Chapter 12
Muttering violent profanity, I knelt beside the tree patting frantically over the prickly bed of spruce needles beneath it.
Gone. They’d found the goddamn bag.
Were they letting the dogs sniff it right now, committing my scent to memory before they hunted me down like an animal?
A shaft of warm light fingered through the trees as the doorman admitted a late-night guest, and I hunkered lower.
Wait a minute…
The door closed and I straightened, staring.
Then I squeezed my eyes shut in equal parts chagrin and relief. That beam of light had gone in a different direction than I’d expected.
Wrong tree, idiot.
I crept forward and to the left, and a moment later my grateful hands found the rough canvas of the bag.
Nearly weeping with relief, I skinned out of my inappropriate garments and exchanged them for my jeans, hiking boots, and Hellhound’s big black parka. Wrestling icy wet denim up over my gooseflesh-pebbled legs was an exercise in misery, but at least my return trip would be quieter than my arrival.
The re-packed duffel weighed down my tired arm as if it was loaded with bricks, and I shifted it from hand to hand while I stumbled back down the hill.
A dog’s distant bark froze me to the spot.
I flung up my head, listening with every cell of my body. My rapid breathing plumed silver in the cold air. Goddamn moon, pouring down light like a fucking lantern now that I didn’t want it…
The barking sounded again.
Was it closer?
I couldn’t tell.
“And don’t hang around to find out, dipshit,” I muttered, and turned to plunge down the hill at the fastest pace my aching muscles would allow.
I slowed as I approached the guards’ usual patrol circuit and eased forward trying to stifle my panting.
No voices. No flashlight beams or gunshots.
Yet.
The back of my neck prickling, I scurried across the path and into the undergrowth by the creek.
A voice boomed out of the night. “Hey, was that the bear?”
Oh, God, not again.
Suppressing a whimper as a flashlight beam bored through the willows, I curled into a ball around the duffel bag.
“Nah. Too fast and quiet. Probably a deer.”
The beam stabbed the bushes again but the crunch of approaching footsteps didn’t slacken. When the second man spoke again, it sounded as though he was close enough to touch.
“Base, this is Team Three. Seen any bears on camera lately? Over.”
The crackle of a radio responded. “Nope. Didn’t even see the one Vilquist said he scared off. Damn fool, discharging his weapon like that. You see any bears? Over.”
“Nah. Just the usual bunch of deer.” The crunch of footsteps receded along with the voice. “Vilquist’s gonna get sacked for that, and good riddance. It’s a friggin’ miracle he hasn’t shot one of us yet. Over and out.”
Silence fell again and I dared to move at last.
So they hadn’t spotted the ‘bear’ on camera. Good.
Now I only had to follow the same route on the way out…
By the time I stumbled out of the creek bed the moon was sinking on the horizon, leaving velvet-black sky spangled with frosty stars. Clammy with cold sweat, my legs numb in the soggy denim, I shivered in the knife-like breeze while I tottered over to the car. Easing my protesting body into the driver’s seat of my car, I cranked the heat on high before texting ‘Clear’ to Holt and hitting the road.
My dashboard clock read five AM when I pulled into the visitor’s lot at Hellhound’s condo at last. Moaning quietly, I persuaded my stiffened muscles to unbend, and limped toward the door.
When I shivered into the warmth of the apartment, Hooker yawned and stretched in his cozy nest of blankets on the sofa. Then he jumped down and padded over to the mud-caked duffel bag I’d dropped beside the door, his nose tracing its contours with rapt interest.
“Enjoy,” I growled, and made a beeline for the bathroom where I dove into the shower and trembled under the hot spray until I felt sufficiently thawed.
I was almost to Hellhound’s bed, eyes half-closed, when duty prodded me to check my cell phone and the burner phone I’d left behind. The message light was blinking on the burner phone, and I sighed and pressed the voicemail button.
My heart lurched at the sound of the smug voice oozing from the speaker. “Good evening, Ms. Widdenback, it’s Frederick Labelle. I just had a call from our client. He arrived this evening and would like to arrange a meeting with you first thing tomorrow morning. Let’s meet for breakfast at seven-thirty AM at the Petroleum Club. I’ll look forward to seeing you there.”
Thoughts of bed and sleep evaporated as I stared at the phone.
