Compact with the Devil: A Novel (17 page)

“Probably true,” said Nikki distantly, watching the sergeant
argue with his junior officer. “I’ll be right back,” she said, sliding her arms into the jacket sleeves. “Just keep getting everyone on the bus.”

The sergeant was red in the face, and the junior officer was looking a bit pale as Nikki approached. Nikki took a deep breath and considered her approach. The junior officer was on her side already; it was the sergeant she had to worry about. She knew her accent was more Canadian than proper French, which wasn’t considered a good thing. On the other hand, it was French, which was eons ahead of English, and she was a girl and she was cute, which frequently counted for a surprising amount.

Z’ev was so much better at this than she was. He’d say something about sports, and suddenly they’d be best friends. Or grandkids. For some reason people were always showing Z’ev pictures of their children. She raised her chin defiantly. She was not going to be outdone by Z’ev, particularly when he wasn’t even here. She yanked her hair out of its ponytail and plastered a smile on her face.

“
Bonjour
,” she said breathlessly to the policemen, smiled a little extra wide, and tried to look doe-eyed.

“
Bonjour
,” replied the sergeant, eyeing her suspiciously.

Fifteen minutes later, the sergeant loaded the final bag onto the rental bus and helped Nikki up that treacherous first step.

“
Nous vous rencontrerons à l’hôpital
,” she said with her smile in place, and bent down to exchange the customary double kiss.

“Oui, mademoiselle,”
said the sergeant, and waved as the bus doors closed and pulled away in a fog of diesel fumes and evaporating snow flurries.

She stepped up into the main cabin and looked for a place to sit. The band and crew burst into applause.

“That was just impressive,” said Kit, scooting over and making room for her in the geek seat behind the driver.

“I’ve never seen anything like it,” said Hammond.

“I have,” said Duncan, giving her a cold stare.

“Did he really show you pictures of his grandchildren?” asked Holly from a few seats back. She had a bandage over one eyebrow, and it gave her a cockeyed look.

“Uh, yeah. He’s got a daughter who married a Canadian, so he was showing me where they lived.”

“Sorry, you’ve lost me,” said Hammond. “How does Canada matter in the slightest?”

“I’m Canadian,” explained Nikki. “I don’t really speak French. I speak Quebecois, so he knew I was Canadian, and then of course he wanted to know if I knew his daughter.”

“I thought you were American,” said Holly.

“I am. I’m just also Canadian.”

“Can you do that?” asked someone farther back.

“Mike’s right. I don’t think that’s allowed,” said Hammond. Everyone stared accusingly at Nikki.

“Uh, sorry. You’ll have to take that up with my parents.”

“Well, she’s got a point there,” said Kit. “My old fella was Irish, and there’s not a thing I can do about it.” Nikki caught a flicker of movement from Duncan as the rest of the bus laughed. He was frowning heavily into his mustache, apparently unamused by Kit’s Irish parentage.

“I hope Trista’s all right,” said Kit as the bus trundled into a small town. “The paramedics didn’t seem … Well, they took her first. That’s not very good, is it?” He turned his dark-fringed baby blues to Nikki, looking for reassurance.

“That just means that she got there first,” said Nikki. “She had regained consciousness by the time she left, so that’s good.”

“But her leg…,” said Kit, looking a little ill at the memory of Trista’s leg bending in unnatural directions.

“I’m sure they’ll set it and it’ll be fine.”

He nodded nervously and didn’t smile. Nikki glanced back and encountered Duncan’s gaze. He flicked his sun-bleached blue eyes away before she could read his expression, but she had the distinct impression that it hadn’t been a happy one.

The hospital was tiny and straight out of the fifties—completely undeserving of having a busload of rock and roll freaks dropped into their lap. Word of their coming had been sent on ahead, and the admitting personnel were polite and efficient, much to Nikki’s relief. She wasn’t sure she could pull another Sergeant Herault. How many other people could possibly have daughters in Canada? A stern-faced doctor chased away the loitering nurses clearly hoping to catch sight of Kit and marched up to their group.

“You are Monsieur Masters?” inquired the doctor. His dark face looked as though it had been carved out of teak and was a perfect antithesis to his crisp white coat.

“Yes, my friend Trista…” Nikki noted the use of “friend” over “employee.”

“Yes, Trista Elliot.”

“Can we see her?”

“Actually, I’m afraid she has to go in for surgery. We’ve just given her anesthesia.”

“Is she all right?” Kit asked, going pale.

