Chapter 43
After a fitful sleep punctuated by violent nightmares, I pulled the pillow over my head when Miss Lacey arrived to feed Hooker at seven AM. When she was gone I lay in bed a while longer, but sleep eluded me.
What was Kane doing? He couldn’t have turned against us. He had given his entire life to national defense and law enforcement. It simply wasn’t in his nature to betray it.
But why hadn’t he reported to Stemp?
What if Holt was right? What if Kane had just been using and manipulating me all along?
“Shut up,” I growled, and hauled myself out of bed.
I was drying my hair after my shower when my cell phone rang. When I answered, Nichele’s excited voice burst from the speaker.
“He’s okay! Dante’s safe! He’s okay, he’s okay!”
“I kno- Ohmigod, really?” I converted my incriminating words in the nick of time. Dammit, I’d almost blown my cover. Too tired to think straight. “That’s fantastic!” I added with fake excitement. “Thank God! What happened? Where is he?”
As Nichele poured out the story I interjected questions and exclamations, hoping they sounded sincere.
“…and Hotty Benoitty is such a hero,” she gushed. “Imagine him hiding Dante like that and even getting him a burner phone, just like in the movies! What a sweetheart! I wish he could have told me Dante was okay; but I get it, really I do. It was all about keeping Dante safe, because the police couldn’t do anything to protect him as long as James was at large.”
I snorted. “Bullshit. If Dante had just called the police, they would have arrested James on the spot. He was on parole, and he committed assault and kidnapping, and uttered threats to torture and murder. He would have been back in jail so fast it would have made his head spin.”
“They only could have arrested him if they found him in time,” Nichele said earnestly. “And he might have killed Benoit as well as Dante. Benoit was really brave to take that chance.”
Clamping my tongue between my teeth so I wouldn’t tell her the real story, I drew a slow breath and choked out the only truth I could. “Yeah, Dante was lucky.”
“But Aydan,” she went on. “Dante said James was going to torture and kill him to get revenge on you. What did you ever do to James? You only talked to him that one time in the bar, and I don’t remember you saying anything that would make him mad enough to kill somebody.”
“I don’t have a clue,” I lied. “He must have been nuts. Who knows what sets people off? Maybe he had some kind of vendetta against redheads or something.”
“That’s just scary.” She hesitated. “I feel really guilty saying it, but I’m glad he’s dead. I feel safer now.”
“I’m glad, too,” I replied with utmost sincerity. “At least now when you come home from your trip with Dave, you won’t have to be constantly looking over your shoulder.”
“Yes, we’re leaving in a few minutes, but I just wanted to let you know Dante was safe. And, um…”
“Um, what?” I prompted when she didn’t say anything for a few seconds.
“Well, um… Dante said… he doesn’t ever want to see you again. So if he and I are going out for drinks or whatever, I, um… kind of can’t invite you.”
I sighed. “I don’t blame him. Tell him I’m really sorry and I’ll stay away from him forever.”
“He’s not trying to hurt you,” Nichele apologized. “It’s just that he was really scared; and he’s not going to be able to work until his face heals, and he’s afraid to take a chance on something like this happening again…”
“It’s okay. I totally understand. I’d feel the same way if I were him. Listen, Nichele, thanks for calling, but I have to go. I’ve got a meeting this morning. Have a good trip, and say hi to Dave for me.”
“Okay, thanks, Aydan. He says hi back.”
I detected a waver of worry in her voice and added, “You guys are going to have an amazing trip. Trust me, I know it.”
She laughed. “Thanks, girl. I know it, too. Now we just have to find a great guy like Dave for you.”
My heart contracted around a stab of pain. I had two great guys; one suspected of treason and the other missing in action.
“Maybe someday,” I choked out. “Take care. ‘Bye.”
When she disconnected I sank onto the toilet seat and stared at the floor, feeling utterly alone in the world.
Scratching roused me as a large furry paw appeared under the door, questing back and forth before withdrawing. A few moments later the paw reappeared, followed by a fluffy leg as Hooker stretched to his limit, whiskers pressed to the crack under the door.
I opened it and looked down into his beseeching yellow eyes, a lump rising in my throat.
“Poor guy,” I whispered. “You miss him, too, don’t you?”
Picking him up, I cuddled him close as I headed for the bedroom to get dressed.
