Chapter 17
“So what next, oh mighty leader?” Holt inquired, but his tone wasn’t too snarky so I let it go.
“Stemp says I can’t use you as a bodyguard for Nichele…” I began.
“Fuck, why didn’t you say so?” He scowled. “I wasted a perfectly good tantrum.”
“Sorry,” I apologized insincerely. “But even if you can’t actually follow her around, do you have some spare cameras you can put on her place? I’m going to want you available to back me up, but I won’t want you actually with me so you’ll have time to keep an eye on her, too.”
“No problem. I can just add the extra cameras onto my monitoring software.”
“Thanks. Here’s her address…” I brought it up on my phone and passed it over. He glanced at it and handed it back, and my estimation of him rose another notch. Memorized, just like that. “And this is what she looks like,” I added, scrolling through the photos on my phone to find a clear one of Nichele.
When I handed it to him, his eyebrows rose and he let out an appreciative whistle. “This is going to be a lot more fun than watching some pretty-boy model. I’d better get a camera in her bedroom just to make sure she’s really safe.”
“Jeez, you’re a pig,” I said without heat. “Didn’t you get any sensitivity training as part of your whole ‘top agent’ schtick?”
Holt grinned. “Yeah, but it didn’t take. I like rattling cages.” He sobered and passed my phone back. “You think it’s a good idea to carry your friends’ photos and addresses with you?”
“No.” I sighed. “I usually don’t, but…”
My heart sank even lower. No buts. Carrying that kind of personal data was criminally negligent. If my enemies found it on me, it could cost the lives of every one of my friends.
I had a memory-flash of Kane’s, Stemp’s, and Hellhound’s homes. All of them barren of personal photos.
“But what?” Holt prompted.
“Never mind,” I muttered, cursing my own incompetence yet again. “Take me back to my car. We can go separately to the police station and then you can get set up at Nichele’s place.”
“What about you?”
I grimaced. “I’m going to a party.”
Holt said nothing, and after a moment I glanced over to find him regarding me expectantly.
When I gave him a blank look, he scowled. “Fuck, you really are used to working alone, aren’t you?” He made exaggerated gestures, pointing first to me, then to himself. “You. Me.” He wagged his hand back and forth between us. “Partners. As in, ‘working together’. Where is the party, dipshit? When is it, why are you going, who do you expect to meet there, what do you expect to gain from it, and do you want backup?”
“Oh.” I stared at him, equal parts irritated and grateful. Grateful won. “Thanks. Sorry. The party is here.” I passed him the scribbled napkin. “I’m meeting Riel there at eight. My original plan was to tell him I could supply the weapon and see if he’d discuss price and delivery, but now I’ll be fishing for information about James and Dante, too.”
Holt nodded and memorized the address before handing the napkin back to me. “Okay, I’ll be…” He fiddled with his phone, zooming and panning across a satellite map. “…here.” He tapped the screen. “This Starbucks is only a few blocks away so I can get to your location in about a minute and a half.”
“But what about Nichele?” I demanded. “What if somebody tries to abduct her in the mean time?”
“I’ll have the cameras set up by then. If anything happens I’ll call the cops.” He met my half-voiced protest with a silencing scowl. “Priorities, Kelly. Don’t let your personal shit get in the way of the mission.”
I bit my tongue to hold in my angry retort, and he went on, “Put me on your speed dial. If I get a call from your number and you don’t say anything, I’ll get there as fast as I can. If you need me to do anything else you’ll have to say something on the call. Check in via text every hour or so. After you’re clear of the party, meet me at the Starbucks and we’ll debrief.”
I drew a deep calming breath. Backup. What a concept. And at least he’d still be watching Nichele.
“Okay,” I agreed.
Holt patted me patronizingly on the head. “Very good, Kelly. That wasn’t so hard, was it?”
“Don’t be a prick.”
He grinned. “But it’s what I do best.”
By the time we finished at the police station it was nearly six-thirty. I drove to the nearest fast-food restaurant and inhaled a greasy burger and fries, then steered toward Hellhound’s place with slightly more optimism.
My hopes were dashed at the sight of his still-empty parking stall, and I trudged up the stairs worrying. Was he in a place where he couldn’t call me, or did he see no reason to call? Or… I swallowed the tightness my throat. Had he been so badly injured he couldn’t call? Or… worse?
“Think good thoughts,” I muttered as I unlocked the door.
Miss Lacey had undoubtedly fed Hooker at six as she’d promised, but he made such a fuss at his dish that I dropped in a few more crunchy treats to satisfy him.
“Emotional eating doesn’t solve anything, you know,” I informed the cat as I tore open a bag of Cheezies from Hellhound’s junk-food stash. After gobbling numerous handfuls of crunchy comfort, I rinsed the bright-orange cheddar dust off my hands and closed the depleted bag.