“What the hell?” I demanded of Hooker, who twitched an ear from where he had resumed his snooze on the sofa. “Does this mean it’s only about my original mission after all and Nichele is safe? Or does it mean they kidnapped her tonight after she called me?”
My fingers clenched on the phone. Oh, God. What if they were holding Nichele as a trading piece?
Hands trembling, I checked the time on the message. It indicated nine PM, before I’d even known Riel was at Harchman’s.
Scowling at the display, I growled, “Okay, I really hope that means she’s safe, but there’s no way they’ll let me into the Petroleum Club wearing these…” I prodded the heap of wet filthy denim on the floor with a weary toe. “…or any jeans for that matter. So that means I’m going to have to go back to the goddamn mall first thing in the morning to buy business clothes, and there’s no way I can make a seven-thirty meeting.” Exhaustion and stale adrenaline exploded into violent irritation. “And who the hell does Labelle think he is, anyway, just expecting me to hop to his bidding whenever he calls? Asshole!”
After a few minutes of pacing and swearing, my fear and anger subsided enough for me to take stock.
I collapsed onto the sofa and offered Hooker a chin-scratch. “Here’s something interesting,” I said over the rumble of his purrs. “Labelle said Riel arrived this evening. But I know Riel was here this morning. So he lied to Labelle. I wonder why. And I wonder how long he’s really been here…”
I trailed off, staring into space for a few moments before dialling Spider’s office number. “Hey, Spider,” I said to his voicemail. “Could you check to see whether Benoit Riel flew on a regular airline into Calgary, and if so, when? Thanks. ‘Bye.”
I weighed the secured phone in my hand. Should I call Stemp with the latest developments?
A cavernous yawn made up my mind. “No need to wake him,” I told Hooker. “This isn’t an emergency.”
The cat opened both eyes to give me a penetrating stare, and I shivered with a spooky sense of premonition. Would a real agent delay a non-urgent report? What if these trivial facts somehow spelled the difference between life and death?
And how the hell was I supposed to know?
“Don’t look at me like that,” I said. “Stemp’s fast asleep like a normal human being right now, and nothing’s going to change in the next…” I consulted my watch and groaned. “…two hours. And if it does, I’ll call him right away. And great,” I added. “Now I’m arguing with a cat.”
Hooker yawned, pink tongue curling up and whiskers quivering, then tucked his nose under his front paw and closed his eyes as if to say, “It’s your funeral.”
A real agent wouldn’t second-guess herself. And she wouldn’t go running to the director of ops with every tiny detail like some little kid seeking approval.
Fine.
I hauled myself to my feet and trudged off to nosedive into bed only to toss and turn, expecting a catastrophe at any moment.
The sound of a key in the lock jerked me to wakefulness. My heart rose as Hooker bounded eagerly toward the door, and I rolled out of bed to follow. Hellhound must have finished his mission last night after all…
The door opened and my cheerful greeting died on my lips.
The frail elderly lady froze with Hooker in her arms, her eyes widening. “Oh! Excuse me, I didn’t realize Arnold had returned.”
“Um… Hi, Miss Lacey. He hasn’t,” I stammered, my head-to-toe blush abundantly obvious since I was wearing nothing but a mortified expression. “He was hoping to be back today, but he said I could sleep here last night…”
I shuffled my feet. Should I stand here and brazen it out? Grab the afghan from the couch in a belated attempt at modesty? Or just die on the spot from sheer humiliation?
Miss Lacey solved the dilemma for me. “Oh, how nice. It’s lovely to see you again, Aydan,” she said as though we were both clothed in our Sunday best complete with gloves and pearls. She lowered Hooker to the floor with an affectionate pat. “Well, John Lee, I can see that you are in good hands.” She returned her attention to me, keeping her gaze politely above my chin. “I would be most grateful if you would give John Lee his breakfast, and I shall return around six PM to provide his evening meal. Have a pleasant day, dear.”
“Thanks. You, too,” I mumbled as she tactfully withdrew, locking the door behind her.
Shivering, I hurried for the bathroom, only to pull up short at the sound of the burner phone vibrating on the bedside table.
I dove for the bed, snatching up the phone and burrowing under the still-warm covers as I punched the Talk button. Then I hesitated. Shit, was this the phone number I’d given Kane, or the one I’d given Labelle? Was I Aydan or Arlene?
