Chapter 16
“Find anything?” Holt’s voice made me start violently.
I turned to face him. “Jesus, you scared the shit out of me,” I complained, hoping he’d mistake my funk for surprise. “No. Did you?”
He shook his head, and I steeled myself and added, “Have you been watching the back yard?”
“Yeah.” He produced his phone and turned it toward me, displaying a camera view of Dante’s back yard. “No activity.”
There were no visible bodies in the camera’s field of view, and I drew a deep breath. “Guess we’d better call the police, then. We’ve been in here too long already.”
Holt nodded. “I’ll put some fingerprints on the front doorknob.” He removed his gloves and stuffed them down the front of his pants with a quirk of his mouth. “Don’t think they’ll strip-search us.”
“Let’s hope not.” I followed suit, removing my gloves and sliding them down my pants into my underwear.
Holt’s eyes kindled with ribald humour. “You’re having a bit too much fun there, Kelly.”
“Shut up,” I growled, still trying to tuck the last nitrile finger under a scrap of fabric and lace that was never designed to contain anything besides what was already in it. “Trust me, life is easier when you’re a guy wearing tighty-whities.”
“Actually, I’m a boxer-briefs guy,” Holt said.
“Too much information.”
He grinned. “Can you do some hysterics or something?” he asked as he punched 911.
“Oh, hell yeah.” I dropped unceremoniously to the floor, curled into a ball, and released the all the fear I’d been bottling up.
Over the sound of my sobs, I caught snatches of Holt’s report to the police as he casually drifted to the front door and handled the doorknob and deadbolt lock on both sides.
He explained he was a realtor whom Dante was considering hiring; that Dante had arranged for me, his friend, to let the realtor in to do an estimate of the property’s value; how we had found evidence of foul play and I had collapsed in hysterics.
In minutes sirens swelled outside the house. My storm of emotion had subsided and I had to fake my continued weeping and hyperventilating, but my trembling was real as Holt and a police officer helped me out of the house and onto the front porch.
After taking our statements and instructing us to go to the police station to supply fingerprints so ours could be eliminated from those found at the scene, the uniformed officer strode away.
As I slumped on the front step, arms wrapped around myself and head hanging, Holt knelt solicitously in front of me. “Was it a good idea to point them at James Helmand?” he asked quietly.
I shrugged. “Why not? They’ll be all over him for a possible parole violation. If he looks even a little bit guilty they’ll lock him up and save us the trouble, and if he’s innocent we need to be looking somewhere else anyway.”
Holt grunted assent, or possibly resignation. “Come on, I’ll buy you a coffee,” he said, just loudly enough for the bystanders to hear. “You look like you need one.”
I let out a convincing sniffle. “O-okay…”
Hand under my elbow, he helped me down the stairs and past the police cordon. A news crew lunged through the knot of onlookers, and Holt shoved a palm in the camera’s lens and tucked me into the passenger seat of his car.
Then he turned and faced the camera with a giant shit-eating grin. “Greg Holt, Realtor, at your service,” he proclaimed. “I can sell your home no matter how undesirable it might be!” He gave the camera a sly wink. “Even if there’s been a murder in it!”
The reporters pressed closer, salivating, and Holt proceeded to ignore all their questions and trumpet his own services for the next ten minutes until finally the last reporter gave up in disgust.
Still grinning, Holt slid into the driver’s seat and pulled away. “Won’t be seeing us on the six o’clock news,” he said smugly.
“That was slick,” I agreed with sincere admiration. “But… what if somebody actually tries to call Greg Holt, Realtor?”
Holt shrugged. “Then I’ll sell their house. Or hand it off to one of my associates. I have a real estate broker’s license in every province. It makes a great cover. After I knock on a few doors and flog a few complimentary property assessments, everybody in the neighbourhood ignores me and I can hang around as much as I want without anybody getting suspicious.” He snickered. “And I give everybody handouts telling them to protect themselves by checking the credentials of anyone claiming to be a home inspector or realtor. I like irony.”
Sobering, he added, “And I like knowing that maybe they’ll be wary of the next asshole like me that shows up on their doorstep.”
“That’s absolutely brilliant.” I gazed at him with new respect.
He shrugged, scowling out the windshield as if to hide his appreciation of the compliment. “It works. Nice job on the hysterics, by the way. I almost believed you myself.”
“Thanks.” After an awkward moment of silence, I added, “So that’s how you got away with installing the cameras? Hanging around pretending to be a realtor?”
“No. I came by in a panel van with Enmax logos so I could fiddle with the utility boxes and set up the surveillance cameras. I’ve set them up with a motion sensor and real-time video feed to my phone so I’ll get a ping anytime the camera picks up movement. Speaking of…”
He handed over his phone. “Keep an eye on Dante’s house. If our perp sees the police action he might decide to go and do a little rubbernecking. Maybe we can spot him. Let’s figure out our next move while we grab a coffee, then go back and get your car and do the fingerprint thing at the police station.”
Belatedly, I realized he’d completely taken charge of what was supposed to be my op.
