down at Nichele while she prowled beside me toward the exhibition hall, as comfortable in her sky-high heels as I was in my hiking boots.

  “What’s with the movie-star duds?” I kidded.

  “It’s a sex-trade show. You have to dress up.”

  I snickered. “It’s a sex-shop trade show, not a sex-trade show. It’s like any other trade show, just a bunch of booths with stuff for sale…” We handed our tickets to the doorman, and my jaw dropped as we stepped inside.

  “…okay, I was wrong.”

  Chapter 10

  “Oooh, booth babes,” Nichele squealed, dragging me toward the three buff men in bow ties and gold lamé thongs posing just across the walkway. Their animated expressions brightened further at the sight of Nichele, and blindingly-white teeth flashed in seductive smiles.

  “Hi, what are you selling?” Nichele purred at the nearest one.

  I missed his answer when his compatriot turned to get something from the table behind him, revealing naked buttocks apparently sculpted out of highly polished black granite. I managed to jerk my gaze back up to his face just before he turned.

  Nichele didn’t even try. Her openly appreciative gaze lingered low before traversing unhurriedly upward. She gave him a slow grin, head cocked at a saucy angle. “Sorry, I didn’t hear what you said.”

  He returned her grin and her up-and-down scrutiny, holding out an unidentifiable object. “It’s a prostate massager. A little treat for the man in your life.”

  Nichele’s smile slipped a little. “I don’t have one at the moment.”

  He leaned closer. “Do you want one?” He shot a wicked glance at his companions. “Or three?”

  Nichele laughed, her sparkle returning in an instant. “I’ll think about it. I still have a lot of shopping to do.”

  “You know where we are.”

  She giggled and towed me away.

  I leaned down to hiss in her ear. “Nichele, you’re not seriously considering-”

  “No, of course not, silly. He didn’t mean it anyway. He was just flirting.” She stole a glance over her shoulder. “But he was really hot.”

  I straightened, marginally relieved, and tried to find an inoffensive place to look. The ceiling was the only area not bulging with acres of semi-naked flesh, so I settled for letting my vision blur slightly and not looking too long in one place.

  Beside me, Nichele’s head swivelled avidly, taking it all in. “Wowza, girl, I should hang with you more often. You have more fun than I thought.”

  “More than I can stand,” I muttered.

  “Aydan!” Lola’s throaty voice came from behind me, and Nichele and I both swung around.

  Nichele recovered first. “Shhh, you have to call her Arlene. She’s hiding from some creepy guy who was coming onto her.”

  I regained my composure. “Hi Lola, this is my friend Nichele. Nichele, Lola.”

  I eyed Lola’s tiny figure, her slightly-wrinkled cleavage bulging out of a skin-tight black leather jacket loaded with fringe and chrome studs. The ensemble was completed by a black leather micro-mini, fishnet stockings, and lace-up black stiletto boots crisscrossed with ferocious straps and buckles. A black leather cap slouched on her startlingly purple spiked hair.

  A woman her age should have looked ridiculous in the outfit, but stereotypes simply didn’t apply to Lola. I shook my head, grinning. “You look dangerous. Where’s your Harley?”

  An impish leer creased her wrinkled face and she waved at a stout elderly man dressed in biking leathers. “Right over there. And I plan to take him for a nice long ride when this show’s over.”

  Nichele let out a whoop of delight. “Oooh, I like you already! Is his name really Harley?”

  “Yep. I met him a few years ago, and we usually hook up at shows. The biker getup is our private joke.” She eyed me critically. “You’re calling yourself Arlene? Honey, I thought you were trying to distance yourself from that whole thing.”

  “I know, it was stupid, it was just the first name that popped into my head when this guy started bugging me.”

  Lola smirked and planted an unsympathetic elbow in my ribs. “Go on, you secretly like being a porn star. Admit it.”

  “Who’s a porn star?” a gruff voice inquired from behin
d me, and I turned to face Harley. His expression went comically blank for a moment before splitting into a huge grin.

  “Arlene Cherry!” His bellow made every head in the vicinity turn.

  “No, no!” I hissed frantically.

  “I’ll be double-dog-damned, Miss Cherry, it’s an honour to make your acquaintance!” He seized my hand and planted a kiss on my knuckles. “I didn’t hardly recognize you in that getup. Lola, honey, why didn’t you tell me you knew a star?”