“Her leg was broken in three places and we need to set it with pins. Ordinarily, we wouldn’t let anyone see her at the moment, but she’s been extremely insistent.”

“I’ll go immediately,” said Kit.

“No, she’s been asking for someone named Nikki. Nikki Lanier.” Kit stared at Nikki.

“That’s me,” she said, feeling a blush rise. “Shall I go now?”

“Yes, this way,” answered the doctor, leading the way. Nikki walked past Kit with an apologetic smile.

“She’ll be out soon,” said the doctor, pulling back a curtain, revealing Trista covered in a white sheet and hospital gown. “So you’ll have to be quick.”

“Nikki,” said Trista hoarsely, and reached out a clawing hand. Nikki took her hand and leaned down to hear the makeup woman’s message.

“Nikki, you have to stay with him,” whispered Trista, and licked her lips. “Duncan—”

“I know. Don’t worry; I won’t let Duncan hurt him.”

“No,” said Trista. “Duncan won’t hurt him. He wouldn’t want you to know; he’s afraid. But you’ve got to know.” Her voice was getting smaller, and Nikki leaned closer. “Don’t let Camille know.”

“Know what?” demanded Nikki, leaning closer.

“Duncan…” But whatever she had been going to say slid into muttering silence as her eyelids drifted closed and Trista slipped into unconsciousness. The nurses appeared as if on cue and popped up the metal frames on the sides of the bed.

“Pardon, mademoiselle,”
said one, politely shoving Nikki out of the way.

Nikki didn’t notice. She had too much to think about. What would Duncan be afraid of? Duncan wasn’t afraid of anything but Kit and a bottle of booze. Slowly, she wound her way back out to the reception area. Kit was waiting impatiently for her, Duncan a solid shadow behind him. She looked from Kit to Duncan and realized that Trista had been right—Duncan was afraid. He was afraid of her.

Nikki sat in the minuscule bathtub at the hotel and tried to regain some warmth. Her shoes were drying on top of the radiator. Trista’s luggage had been brought to her room. Nowhere better to put it, she supposed; at least she could raid it for additional clothing, and more importantly, she could borrow Trista’s phone.

She dialed Jane and added more hot water while waiting for her to pick up. When it immediately kicked into voice mail Nikki frowned and redialed.

“Uh, hey, Jane,” said Nikki as the voice mail beeped. “Give me a call when you get this. Uh … hope you’re enjoying your vacation.” Nikki hung up, feeling stupid. She had been counting on Jane to answer. Jane did have a right to enjoy a work-free vacation, but she’d seemed happy to help before … Nikki chewed her lip and then dialed Jenny.

“Hello, this Jennifer,” said Jenny, using her professional voice.

“Hey, Jen, it’s Nikki.”

“Nikki!” exclaimed Jenny, all pretense of formality leaving her voice. “How y’all doing? I was going to call you, but you don’t have your phone. Camille’s gone AWOL. We think she’s gone after Cano.”

“Believe me,” said Nikki, “I’m aware.”

“Uh-oh,” said Jenny, laughing at Nikki’s tone. “What happened?”

“I wouldn’t know,” said Nikki bitterly. “I’ve managed to sideline myself.”

“Is that Nikki?” asked Ellen in the background.

“What do you mean?” asked Jenny.

“Is that Nikki?” repeated Ellen.

“Yes, shhh,” said Jenny, turning away from the phone.

“You’d better put it on speaker,” Nikki said. “Otherwise, I’ll just have to go over it all again with her.”

“Oh, good point. Uh … hold on.” There was a click, and then the background noises took on a tinny quality. “Are you still there?” asked Jenny anxiously. Jenny was notorious for accidentally hanging up on people. For her, hold, transfer, and speaker were mysterious functions.

“Still here. Where are you guys?”

“At a bar in Colombia,” said Ellen. “We gave the bartender a twenty to vamoose for an hour, though, so speak freely.”

“How’s the Nina Alvarez situation?” asked Nikki, belatedly remembering the case and feeling guilty.

“We’re still trying to confirm CIA involvement.”

“What are you going to do if the CIA is involved?” asked Nikki.

“General consensus is sit back and keep tabs on their op and on Nina. If there’s no CIA, then we’ll replan the extraction and go. Today’s the first day she’s been out of the house. We’ve been
following her; Jenny has a brown wig on as part of her disguise. It’s hilarious.”

“It’s hot, is what it is,” said Jenny. “I think I need an ice pack.”

“Don’t mention ice packs,” said Nikki. “I’m freezing.”

