Chapter 15
As soon as I slid into my car, I checked my bug detector.
Green light.
Next I checked my cell phone. Neither Dante nor Nichele had called, but I had a text message from an anonymous number: ‘Call home’.
Tension knotted my shoulders as I pressed the speed-dial for Stemp.
When I identified myself after his curt ‘Yes’, he said, “Webb found Riel’s airline records as you requested. Riel flew into Calgary on a regular Westjet flight, arriving at nineteen-twenty hours on Tuesday.”
“Hm. So he was here for a day and a half without telling Labelle. That fits, since I’ve just found out Labelle has been playing us both. Riel must have gotten suspicious and that’s why he wanted to meet me without Labelle as an intermediary. Anything on the wiretap?”
“Only a brief conversation confirming the time for your meeting today. But Webb has activated remote monitoring on their phones so they act like audio bugs, and we’re also receiving all their text messages. No relevant intel yet. The analysts will inform you immediately if anything comes through.”
“Okay, thanks.” I gave him a brief summary of my meeting with Labelle and Riel and finished, “…so for a guy who’s in the market for a lethal classified weapon, that was a lot of indignation over ‘killing innocent people’. It was probably an act, but still… I’m not convinced he’s behind the terror threat. When I told him it wasn’t the mass killing machine the threat described, he specifically said our single-shot version is the one he’s looking for. I’m going to a party with him tonight to see if I can get more information. If I tell him I can supply the weapon, maybe he’ll talk price and delivery.”
“Very well. Keep me posted.”
As soon as the connection clicked closed I dialled Nichele. After several rings she answered, her voice low and hurried.
“Hi Aydan. Sorry I didn’t call but I’m right in the middle of this seminar. Can I call you later?”
“Sure, but wait, do you have another number for Dante?” I asked rapidly, wondering whether to be relieved that she’d answered or worried that she sounded so distracted. “He hasn’t called me back.”
“No, that was his cell and he always answers it, even if he’s travelling. Sorry, gotta go, okay?”
“Okay. Call me as soon as you can. ‘Bye.”
She disconnected, and I stared blankly out the windshield, fear rising like a cold tide.
Of course Dante always answered his phone. He wouldn’t want to miss a call from his modelling agency or any other potential job. So why hadn’t he called me back?
Had he really been that hurt by my abandonment?
Or had he been abducted because of me?
“He’s a gorgeous underwear model, for chrissake,” I muttered. “He can have any woman he wants, and he’s sure as hell not going to mope for a year over some middle-aged bag who ran out on him. This is bad. This is really bad.”
A quick call to Holt confirmed that there had been no activity on the cameras at Dante’s house. The queasy conviction that something was wrong expanded in my belly, making me regret the key lime pie.
Bringing up my cell phone’s browser with trembling fingers, I searched ‘Dante Olivieri’ and was rewarded with a gallery of delicious photos, and, more importantly, the name of his modelling agency.
I dialled the number with my heart thumping. Please, please, let him be on a photo shoot in some exotic location where he can’t answer his phone…
The voice that answered the phone was professionally pleasant, and I drew a deep breath to steady my voice. “Hi, I’m calling because I’m looking for Dante Olivieri…”
“Oh.” A waver of uncertainty in the receptionist’s voice made my pulse quicken even more. “I’ll… let you speak to his agent. Please hold.”
Oh shit. Shit, shit, shit…
A brusque voice snapped onto the line. “Francine Belmont.”
I cleared my throat so my voice wouldn’t come out in a dry croak. “Hello, my name is Aydan Kelly, and I’m looking for Dante Olivieri-”
“Well, if you find him, tell him he’s fired,” she barked. “We’ve got lots of other talent who are actually capable of showing up when they’re scheduled.”
“Wait!” I implored, afraid she’d hang up. “I think something might have happened to him. When did you hear from him last? When was he scheduled to work?”
“Who did you say you were?”
“Um…”
Shit, I couldn’t tell her I was a secret agent.
“I’m Aydan Kelly. A friend of Dante’s. It’s not like him to miss a job,” I babbled, hoping that was actually true. Hell, I hardly knew him. Maybe he was an arrogant prima donna who delighted in making people wait on him. “When did you hear from him last?”