  Lola’s evil smile told me I couldn’t expect any rescue from that quarter. Nichele’s grin was equally unhelpful.

  “I, uh, I’m travelling incognito,” I muttered, and fled.

  A couple of camera flashes convinced me not to dawdle. Hoping for a convenient taxi, I flung a glance around the front of the convention centre as I shot out the doors. I didn’t see a taxi, but I did catch a glimpse of Doytchevsky disappearing behind a column.

  Bastard. He was following me.

  I hoofed it for the Mirage.

  When I arrived sweating profusely and muttering vile imprecations under my breath, Nichele met me at the doorway, every hair in place, as cool and elegant as ever.

  “Why didn’t you take a cab?” she asked. “There was one right there.”

  “Yeah, whatever,” I snarled. “Listen, did you see a middle-aged guy in a beige shirt outside the convention centre when you left?”

  “No.”

  Of course she hadn’t seen him. He was a fucking spy. I bit down my irritation.

  “Nichele, can you do me a favour? Watch for a middle-aged guy in a beige shirt and khakis…”

  “You mean like that guy?”

  I followed her gaze to see Doytchevsky leaning into a taxi on the street, almost completely concealed by the trees and shrubs lining the driveway.

  I whirled back to face Nichele so he wouldn’t see me looking. “Yes! That’s him! That’s the creepy guy who’s following me. Can you stall him so I can get away?”

  Nichele’s devilish grin reminded me of why she was my best friend. “Oooh, yeah, I can stall him. This is going to be fun.”

  I was turning away when I heard her summoning her army. “Oh, Hiro, Aki…”

  Just in case Doytchevsky had some way to track my cell phone, I hurried to the elevators and stopped in my room long enough to jettison it.

  Down the stairs and out the back door.

  Showtime.

  Despite my confidence in Nichele’s stalling tactics, my heart pounded while I hurried away from the Mirage, heading for the shopping centre I’d spotted in my earlier wanderings. There had to be a roll of double-sided tape in there somewhere.

  At the mall, I acquired the tape and ditched Stemp’s phone. In the ladies’ washroom, I peeled off a tiny piece of tape and tested its stickiness on my finger.

  Good. It would still be strong enough to hold the USB stick even after I’d handled it.

  I stuck the precious wafer to my change purse and left.

  Strolling down the sidewalk, I tried to look nonchalant while sweat beaded on my backbone. Shit, was everybody looking at me? Everywhere I turned, it seemed as though people were just glancing away as I met their eyes.

  God, what if word got around about Arlene Cherry, and some crazy fan was following me? Or what if the media showed up with TV cameras?

  I gave myself a mental slap to the head. Nobody cared about some sleazy middle-aged internet porn star. Arlene Cherry had a tiny cult following, nothing more. The media couldn’t care less unless there were explosions, and the chances of encountering a fan were slim to none.

  I gulped. Except for Harley. Shit. I glanced around again, still doing my nonchalant stride.

  Nobody’s looking. And so what if they are? So Arlene Cherry buys a newspaper, so what? It wasn’t like some fan was going to go around fondling everything I touched.

  A shudder shook me. Eeuw. I really shouldn’t have thought about that.

  The newspaper machines came into view long before I was ready. I forced my feet toward them, keeping my shoulders loose, concentrating on an easy gait.

  Shit, I couldn’t be stiffer if I had a pole shoved up my ass. Relax, dammit!

  I shot one more glance around me and eased out a breath when no eyes flicked away. Hoping I wasn’t overdoing my act, I scrounged in my waist pouch. Thank God, the taped USB stick caught my forefinger on the first try, and I held it against my change purse, hoping its tiny black-on-black shape was invisible to passersby.

  The clink of change in the slot sounded like crashing cymbals, and I forced myself not to peer fearfully around me. Just a harmless pedestrian getting a harmless newspaper. No need to look around.

  Newspaper in hand. A quick flick against the inner lip of the opening, and the USB stick was secure. The door clanged shut, and I tucked the newspaper under my arm to stroll away, heart thundering.

  Nobody batted an eye.

  It couldn’t be that easy.

  I quivered into the nearest restaurant and chose a table with a view of the vending machines, unable to believe nobody had followed me. Sneaking frequent peeks over my unfurled newspaper, I watched the machines for nearly an hour while I dawdled over the worst hamburger I’d eaten in a long time.

