Chapter 18
My reflexes took over before my brain could offer a better solution. I dropped to one knee, snatching my Glock out of my ankle holster in a fast smooth arc.
My discarded glass rolled away on the hardwood floor as James froze only a few feet away, staring into the business end of my weapon. My attention fully focused on him, I vaguely registered shrieks and frantic bodies scrambling out of the way.
“Sit on the stairs. Slowly.” My voice came out hard and dead-level. Just like my gun. Somewhere in the back of my mind, Jane Bond nodded approval.
James cautiously retreated a few paces and sat, his controlled actions completely at odds with the violent and barely intelligible invective spewing from his mouth. Even at this distance the alcohol fumes emanating from him were eye-watering, and his dilated pupils suggested drugs as well.
“…Fuckin’ cunt!” he was bellowing. “…Right in my fuckin’ house… Riel, ya fuckin’ asshole, bringin’ this bitch…”
As if suddenly recollecting that he had an audience, his slick persona subsumed the rabid animal. He straightened his expensive-looking suit jacket and smoothed a hand over his mouth and chin as if to wipe away the froth of madness.
When he spoke again, it was in the precise diction that he usually affected. “Arlene Widdenback, I presume? Or is it Aydan Kelly tonight?”
I shrugged, conscious of Riel watching with interest beside me. The room had mostly cleared, but some pinpoints of light told me a few people were recording our little show with their phones. From somewhere behind me, I overheard snatches of a conversation that sounded like someone giving the address to an emergency operator. Or possibly to a gang of enforcers. I didn’t intend to stick around and find out which.
“Where’s Dante?” I snapped.
“How the fuck should I-” James began, only to stop and rephrase in more pompous words. “I have no idea, nor do I know why you and my parole officer apparently think I should know. I’m simply celebrating my release with a few good friends in my own home, where, I might add, you’re currently trespassing.”
“Where were you and what were you doing yesterday and Wednesday?” I demanded.
He smirked. “Perhaps you should take that up with my parole officer, since I was meeting with him at the time.” His smirk faded into a scowl. “And thanks to you, I just finished meeting with him again. For several hours. At the police station, where I was told I was a suspect in your friend’s disappearance, consequently making me late for my own party. Which I do not appreciate in the least.”
“Cry me a river,” I growled, and backed toward the door. “If I find out you had anything to do with Dante’s disappearance, I’ll make you wish you were back in jail.”
The door was mercifully still open. I stepped out, considering and discarding the idea of backing all the way to my car with my gun at the ready. Once I was in the open I was a sitting duck anyway. If somebody took a shot at me, it wouldn’t matter whether they hit me in the face or the back.
I turned and walked to my car as fast as possible without actually breaking into a run.
Sirens wailed, the sound swelling rapidly.
Sliding into the driver’s seat, I holstered my gun before driving toward the sound. I rounded the corner just as the first police car turned in.
A block away I parked in a quiet cul-de-sac and pulled out a secured phone. My hands shook so violently that I had to steady the phone between my knees to press the speed dial button.
When Stemp answered with his usual brisk “Yes”, I barely recognized the thin croak that issued from my mouth.
“It’s Aydan. I had a run-in with James Helmand at his house and had to draw my weapon. There were a lot of witnesses and the police are on the scene…” I hesitated, hearing the distinctive beating of a rapidly approaching helicopter. “…and HAWCS is up,” I added. “I’m only a block away and I’m sure lots of people saw my car so they’ll likely find me soon.”
“Did you fire your weapon?”
“No. James charged me, but I got him covered and he settled down.”
“Very well. I’ll advise the police to stand down after making a show of interviewing witnesses. Did you make any progress?”
I sighed. “Other than finding out James likes cocaine and hookers and really hates me; and Riel doesn’t do alcohol, drugs, or hookers? No. I wasn’t there long enough.”
Stemp made a nondescript sound that might have been understanding, annoyance, or disgust. “Anything else?” he asked.
“No.”
I disconnected and let my head fall forward onto the steering wheel.
What a clusterfuck.
I’d accomplished nothing, and now everybody knew I kept a gun strapped to my ankle. I hadn’t exactly blown my cover, but I sure as hell hadn’t done myself any favours.
“Well, it wasn’t like I had a choice,” I growled. “In another second he would’ve crushed me.”
Replaying the action in my head, I groaned. Kane or Holt would have pulled some martial-arts move and had James on the floor in seconds.
Never mind that; Kane or Holt would have checked to see who owned the house before they went there so they wouldn’t have been blindsided in the first place.
“What a fucking moron,” I muttered.
Marinating in shame, I barely noticed the red and blue flashing lights until the police car pulled up behind me.
Heart pounding, I powered down my window, placed both hands on the steering wheel, and waited.
And waited…
Long suspenseful moments passed while I sat immobile in the driver’s seat and the police officers sat in the car behind me. They must be cross-checking my license number for any outstanding warrants.
Please, God, let them find Stemp’s stand-down order…
Just as I was beginning to consider calling 911 and telling them myself, the cruiser’s doors opened and two uniform-clad figures strode toward me to take up positions on both sides of my car.
A powerful flashlight spotlighted me. There was a glint behind it that looked a lot like a drawn weapon. Shit.
“Your name, please, ma’am?”
“Aydan Kelly.”
Goddammit! I was carrying my Arlene Widdenback ID, not my own.
“I’m undercover as Arlene Widdenback at the moment,” I added feebly.
The flashlight perused my features, making me blink and squint. “May I see your license and registration, please?”
“My license is in my purse and my registration is in the glove box. Would you like me to reach over and get it for you or would you rather get it yourself?”
“Please hand me your license and we’ll get the registration.” As I moved slowly and carefully to comply, the passenger door rattled.