A sharp hiss of breath on the other end of the line pumped my blood pressure even higher. Was she going to hang up on me?
When she spoke again, her voice was tight and worried. “I’m sorry; this week has been a total gong show and I’m pretty stressed. You’re right, I’ve never known him to be late, let alone not show up. He left me a voicemail late Wednesday evening and said he was sick. He sounded terrible then, but he didn’t call in yesterday so I expected him to be at his shoot this morning. He didn’t show, and he hasn’t returned my calls. I’ve been trying to find talent to cover for him but the client wants the wonderful Dante Olivieri…” She broke off. “Never mind; not your problem.”
“What do you mean ‘he sounded terrible’?” I demanded. “How did he sound? Hoarse and stuffed up like he had a cold?”
“No; weak and shaky. Like he had the flu or something. You said you’re a friend; do you have a key to his house? Can you go and check on him?”
“I’ll check on him and let you know,” I promised. “Don’t fire him, please. I’m sure he’d have been there if…” My throat closed and I swallowed hard. “…if he was capable of it.”
“Dammit. Call me if you find him. Thanks.” The line went dead in my ear.
Fingers trembling, I extracted a secured phone and punched the speed dial button. Stemp’s brisk “Yes?” felt like a reassuring pat on the back.
“It’s Aydan again,” I said. “Dante called his agency late Wednesday night and left a message saying he was sick, and nobody’s heard from him since. He didn’t show up for a job this morning and he hasn’t returned his agent’s calls. Holt says there’s been no sign of life since he got there. I’m going to go over to his place now and see…” My throat went dry. “…see what I can find.”
Please don’t let me find his body.
After a fractional pause Stemp replied, “Very well, as long as it doesn’t divert resources from your mission.”
His dispassionate tone brought a surge of anger all the way up from my toes. An innocent man might be dead or dying, and all he could say was ‘don’t waste time on it’?
Clenching my teeth on a retort, I reined in my temper. He had the weight of hundreds, maybe thousands, of civilian lives on his shoulders. I should be glad he hadn’t outright ordered me to abandon Dante and concentrate on the mission.
Then again, he knew me well enough to realize what would happen if he did.
Gratitude replaced my irritation. He was looking out for me, communicating a warning but not issuing a direct order that would get me arrested for insubordination.
“This won’t take resources away from the mission,” I assured him. “That’s still my top priority, but I’ve got about three hours before I have to start getting ready for the party.”
“Very well,” he repeated with exactly the same inflection, and a smile eased the stiff corners of my mouth as I hung up.
Then I dialled Holt again.
When he answered, I said, “I’m coming over to search Dante’s house. I’ll meet you two blocks west of his house. See you in twenty minutes.”
“No, park in front.”
“Uh…” Well, what the hell. He was an experienced agent. Surely he knew what he was doing. “Okay.”
When I parked on the quiet street in front of Dante’s house, there was no sign of Holt. About thirty seconds later a shiny red Audi Quattro rounded the corner and pulled up behind me. Holt stepped out, leather briefcase in one hand and Starbucks coffee cup in the other.
As I walked back to meet him, I spotted magnetic ‘Greg Holt Real Estate’ signs on the Quattro’s doors. Holt himself was dressed in expensive-looking business clothes, and he gave me a broad smile as he strode toward me.
Tucking his briefcase under his arm, he offered me a hearty handshake. “Excellent, you made it,” he said, still smiling. “I’m Greg Holt. We spoke on the phone earlier. My card…”
He delved into his blazer pocket and produced a professional-looking business card that matched the signs on his car.
“Thanks,” I said, slightly overawed, and accepted the card.
“Shall we?” Holt inquired, gesturing toward Dante’s house.
“Uh… sure.”
On the front step, he produced a ring containing several keys. “Stand here,” he muttered, nudging me into a position that would conceal what he was doing from anyone passing on the street.
He pulled on vinyl examination gloves before trying the keys in the lock one after the other. When one slid in, he produced a screwdriver from his pocket. While I watched in puzzlement, he held the key in the lock with one hand while rapping the end of the key briskly with the screwdriver handle. After only a couple of taps the key turned and we stepped into Dante’s front foyer. Holt nonchalantly closed and relocked the door behind us.