After breakfasting on a few handfuls of dry cereal from the sparse offerings of Hellhound’s cupboard, I punched in Holt’s number.
He picked up with a curt, “Holt.”
Trying to hold the rancour to a minimum, I asked, “So what’s up, oh mighty leader? Do you still want me to meet Riel and Labelle this morning?”
Mercifully, he didn’t rub it in. “Yeah. Where are you meeting them?”
“At Labelle’s place.” I gave him the address and added, “I checked it on the computer. It’s a pretty big place, fenced and gated. Are you going to come along?”
“No, it’s still your op. I’ll be close by for backup.”
I kept the surprise out of my voice with an effort. “Okay, thanks. Anything else?”
“Nope. Good luck.” He disconnected, leaving me staring at the phone and wondering if I’d dialled the wrong Holt by mistake.
Or maybe he was just giving me enough rope to hang myself.
I stifled a groan and headed for the door.
In the driveway of Labelle’s mansion I said my name into the intercom with my best smile for the closed-circuit camera, and the gates swung open soundlessly.
My hands quivered on the wheel, a fine tremor born of nerves and exhaustion. A quick check in the rearview mirror confirmed that for once in my life I’d managed to apply makeup skillfully enough to camouflage the pallor of fatigue and the dark circles under my eyes. Nichele would be proud.
Unfortunately, if I lived through this I couldn’t tell her about it; and if I died today she’d only see the undertaker’s makeup job, not mine.
I sighed and parked the car, then straightened and assumed my Arlene Widdenback persona with an effort. Calm. Confident. No bullshit.
Controlling my breathing, I willed the trembling out of my hands. This was it. We weren’t going to be interrupted by Harchman this time. Maybe Riel would finally give me an arms order; and then I could hand it over to the Department and go back to my nice safe desk job for a while.
…Or maybe he’d kill me.
Stop it. Positive attitude.
The weight of the Glock in my ankle holster reassured me as I stepped out of the car, and the hardness of the trank pistol at my waist felt like a bracing hand concealed by the soft folds of my sweater.
I could do this.
Hell, I had to. I didn’t have a choice.
As I strode up to the front door, it opened and a dark-suited butler stood aside to let me enter.
“May I take your coat?” he inquired.
Thankful that I hadn’t concealed any weapons in it, I relinquished the garment and followed him to a bright room where a table for three had been laid. Labelle and Riel occupied wing chairs next to the window, the picture of gracious living with flutes of orange juice in their hands. They both rose as I entered.
“Bonjour, Arlene,” Riel greeted me. “’Ow nice to see you again.”
“Yes.” I gave him a thin smile. “Nice to see the hero of the day. No wonder you were so certain Dante would be found safely.”
“Ah.” His answering smile dissolved into contrition. “You are angry, and I do not blame you. I am sorry, but I feared for the safety of your friend if anyone knew where he was.”
“Bullshit,” I snapped. “You were holding him in case you needed leverage on me.”
Riel held a hand to his heart as though grievously wounded. “I would never do such a thing.”
“Yeah, right.” I scowled at them both. “So what’s this business you want to discuss? You’ve wasted enough of my time, so spit it out.”
Riel swallowed the mouthful of orange juice he had taken, looking revolted. “Spit it? I would not offer such insult to Monsieur Labelle’s food.”
“Knock off the ‘I don’t speak English well’ act,” I snapped. “You know why I’m here. Do you want that item we discussed, or not?”
“Please.” Riel gave me a pained look. “Let us not spoil our meal with such things. Monsieur Labelle has gone to great trouble…”
He indicated the table, where two young women in black dresses and white aprons were placing silver chafing dishes on the table. It was already crowded with luscious-looking sliced fruit and an assortment of cheeses and breads, and as one of the servers whisked the lid off the chafing dish the mouthwatering aroma of bacon made my stomach growl.
I clapped a hand over it, embarrassed despite my Arlene Widdenback persona. “’Scuse me,” I muttered. “I only had dry cereal for breakfast.”
“Ah, no wonder you are out of sorts,” Riel soothed. “Come, let us eat, and then we can discuss our business more pleasantly.”
Labelle looked put out that Riel had usurped his duties as host, and he rose and poured out his most mellifluous voice. “Benoit is right, of course. Please come to the table.” He gave us a gracious ‘after you’ gesture, and strode to the end of the room to turn on a large-screen TV and pick up the remote. “I normally wouldn’t have the TV on during a meal,” he assured us. “But this terrorist threat has been on my mind, and I want to see if anything develops.”