It chafed me to let him get away with it, but I suppressed my injured pride with the knowledge that I wouldn’t have been nearly as well-prepared and professional.
Hell, the more I learned, the more I realized how little I knew. If I had been assigned to watch a house, I probably would’ve parked on the street and hunkered down in my car, and some nosy neighbour would have reported me to the police in ten minutes flat.
“You okay?” Holt’s voice penetrated my gloomy reverie.
“No. I suck.” The words popped out before I could stop them, and Holt snickered.
“Good to know, but I’m not in the market just now. Save it for your next porn video.”
“Fuck you.”
He guffawed, and somehow I felt just a bit better.
We drove in silence for a few minutes before he said gruffly, “Don’t beat yourself up. You can’t protect everybody. You can only do the best you can.”
“Not good enough,” I muttered.
“That’s the hell of this job,” he agreed, and we didn’t speak again until we were reseated in his car, hot beverages in hand.
Holt reclined his seat a few degrees with a sigh and leaned his head back. “Okay. So which one of your enemies do you think it is?”
I embraced my cup of tea as though its heat could dissipate the chill around my heart. “My money’s on James Helmand. He’s exactly the kind of asshole who’d go after my friends to get at me. He’s vicious enough to enjoy beating up an innocent person just for the hell of it, and it makes sense for him to go after Dante because nothing in his parole prevents him from contact.”
Holt snorted. “If he just committed assault, kidnapping, and forcible confinement, I doubt if he was that worried about breaching the no-contact terms of his parole.”
“No.” I sighed. “But he’s smart, and I’d be willing to bet he’s got some plan to make his hands look clean. He wouldn’t take a needless chance on getting spotted somewhere he shouldn’t be.”
“Still, though, abducting somebody is a dumb move,” Holt argued. “It’s messy, it attracts attention, and hostages are high-maintenance. And controlling you by threatening the hostage only works if he wants you to do something specific in a short timeframe. But if he was going to do that he probably would’ve contacted you with his demands already. Especially if he’s had the guy since Wednesday.”
I sank my forehead onto the top of my cardboard cup, folding over the emptiness in my chest. “I doubt if he intends to keep a hostage. This is revenge. Dante’s probably already dead.” I shuddered. “For his sake, I hope so.”
“This guy’s a real sicko, eh?”
I spoke without raising my head. “He’d delight in torturing someone for as long as he possibly could without actually killing them, and then he’d take whatever was left of them to where he’d know I’d find them and lay them out there to strike the killing blow. So I’d know exactly how much they had suffered. I’m going to be afraid to even go around a corner until this is over.” Sickness climbed the back of my throat. “And that’s exactly why he would choose Dante. He was… is… so beautiful. It would be a desecration…”
A sudden horrible thought struck me and I bolted upright. “Shit, it’s after four o’clock and I haven’t heard from Nichele yet!” Thrusting my cup at Holt, I snapped, “Hold this”, and scrabbled frantically at my phone. “She sounded weird when I talked to her at one.” My voice rose despite my efforts to control it. “Dante sounded weird right before he disappeared…”
I punched the speed dial and waited, fingers clenched so tightly on the phone that my knuckle popped in protest.
Listening to the ringing at the other end, I muttered, “If she doesn’t answer, I’ll hunt that fucker down and kill him with my bare h-”
“Hey, girl, sorry I didn’t call you.” Nichele’s blithe apology made me fall back in the seat, quivering with released tension. I must have made some sound, because she added, “Seriously, I’m really sorry. This was a great seminar series, and I was so involved I just lost track of time. I didn’t mean to scare you.”
“It’s okay,” I croaked. “I’m just glad you’re all right.”
“I’m fine. Just finished the last seminar and now I’m getting ready for the windup dinner. The food here is amazing! I’m so glad Benoit got me a ticket! I’ll have to buy him a bottle of something as a thank-you. Do you know what he drinks?”
“Um… no.” I nearly said, ‘I’ll soon find out’, but fortunately stifled myself. No need to create more questions in her mind. Instead I added, “Was he… um, did you see him today?”
“No, he wasn’t attending the seminars; he just got invited to the champagne gala because he’s staying with the Harchmans. So…” Her salacious grin was clearly audible in her voice. “How did it go with Dante?”
Gut-punched anew, I couldn’t speak.
“Aydan? …Hello! Your cell phone cut out. Are you still there? Hello?”
“I… I’m still here,” I whispered. “Nichele…” I didn’t know how to say it. “I… I have some bad news.”
Her gulp carried over the line. “H-how bad?”
“It might be… really bad.” I swallowed and tried to steady my voice. “Dante is missing. The police are at his house now, and it… doesn’t look good…” Drawing a deep breath, I spoke into the tense silence. “There are signs of a struggle and some blood.”
“Ohmigod!” I could hear the tears in her voice. “Ohmigod. What… when…?”
“He left a voicemail for his agent on Wednesday night and said he wasn’t feeling well. That’s the last anybody heard from him.”