“Freezing? What happened?”

“Well…,” said Nikki, trying to remember how far back to start. “I left there on Christmas Eve and landed in Germany the day after Christmas. I’m still a little bitter about that.”

“Understandable,” said Ellen. “My daughters were surprisingly upset about my missing Christmas, too. Which is funny; I didn’t think they’d notice.”

“My family didn’t even call,” said Jenny sadly. “But I called Jane! She said we should wait to exchange presents until we’re all back in L.A.”

“Yeah,” said Nikki, “that was my plan. All your presents are back at the apartment.”

“We’re getting distracted,” said Ellen. “We were catching up with Nikki.”

“Wait, I need a soda,” said Jenny. There was shuffling and then the crisp noise of a beer bottle top. “’Kay, continue.”

“You didn’t bring one for me?” asked Ellen.

“You didn’t say anything while I was over there,” said Jenny in protest. Ellen sighed. There was more shuffling and a second bottle-top sound.

“And the story resumes on Boxing Day in Germany,” said Ellen. Ellen had weaned herself off soaps but had never quite lost the taste for lurid tales of adventure.

Nikki recounted her story, adding in her phone calls with Jane.

“Well, something is definitely going on with the Kit Masters tour,” said Ellen when she had finished. Nikki put her own phone on speaker and exited the bath, wrapping herself in a towel.

“But is it related to Cano?” asked Jenny.

“And what’s with Duncan?” said Ellen.

“Yes, I’m worried about him. That conversation outside the television studio … ‘I don’t need any more Carrie Mae women.’ That sounds like he knows more about Carrie Mae women than he should. And why is he covering up the accidents if he knows they’re not accidents? And why is he scared of you? Is he causing the accidents?” Jenny had the same questions Nikki did.

“I don’t know. I feel like I’m missing something. Trista keeps insisting that no one would want to hurt Kit, but she did sort of hint that she thought Duncan was a bit off. I feel like there’s something else going on … I just can’t put my finger on it.” Nikki rummaged through Trista’s luggage looking for clothes that she could wear without hiding her face in shame.

“Well, it could be any one of the band or crew,” said Ellen.

“Can’t be the band,” said Nikki. “They were all onstage when I was chasing Tracksuit.”

“That doesn’t mean they can’t be responsible for the accidents,” said Jenny. “Tracksuit and Cano may have an accomplice or they may not be related to the accidents at all. And what better way to throw off suspicion than to be part of the accident?”

“Oh great,” said Nikki bitterly. “Just when I have my suspect pool narrowed down, you gotta stick your two cents in. But I have to say these accidents aren’t as simple as I thought. Trista keeps insisting that no one would want to hurt Kit, and after the crash today, I’d almost agree with her. I just don’t see a motive for hurting or killing him.”

“What do you mean?” asked Ellen.

“Oh, his people. They kept asking about him. I’d go try to get someone off the bus and they’d ask if he was OK. Trista’s right;
his people love him. And they are literally his people. They’d follow him anywhere.”

“Sounds like that kind of bugs ya,” said Jenny, and Nikki sighed in response.

“It’s just weird. He says jump; they say how high. It’s so … feudal.”

“You’re just not used to a power structure that doesn’t include you at the top,” said Ellen.

“I’m nowhere near the top!” exclaimed Nikki, shocked. “I’m a drone in the Carrie Mae army!” There was a snorting noise from the other end of the phone, and Ellen laughed.

“Sorry, Jenny tried to breathe soda through her nose. Honey, you may not have noticed this, but for the last year or so you’ve had a bunch of women following you around doing what you tell them to do. It’s called being a leader.”

“We’re a team,” muttered Nikki, blushing. “Besides, you don’t tiptoe around and kowtow to my every whim. Which frankly would be a nice change from all of you bossing me around and telling me not to use the zip line!”

“I stand by my opinion. It was a bad idea in that instance,” Jenny said. “The angle was all wrong and the Congolese would totally have spotted you coming out of the tree.”

“Probably,” said Nikki, skipping over the old argument, and pulled out a plain white T-shirt that looked unobjectionable, “but my point is, I want more tiptoeing, damn it! Other people get tiptoeing.” She shook out the shirt and from the folds dropped a medium-sized roll of fabric. It looked like a rolled-up travel jewelry kit, but Nikki knew instantly that it wasn’t. She undid the knot and unrolled it, feeling her heart beat faster. Trista had clearly not abandoned the Carrie Mae way entirely.