“But of course,” Riel agreed. “It is a most upsetting thing. I ‘ope nothing comes of it.”
I slid into my assigned chair at the table, wondering what game they were playing. Were they as much in the dark as everyone else? Or did they have something terrible planned and they wanted to see it unfold?
But if they were the terrorists, why was I here? It was far too late for me to supply the weapon now.
I suppressed the urge to frown, and kept a neutral expression on my face while Labelle took his seat and plied the TV remote to adjust the volume.
The food was good, but not as good as Harchman’s. Riel’s usual volubility seemed to have deserted him, and the conversation limped along. The talking heads on television only added to my tension with their anxious speculations about what might happen in thirty minutes.
Then in twenty minutes.
Ten…
At five minutes to eleven we abandoned all pretense of eating or conversation, and simply watched the TV in silence. The servers cleared the dishes away and vanished, leaving the three of us alone in the room.
The news coverage displayed video clips of various cenotaphs across the country. Toronto, Montreal, Vancouver…
When Calgary’s Battalion Park appeared on the screen, a chill shivered down my spine. Déjà vu. Veterans standing to attention; gloomy overcast sky; solemn crowd…
My breath caught as the camera panned across the crowd and I glimpsed two familiar figures. Apparently the news crew was looking for a poignant shot, and they’d found it. The camera zoomed closer to frame a fragile elderly lady standing straight and proud, holding the arm of a grizzled veteran three times her size. Hellhound stood to rigid attention, his somber gaze locked on the horizon and his hand gently covering Miss Lacey’s on his arm.
Dammit, I must have missed him by minutes. I should have left him a note; told him to keep Miss Lacey away from the service.
The camera pulled back to a larger view of the crowd and cenotaph again as the first heartwrenching notes of the Last Post sounded. My pulse thumped harder. Please, please, let everything be okay…
A flash of pink at the edge of the crowd made my blood run cold. No, it couldn’t be-
The screen flared crimson.
Then slowly cleared to a skewed view of motionless bodies and debris fluttering down.
I heard Labelle’s and Riel’s gasps as if from a great distance. Clearly audible, yet miles away.
Heart frozen in my chest, I stared at the culmination of my nightmares, unable to look away.
I couldn’t breathe.
Couldn’t think.
Couldn’t comprehend how anyone could do such a monstrous thing.
Couldn’t accept that I’d lost my cherished friend and lover.
After an eerie moment of total silence, the television station cut to a chaotic babble of reporters.
I was still paralyzed when Labelle punched the button on his remote and the screen died to the same black emptiness that gaped in my chest.
“Who did you sell it to?” he snarled.
I stared at him, uncomprehending.
“You bitch, who did you sell it to?” he roared, jolting me back to a semblance of intelligence at last.
“I didn’t,” I croaked. “I still have it.”
Across from me, Riel’s face was sheet-white, his rapid breaths edged with faint wheezing.
“You didn’t?” Labelle demanded incredulously.
“No.” Too stunned to lie, I added, “I thought Riel wanted it. I thought you guys were the terrorists.”
Riel was still white-faced, his wheezing more pronounced as he patted his pockets with trembling hands.
Labelle smiled, a slow chilling display of teeth. “Looking for this?” he asked Riel, and drew a EpiPen from the pocket of his blazer.
Riel nodded. “Yes… must ‘ave… been peanuts…” His words came out jerkily between wheezes, and suddenly I understood his worry over the dishes at Harchman’s.
Labelle’s smile widened. “Yes, there were. I hope you enjoyed your last meal.”
“Please…” Riel reached across the table with a trembling hand. “I… must… ‘ave…”
“What, this little thing?” Labelle removed the blue cap, then slammed the orange tip onto the table. Fluid squirted out, and Riel let out a feeble cry.
“Shit, do you have another?” I yelped.
Riel’s lips were swelling and darkening. He swayed in his seat as he gestured toward Labelle, his breath coming in laboured gasps.
“Give him his goddamn EpiPens!” I yelled, belatedly grabbing for my Glock.
“No.” Labelle’s gun was already in his hand.
Staring into its muzzle, a small hopeless voice sounded in my head.
Too late.
Too late for everything.