I gaped at him. “How did you do that?”
He frowned. “It’s just a cheapo lock, and these are standard bump keys from Stores. Don’t you have a set?”
Shit, something else I should have known about. Would’ve been damn nice to have known about it last night before I smashed the store window.
“Yeah,” I lied. “But I can’t get in nearly that fast.”
Holt didn’t quite smirk, but I could tell he was pleased. “This is the secret,” he confided, showing me an ordinary rubber O-ring around the base of the key. “With the O-ring in place you only have to hold a gentle twist on the key and it rebounds automatically. No pulling it out again between taps.”
“That’s amazing.”
I studied the key. It didn’t look like anything special; just a standard house key with the projections cut low and spaced evenly along it.
Shaking myself back to reality, I filed ‘bump key’ into my memory to research later and pulled my own gloves out of my pocket.
“Expecting something messy?” Holt inquired grimly, comparing his unobtrusive clear vinyl to my bright blue nitrile.
“I hope not. But I keep them in my toolbox so nobody gets suspicious about why I’m carrying a bunch of them. Mechanics use blue nitrile.”
“Okay. Where do you want to start?”
I sighed. “With the obvious, I guess.” Raising my voice, I called, “Hey, Dante! It’s Aydan! Are you here?”
Silence was my only reply, and I tried again a little louder. “Dante! Hello! Are you okay?”
After a few more moments of silence, I turned to Holt with a tense shrug. “Let’s see if we can find anything.”
It didn’t take long.
When we rounded the corner into the kitchen, we both froze.
“Shit,” Holt growled.
My heart motionless in my chest, I stared at the overturned kitchen chair and the doormat scrunched into the corner. A few brownish smears and droplets of dried blood led to the back door.
“Didn’t kill him here,” Holt muttered. “Not nearly enough blood…”
My heart resumed beating again, banging frantically in my chest. Oh God, no. I had so wanted to be wrong…
Without moving from the doorway, Holt’s keen gaze scoured the kitchen. “There.” He pointed to a spray of droplets across the end of the kitchen counter. “Looks like somebody came in the back door and hit him. Didn’t beat the hell out of him, though. Not enough blood or signs of struggle. And he must’ve let them in because there’s no sign of forced entry; and he was still walking when he left. No drag marks through the blood. So he went with whoever hit him.”
He turned back to me. “Your boyfriend have any enemies?”
I had to try twice before I could get my voice to work. “He’s not my boyfriend. Just a poor innocent guy who had the misfortune to kiss me in public a year ago. I don’t even know him well enough to know if he’s got enemies; but I’d be willing to bet this is because of me.”
“Huh.” Holt eyed the kitchen again. “Hell, who knows if that’s even his blood. Maybe he attacked somebody who came in, and now he’s lying low.”
“Maybe…” I tried to reconcile that with my memory of Dante’s anxious expression when he’d asked if Kane was dangerous last year. He didn’t seem like the type to attack anybody.
“Well…” Holt shrugged. “Let’s check the rest of the place and then call the cops.”
I drew a breath of relief. Thank God one of us knew what to do.
“I’ll start in the basement,” I croaked, and headed for the stairs.
Touching as little as possible, I gave it a once-over. Everything seemed in order, at least as far as I could tell. But I’d never been in his basement before so how would I know?
My knees trembled as I crept back up the stairs.
They had Dante. Was he dead?
Would it be worse if he was still alive and suffering?
And who were ‘they’? Riel hadn’t been acting suspiciously earlier. Surely if he’d beaten and abducted a man for leverage on me he would have given some indication. But he’d never even met Dante, so he likely wasn’t involved.
James, on the other hand…
I could easily imagine him ringing the doorbell and pushing his way in when Dante opened the door to him. And when Dante protested, I could see James hitting him viciously across his handsome face just for spite; then jerking him to his feet and forcing him outside, maybe with a knife at his throat or a gun in his back…
My breath caught.
What if James had killed Dante for revenge on me?
What if Dante’s mutilated body was lying in the back yard?