“Oh… ohmigod…” The word trembled into silence. She swallowed audibly. “What… what can we do?”
“Nothing. Wait and hope.” The words tasted bitter on my tongue. “Just go ahead with your weekend plans. If I hear anything I’ll let you know right away.”
“Ohmigod, Aydan. I just… I feel sick. What if…”
“Think good thoughts. And watch your back, even if you do feel safe there.”
“I… I don’t think I can do this,” Nichele quavered. After a tremulous breath she went on, “I have to go to the windup dinner, but I think I’ll just go home afterward instead of staying at the resort. I’m…” She gulped again. “…not really in a spa mood anymore.”
I hesitated. Was she safer there or at home? At least if she was out of Harchman’s clutches I had a better chance of keeping tabs on her…
“I don’t blame you,” I said slowly. “But I want to make sure you’re safe if you come home…” In a split-second decision, I added, “John and Arnie are both busy right now, but I’ve got a friend who used to be a security guard and I’m going to get him to watch your place. Just call me when you’re on your way home, okay?”
“O-okay…” She let out a long breath and her voice firmed. “Okay. I’m thinking good thoughts. He’s fine; I know it. This is all a big misunderstanding and everything will be okay.”
“Good. Keep thinking that,” I encouraged, my stomach curdling with guilt. “I’ll talk to you soon. ‘Bye.”
Thumbing the disconnect button, I leaned my head back, squeezing my eyes shut to hold back the burning of incipient tears.
Holt said nothing, and I was grateful for his silence.
After a moment I blew out a harsh breath and sat up to extract a secured phone from my waist pouch.
Stemp answered on the first ring, as usual. “Yes?”
“It’s Aydan.” My voice came as though from a great distance. “It looks as though Dante has been abducted, probably Wednesday evening. There’s blood and signs of a struggle in his house. The police are there now. I suspect James.”
After a fractional pause Stemp spoke, pain vibrating in his voice. “I was wrong. I am sorry.”
Heart squeezing, I said, “It’s not your fault. It was too late before I even asked you about it. I should have been paying attention to James’s release date and taking steps to protect his potential targets.” I drew a deep breath. “But I’m not going to make that mistake again. I’m assigning Holt to watch Nichele, and I’m going to find Dante. The police don’t know we’re agents, so please ask Spider to keep an eye on their investigation and keep me posted.”
“I will monitor the investigation.” Stemp’s dispassionate tone was back. “However, your assigned mission is still your top priority. Let the police investigate your friend’s disappearance. And Holt’s role is to support you in your mission, not act as a bodyguard-for-hire. As much as I sympathize with your situation, if you delay or compromise your mission for your own personal reasons I will not be able to shield you from the consequences.”
I bit down my instinctive surge of fury and concentrated on the concern I could detect behind Stemp’s warning. If the chain of command decided they couldn’t trust me to do my job, the consequences for me would be life imprisonment.
And, as much as it sickened me, saving Dante at the cost of hundreds or thousands of other innocent lives was both illogical and irresponsible no matter what my heart told me.
I cleared my throat but my voice still came out in a strangled whisper. “Okay.”
I disconnected and turned to face Holt’s glower.
“What the fuck?” he barked the instant I lowered the phone. “I’m a top agent, not some fucking pansy-ass rent-a-cop! This is bullshit! I should be-”
My frayed nerves snapped and my fist shot out to clamp onto his nice tie and jerk him toward me.
He reacted instantly, twisting my hand into a submission hold that jabbed red-hot knives of pain through my arthritic thumb.
Refusing to give him the satisfaction of wincing or yelping, I pushed my face within inches of his and spoke very quietly. “You should be protecting innocent lives. If you want glamour, go do something that doesn’t have ‘secret’ in the job title.”
He glared at me from close range, his lantern jaw clenched and steely gaze boring into mine. Slowly, he eased the pressure off my thumb and settled back in his seat. Staring fixedly out the windshield, he took couple of long breaths, in through his nose and out through his mouth. On the third one, he spoke stiffly.
“Sorry. You’re right.”
My muscles turned to jelly and I flopped back into my seat, cradling my throbbing thumb and whimpering, “Ow, ow, ow, fuck, ow, fuck!”
“Don’t be such a fucking wuss, Kelly. I didn’t break it.”
Hissing pain through my teeth, I glared at him. “Next time I’ll just shoot you.”
He sneered. “You can try.”
Rage veiled my vision in a red haze. Fighting the burning urge to just draw my gun and end him, I closed my eyes and breathed.
In through my nose, out through my mouth.
In… out…
In… out…
“Sorry.” He didn’t sound quite so grudging this time. “I was out of line.”
I drew another breath and opened my eyes. “I was, too. Sorry.”
His shoulders relaxed, and he grimaced. “What the hell was Stemp thinking, making us partners? If we don’t kill each other before this is over, it’ll be a fucking miracle.”
I gave him a shaky smile and extended my undamaged fist, palm down. “Team Anger Management.”
He snorted and gave me a fist bump. “Boo-yah.”