“Sorry, it’s locked,” I said, passing my license over and hoping I looked non-threatening. “The lock controls are just down the side of my door. Would you like me to unlock it?”
“Yes, please.”
I was still blinded by the flashlight. The voice was male and his tone was serious, but he didn’t sound spooked, thank God. I kept my movements smooth and slow while I pressed the release button and then returned both hands to the wheel.
The passenger door opened and a female officer reached into the glove box to extract my registration. Heart pounding, I considered. Should I tell them I was armed in case they made me step out and searched me? Or was it better to stay put and shut up?
The officer’s next question eased my tension. “Who’s your commanding officer?”
“Charles Stemp.”
The flashlight beam released me as the officer lowered it between us. “Your clearance note popped up when I ran your plates. It’s okay, you can take your hands off the wheel now.”
Afraid to relax too much, I obeyed. “Thanks.”
The young officer leaned down, his eyes alight with curiosity. “So you’re undercover, eh? Drugs? Or gangs?”
I lifted a cautious shoulder. “It’s complicated.”
“Ah. Special task force, then?” He handed my license back to me and straightened without waiting for a reply. “Well, good luck. Stay safe.”
As his partner tucked the registration back into place and closed the door behind her, I croaked, “Thanks; you, too. Sorry I rocked the boat.”
“No problem. Always nice to get a weapons call that ends safely.” He tossed me an ironic salute and strode back to his car.
Quivering, I watched them pull out of the cul-de-sac, then leaned back in my seat and did some slow yoga breathing.
In… Out… Just like ocean waves…
After a few long breaths I sat up again. It was stupid to hang around here where I might be spotted. And Holt would have heard the police sirens. If he got antsy and showed up at James’s house, I’d lose the advantage of his anonymity; and Lord knew I’d attracted more than enough attention myself.
Taking out my phone, I texted Holt, “Party sucked - leaving early.” I almost added “See you soon,” but thought better of it. No need to broadcast our plans, just in case…
I swore violently and yanked my bug detector out. My visit to the house would have offered a perfect opportunity for one of Riel’s or James’s cronies to tag my car with a locator beacon…
The steady green light glowed and I studied it with paranoid suspicion. Too easy. Why wasn’t I being watched?
A sickening thought occurred to me. What if the bug detector was malfunctioning?
I got out of the car and walked around it, nervously eyeing the light. It still read all-clear, and I sighed and got back in the driver’s seat. I had no choice but to trust it for now.
Watching my rearview mirror for signs of pursuit, I drove a complicated circuit around the neighbourhood. After driving ten minutes without spotting a tail, I turned toward the Starbucks.
When I entered the coffee shop, Holt wasn’t there.
Tension rising, I dawdled over to the counter and ordered herbal tea, then made a production out of swishing the teabag around and around in the cup while I loitered.
A man came out of the lone washroom, dashing my hope that Holt had simply succumbed to a natural side-effect of too much coffee.
But if he wasn’t in the bathroom, where the hell was he?
Oh, God, what if he’d been captured? What if Riel had been one step ahead of me all along?
My overstressed nerves frayed even farther while I surveyed the coffee shop with fresh vigilance. Nobody was paying attention to me, but what if they were watching from outside? They’d be invisible in the darkness while the illumination inside the shop made me frighteningly conspicuous…
My anxious scrutiny snagged on a car parked outside, its headlights on and a mist of vapour rising from its exhaust as it idled.
A shiny red Audi Quattro.
The realtor’s signs had been removed from it, and Holt waited behind the wheel.
Biting back a curse at my own stupidity, I discarded the teabag and took a leisurely swallow of tea before snapping on a plastic lid and making my way outside.
Holt jerked his chin almost imperceptibly toward my car and I obeyed his instruction, not caring anymore who was commanding whom.
As I slid into my car he backed out of his parking spot and pulled away. Too exhausted to think, I focused on the twin red beacons of his taillights and followed. Car in drive; brain in neutral.
Face-splitting yawns racked me, and my hands wouldn’t stop trembling. I shivered continually despite frequent sips of my tea.
Our drive was short, and when Holt steered into a crowded theatre parking lot I groaned aloud. Of course it was packed. Nearly nine o’clock on a Friday night. And he undoubtedly expected me to buy a ticket and follow him into a darkened theatre where we could converse unseen.
The thought of staying awake for another two and a half hours while being bombarded by a too-loud soundtrack was nearly enough to make me drive away and abandon Holt to his spycraft, but I plumbed some deep well of endurance and got out of my car instead.
Holt intercepted me in the shadow of a jacked-up four-by-four.
“The party sucked?” he inquired sardonically. “Would that be the kind of suckage that requires five police cruisers plus HAWCS?”
“Don’t start,” I growled. “Riel set me up.”
“Well, duh. Getting invited to a party at James Helmand’s house should’ve been your first clue.”
Hearing him confirm my self-recriminations out loud was the last straw. The evening’s stale adrenaline exploded into violent irritation, clenching my fists and raising my voice.
“Fuck off with the attitude! You can damn well treat me with respect, asshole!”
His fists clenched, too, his chin thrusting aggressively forward. “I’ll treat you with respect when you fucking earn it, bitch!”
The world went red.
He clearly wasn’t expecting the sucker-punch I hammered up into his solar plexus. The air barked out of his lungs and he dropped.
Blind with rage, I fought the urge to kick him until nothing remained but a soggy sack of bruises and broken bones.
Fortunately better judgement prevailed and I jumped back as Holt scissored his legs in a sweep that would have brought me crashing down to the pavement beside him.
He rolled to his feet, murder in his eyes.
A voice from months ago spoke in my memory: “…he’s unstable… And he’s almost as advanced in hand-to-hand combat as Kane…”
I only had time for one word.
“Shit.”