  Must be too late in the day for newspapers. Nobody gave the machines a second glance.

  At last I paid my bill, dropped my newspaper in the trash, and trailed back to the hotel, still shaking.

  Nichele pounced on me the instant I walked through the front door. “Where have you been? I’ve been calling and calling your cell!”

  “Sorry, Nichele, I slipped out to grab some food and I got delayed.” I assuaged my guilt with the thought that it was true, though not exactly the truth.

  “Well, hurry up and get your shorts. We’re due at our pole-dancing class in half an hour!”

  I groaned. “I’m bagged. Why don’t you just go without me?”

  “If you get some exercise, you’ll feel better.” She gave me an imploring wide-eyed look. “We never get a chance to just go out and have fun anymore. I felt terrible when I thought you’d died and I hadn’t spent any time with you for months. Come on, Aydan. It’ll be fun. Please?”

  I could never resist those puppy-dog eyes. I suppressed another groan. “Okay. I’ll go get my shorts. Be right back.”

  When I stepped off the elevator on my floor, I froze at the sight of the corridor outside my room. There were more flowers. And an anxious-looking middle-aged man whose face lit up at the sight of me.

  The elevator doors closed before I could jump back inside, and I made my way warily down the hall.

  “Miss Cherry?” The man greeted me, ducking his head as if afraid I’d yell. “May I have your autograph? P-please?” He thrust a paper and pen at me, his hands shaking. “I’m a big fan. I can’t believe I’m really meeting you.”

  I momentarily considered having a movie-star tantrum to get rid of him, but he looked so cowed I couldn’t bring myself to do it. I accepted the paper and pen with resignation. “What’s your name?”

  “P-Paul…”

  I smoothed the paper against the wall and scrawled, ‘For Paul, love and best wishes’ and signed it with a big loopy ‘Arlene Cherry’ and a heart. Just to be on the safe side I added a couple of Xs and Os at the bottom and handed it back.

  “Oh, thank you, Miss Cherry!” He looked as though he was going to faint or pee his pants or something.

  “You’re welcome,” I said, and dove into my room before he could do either.

  Safely behind my locked door, I watched through the fisheye lens until he trailed away down the hall, holding the paper in front of him as if somebody had just handed him the Holy Grail.

  As soon as he vanished into the elevator, I snatched up another of Stemp’s phones.

  He answered immediately. “Yes.”

  I matched his curt tone. “The drop is done.”

  “Already? Where?”

  I described the location, and I could hear keys clicking in the
background while he apparently communicated with the person who’d do the pickup.

  When he came back on the line, his tone held a hint of criticism. “That was very short notice.”

  “Sorry. It turned out I was being followed. I had an opportunity, so I took it.”

  “And your tail?”

  “I got rid of him.”

  After a short pause, Stemp spoke again. “Do you need a clean-up crew?”

  My stomach lurched when I realized what he was asking. “No.”

  “Very well. Let me know if anything else develops.”

  I clicked off the phone and started packing.

  Chapter 11

  Doytchevsky materialized out of the crowd as I towed my suitcase across the lobby. “That was very cute with the Jap pack earlier,” he growled sotto voce. “Where’s Sherman?”

  “I told you, he’s at the other end of the country as far as I know.” I kept walking.

  “Where are you going?”

  “Checking out.” I stepped up to the desk to complete the paperwork.

  When I stepped away, he closed in again. “You’re meeting him, aren’t you? Where is he? Tell me!”

  “No! I don’t fucking know where he is! Get lost, or I’ll call Security and have you thrown out.”

  He gave me a single venomous glare before melting into the crowd to disappear out the door. I gave a whole-body shudder and pulled out my cell phone.

  “Arlene! …Arlene!”

  The second time Nichele called across the lobby, I registered the need to respond. Jeez, a real spy would spot my so-called cover in an instant. I needed to get better at that.

  I dragged my suitcase over. “Hey, Nichele, I was just going to call you.”

  She eyed the suitcase, her expression crumpling into disappointment. “You’re leaving?”

  “No, I’m just leaving my room. There were a bunch of flowers and an Arlene Cherry fan outside my door. Can I come and play in the penthouse for a while?”

  Her face lit up. “Girl, I thought you’d never ask!” She leaned closer, grinning. “Was he cute?”