“Shut up, I’m coping,” I said to Hooker’s accusing yellow stare.
Flopping onto the couch, I took out my cell phone, weighing it regretfully. Then I drew a deep breath and initiated the phone’s reset procedure.
In only a few short minutes, everything was cleared. Happy photo memories, phone numbers and addresses, friends’ birthdays, funny text messages. All gone.
Swallowing hard in an attempt to fill the void in my chest, I laid the device aside to punch Kane’s number into my burner phone.
He answered with a cautious, “Yes?”
“Hi, it’s me. Can you talk?”
“Just a minute.” After a few muffled thumps in the background, he came back on the line. “You have news?”
“Yeah. Bad news.” I tried to emulate Stemp’s clinical tone, but I didn’t quite manage it. “Dante is missing. Probably abducted from his home. There were signs of a struggle and some blood.”
“Dammit. Any demands?”
“Not yet. We think he was taken on Wednesday night and forced to call in sick to his agent. That’s a long time to hold a hostage without making a demand, so if he’s not being held as leverage…” I drew a deep breath that hitched in the middle. Swallowing the sob, I finished evenly, “…it’s likely revenge.”
“Dammit! How about Nichele?”
“She was still okay when I talked to her around four-thirty, and I’m…”
I almost said, ‘getting Holt to watch her’ but thought better of it. Our phones were supposed to be secure, but…
Realizing with a jolt of adrenaline that I’d forgotten to check Hellhound’s apartment for bugs, I snatched the bug detector out of my waist pouch and activated it.
“Are you still there?” Kane demanded.
I drew a shaky breath of relief at the sight of the bug detector’s green light. “Yeah. Sorry. I meant to say, I’m taking precautions. She’ll be safe. Everything okay at your end?”
“So far. Do you have time to meet?” The tightness in the question told me things weren’t exactly peachy with him.
“I wish I could, but I’ll probably be too late tonight. Sorry. I’d much rather meet you than do what I’m doing.”
His voice sharpened. “Are you safe?”
I sighed. “Am I ever?”
A moment of silence stretched between us.
“Do you need me?” he asked.
Now there was a question fraught with meaning.
I took a little too long to formulate my reply. “Not as much as Daniel does. I have to go. Take care. Stay safe.”
“You, too.” There was an odd note in his voice, but I didn’t have time to analyze it before he disconnected.
Feeling eighty years old, I dragged myself off the sofa and began removing the cat hair clinging to my slacks and sweater. While I picked off the stubborn strands, my mind circled gloomily around the events of the day.
What a travesty I’d made of my so-called leadership. Holt’s smooth competence had reminded me all over again how little I knew; and then I had let him take charge and order me around. Twice, dammit; once at Dante’s house and again just a little while ago. What the hell was the matter with me?
As though in response, my therapist’s voice murmured in the back of my mind and I straightened my spine.
“Okay, fine,” I said to Hooker’s snoozing form. “I know it was just my old programming kicking in, but I don’t have to knuckle under to keep the peace just because I’m partnered with an angry man… again.”
A wave of sickening memories made my voice quaver on ‘again’, and I shook my head vigorously to dislodge them.
Fuck my ex-husband, and double-fuck my old conciliatory habits.
“I’m done with that shit,” I said aloud. “And I am a good agent. Or I will be.”
Resolutely turning my thoughts in more productive directions, I mentally reviewed my earlier meeting with Riel. Except for that brief flash of his true nature, he had been a delightful lunch companion.
I knew he was a criminal. Why did I find him charming?
“It’s the accent,” I decided aloud.
Hooker opened one eye and emitted a long-suffering sigh before tucking a paw over his nose and resuming his interrupted slumber.
“Holt controls people with aggression and the threat of an explosion,” I elaborated, feeling my way through the puzzle. “…but Riel controls people by smiling and agreeing and complimenting them… and pretending he doesn’t speak English well…”
The memory of Riel’s self-deprecating “’Ow shall I say it?” echoed in my mind, and I made the connection.
“That’s it! He lets you feel superior when you supply words. It’s a subtle way to flatter people so they like him and want to help him. God, he’s good.”
Hooker didn’t even twitch an ear at that revelation, and I sighed. “And I’m talking to myself. And stalling.”
Pushing myself into action, I turned toward the bathroom, where a glance in the mirror revealed a depressing sight. I couldn’t do anything about the giant bags under my eyes, but I swiped on some tinted lip gloss in an attempt to look a little less haggard.
After checking my destination on the internet and surveying it in street view, I considered myself as ready as I’d ever be. I brushed my fingertips across the reassuring hardness of the Glock in my ankle holster before pulling myself up to my full height and heading for the door. There I paused, every exhausted cell in my body yearning to stay in the safety of the apartment.
But all those innocent people wouldn’t be safe unless I did my job.
Squaring my shoulders, I locked the door behind me and strode out into the night.