I settled for a noncommittal, “Hello?”
“Ms. Widdenback, it’s Frederick Labelle.” His deep smooth voice practically dripped sweetness. “I hope I’m not calling too early.”
I glanced at the bedside clock. Seven-fifteen AM.
Asshole.
“What do you want?” I demanded, missing graciousness by a wide margin but mentally congratulating myself for not ripping a strip off him after only an hour of crappy sleep.
“I didn’t hear from you last night, so I’m just calling to confirm our meeting this morning with our client at the Petroleum Club.”
Arlene Widdenback wouldn’t put herself at his beck and call. And I couldn’t go even if I wanted to. I needed business clothes.
“Can’t do it,” I said shortly. “I have other meetings. The earliest I could do is eleven.”
And that would be cutting it pretty damn close, since the malls didn’t open until ten…
“Make that eleven-thirty,” I amended.
“That won’t work.” Labelle didn’t sound nearly so sweet now. “The client wants a morning meeting.”
“Then he should have arranged it more than eight hours in advance,” I snapped. “I’ll see you at the Petroleum Club at eleven-thirty.” I punched the disconnect button and sat quietly hyperventilating for a few moments.
What if they had Nichele? What if they decided to persuade me to attend their meeting by sending me one of her fingers or toes? Or worse…
With shaking hands, I grabbed my cell phone and hit the speed dial for Nichele.
It rang once on the other end. Then twice…
“Hey, girl, what are you doing calling so early?” Nichele’s usually-perky voice still held a fuzzy overtone of sleep. “I haven’t even been up long enough to put on any makeup yet.”
Breathless with relief, I did my best to match her lighthearted tone. “Sorry, but I’ve got a morning meeting and I wanted to talk to you before I got into it. All set for a big day of business seminars?”
Her yawn carried clearly through the speaker. “Not yet, but I will be. And there’s no sign of James, and Hottie-Benoitty didn’t break into my room and ravish me last night, so you can stop worrying.”
“Okay, good,” I began, but she wasn’t finished.
Her tone slid into a sly tease. “So how did it go with Dante? Did you call him?”
“Um, no. It was too late when I got home last night.”
But, damn, I needed to call him this morning and make sure he was okay. And find out if Holt had spotted anybody hanging around his place…
“It wasn’t too late when I gave you his number yesterday evening,” Nichele persisted. “Why didn’t you call him then?”
“Um… I decided it would be too weird. So don’t mention the modelling job to him, okay? I hadn’t said anything to Lola about it yet, either; so no harm, no foul,” I said, secretly congratulating myself on avoiding an embarrassing future in which Nichele casually mentioned the ‘potential job’ to either Lola or Dante.
She began, “But you should…”
I kept talking. “You’re right, though, I probably need to call him anyway just to clear the air. I’ll do it this morning. Unless… do you know if he’s in town?”
“He didn’t have any trips planned the last time I talked to him. And he’s a morning person; he’ll be up by now. So call him right away, okay? At least you can tell him you and Arnie are together and that’s why you ran out on him. He was really hurt, you know? He thought you liked him.”
I groaned. “Okay, okay, I already said I’d call him. And I did like him; I just…”
Giving up on a complicated and ultimately futile explanation, I finished, “…whatever. I’ll call him, I promise. Have a good day, and call me this afternoon, okay? I’ve got a lunch meeting but I should be done by one.”
“Okay.” I could hear the smile in her voice. “Have a good day, too. Thanks for watching out for me.”
“You’re welcome. ‘Bye.”
Before I could lose my nerve, I punched in Dante’s number and squeezed my eyes shut while I listened to the ringing on the other end. When the call went to his voicemail I almost chickened out and hung up, but my Jane Bond persona kicked me in the ass. Instead, I clenched the blanket in my fist and attempted a breezy tone.
“Hi, Dante, it’s Aydan… um… Aydan Kelly… from last fall? Nichele’s friend…?” Mentally cursing myself for not preparing better, I fumbled on. “I was just calling to, um… catch up; well, to apologize actually. I’m sorry for the way I acted and I wanted to…”
Wanted to what? God, what if he thought I was angling for Round Two?
“…um, just wanted to apologize,” I finished lamely. “Could you please call me?”
I left my number and disconnected before jamming my face into the pillow with a moan and a heartfelt hope that I’d smother to death before he called back.