When I arrived in the upscale neighbourhood, it wasn’t difficult to find the party. Sporty cars and expensive SUVs lined both sides of the street, and light and music poured from the open door and windows of the sprawling house. A few partygoers leaned against the garage, cigarette smoke rising in the cold air.
I finally found a parking spot nearly a block away. Sitting in the darkness behind the wheel, I texted ‘Going to a party!’ to Holt’s burner phone, along with a silly grinning emoticon in a party hat. Then I drew a deep breath and eased it out slowly.
Stay calm. Be Jane Bond, superspy.
Gritting my teeth, I sat up straighter. Or be Greg Holt, supremely confident real estate salesman, relaxed and in control.
Aydan Kelly the bookkeeper whimpered and tried to convince me to put the car in gear and drive away as fast as possible, but I shoved her behind my Arlene Widdenback persona and got out instead.
I walked straight and tall, forcing an easy stride. In front of the house I slowed. Should I should go in or wait for Riel outside?
My dilemma was solved when he hurried out the front door and down the walkway to meet me.
“Arlene.” His infectious smile bathed me in warm admiration, and he bowed over my hand.
“Hi,” I said. Not quite as effusive as I probably should have been, but my heart was rattling around in the vicinity of my tonsils so I didn’t quite trust my voice.
“Please come in out of the cold,” Riel encouraged, drawing me toward the house. “The winter, he is coming soon, I think.”
I cleared my throat, hoping my voice would come out normally. “I hope not. I’m enjoying a snow-free November. That hardly ever happens in Calgary.” I sounded much calmer than I felt. “How is winter in Montreal?”
“Ah… Cold; much more snow than here.” He shrugged philosophically. “It is winter.”
“Spoken like a true Canadian,” I joked.
I thought something flickered in his eyes, but it might have been a trick of the light as we stepped into the house. His smile was as ready as ever. “Complaining of our weather. It is a national sport.”
“Next to hockey,” I agreed.
“Yes, of course. Do you like the ‘ockey?”
“I’d rather play sports than watch them.”
“Ah. Yes, you ‘ave that look.” His gaze skimmed me appreciatively before returning to my face. “May I get you a drink?”
“No, thanks; I don’t drink if I’m driving,” I said reflexively, realizing even as I said it that I shouldn’t drink anything at all. Who knew if he might try to drug me?
“Allow me to bring you a soda then. What would you like?”
“Ginger ale, please,” I murmured, with no intention of sipping anything he handed me.
He left my side to weave through the crowd, and I used the opportunity to drift farther into the house and survey the rest of the guests.
As Riel had predicted, most wore business garb; but a significant number of young women displayed plunging necklines with ultra-short skirts and sky-high stiletto heels. Apparently our host, whoever he might be, had deep enough pockets to hire professionals for the evening. While I stood considering the scene, one of the girls wrapped herself around a male guest in an unmistakable invitation.
He squeezed her ass, and she giggled and drew him through the door to another room.
As the door opened, I spotted sofas and a few couples in various stages of undress. The atmosphere of supercharged gaiety and the lines of white powder on the coffee table gave me a pretty good idea of what was happening in there.
The door closed, cutting off my view at the same time as Riel returned to my elbow bearing a heavy crystal tumbler of carbonated fluid that looked and smelled like ginger ale. I didn’t intend to find out what it really was.
As I accepted it with simulated gratitude, another rent-a-date wobbled out of the party room on unstable stilettos and sashayed up to Riel. Letting her hand drift suggestively down his chest, she leaned toward him, her lips smiling despite the blankness in her eyes.
Riel captured her wayward hand and turned her in the opposite direction before giving her a gentle push. She staggered away without a backward glance and Riel shook his head, his eyes dark. “Drugs, I hate them. Such a waste. Come, let us find better company.”
I raised an eyebrow at the pink drink fizzing in his hand. “That looks interesting. What are you drinking?”
He smiled. “Cranberry and soda. I do not drink alcohol. Please…” He gestured me forward.
We moved through the room, Riel guiding me with a light touch on my elbow toward a grand staircase.
Should I let him direct me upstairs, farther away from the exit? This party could turn ugly fast; particularly if all the guests were criminals. With only ten shots in my Glock, I didn’t like my chances if things went bad.
Hell, I wouldn’t like my chances even if Holt was beside me.
Momentarily preoccupied with planning escape routes, I didn’t identify the suit-clad figure descending the stairs until it was too late.
Each of his arms wrapped around a nubile young woman, the bulky hard-looking man stiffened at the sight of me. Then he roared and charged down the stairs, flinging the hookers away like discarded dolls.
As I registered his identity and processed the stream of obscenities pouring from his mouth, a searing wave of adrenaline wiped out all but my last pointless thought.
Too bad I didn’t have time to signal Holt, because I’d just found James Helmand.