How Spy I Am (18 page)

I couldn’t prevent an
involuntary glance in Kane’s direction. No matter how much he might
hate me at the moment, I was pretty sure duty would force him to
protect me if Smith went off the deep end. Farther off the deep
end.

“I did CPR on him
myself,” I told him, holding my voice steady. “The paramedics did
CPR all the way to the hospital. They tried to resuscitate him in
Emergency. Trust me, he’s dead.”

My throat tightened at
the memory of Robert’s body, horribly lax under my hands. He had
been so healthy, so fit. We had tried so hard to save him. We
hadn’t known at the time that Kane’s undetectable drug had made all
our efforts futile.

Smith leaned closer
still, his eyes full of the fiery passion of a zealot. “Did you
actually see them dispose of his body? Did you actually go into the
crematorium and watch?”

“Of course not.” God,
what a creep. “Look, I have to go. I’ll walk back to the
office.”

His hand shot out to
clamp around my wrist. I was just about to spring to my feet and
yell when his whisper froze me in my chair.

“He just contacted me…
Tiger Lily
.”

Every molecule of air
whooshed out of my lungs and I sat paralyzed, the thumping of my
heart shaking my entire body.

How could this total
stranger, this objectionable, smelly misfit… How could he know
Robert’s pet name for me? Robert never, ever called me that in
public. Only in the privacy of our bed, kissing and cuddling
and…

“Is there a problem
here?” Kane loomed over the table, his hard gaze on Smith, who let
go of my wrist as if my skin had suddenly sprouted needles.

I resumed breathing
with an audible wheeze. “N… no. No problem…”

“Aydan, are you all
right?” Kane stooped to look into my face. “You’re white as
paper.”

“I…”

A ghastly thought
jerked my already-twisting guts into hard knots. Kane had been
ordered to kill Robert… thought he
had
killed him. If Kane
found out Robert was still alive, he’d do a better job the second
time.

I’d lose my husband
all over again.

“I’m going to puke,” I
gasped, and fled to the bathroom to do exactly that.

The nice thing about
vomiting is that people tend to leave you alone while you do it. I
returned the formerly delicious wrap along with what I was willing
to swear was everything else I’d ever eaten and possibly a couple
of my toenails on top.

Sending up a quiet
prayer of thanks for the Greenhorn’s scrupulous attention to
bathroom cleanliness, I leaned my sweaty forehead against the cool
tile wall and breathed carefully.

“Aydan?” Outside the
door, Honey’s sultry voice held a note of worry. “Are you okay in
there?”

“Dandy,” I croaked,
but the lock was already clicking open. I caught a glimpse of Kane
in the hallway holding a slender metallic rod before Honey slipped
inside and closed the door behind her.

She immediately knelt
beside me, her cool fingers closing over the pulse point on my
wrist while she laid a hand on my brow.

Just what I needed.
Florence Fucking Nightingale.

What could be better
than having my freshly ex-lover’s gorgeous new girlfriend tend to
my puke-spattered self while I huddled on the floor in a public
bathroom? Nothing, that’s what.

“I’m fine,” I growled,
the faint rattle of my abused throat adding an ominous overtone.
“Please just go back to your lunch and let me get cleaned up.”

“Are you sure?” She
eyed me with concern. “I could bring you a glass of water. Or would
you like some ginger ale to settle your stomach? Or I could bring
you some soda crackers. Those always helped me when I was
pregnant.”

I lurched up off the
floor. “I’m not f-”

I bit off the f-bomb
and staggered to the sink. “I’m not pregnant. Thanks, Jack, I
really appreciate your concern, but I’d just like a few minutes
alone so I can get myself together.” I stuck my mouth under the tap
to rinse and spit.

“Of course.” Her hand
made a couple of small, soothing circles on my back. “I’ll be right
outside. Call if you need anything.”

It took all my
willpower not to snap at her. “Thanks.”

I was proud the word
came out sounding at least moderately grateful, and she gave me one
of her radiant smiles before letting herself out the door.

I locked it behind
her, for all the good it did with Kane and his lockpick hovering
outside, and tottered over to slump down on the toilet seat.

Christ Almighty, what
a clusterfuck. I sank my head into my hands with a groan.

“Aydan?”

“I’m fine.”

I held my headache
together with both hands and settled down to intense thought. The
only way Smith could have known about Tiger Lily was if Robert had
told him. And the only reason Robert would tell him would be if he
wanted to convince me he was really alive.

Which meant… what
exactly?

That the man I’d spent
years learning to trust, the man I’d given the remains of my heart…
had lied to me. Had let me suffer all this time.

For what?

I had believed Robert
had loved me and had planned to hide me away from Sirius Dynamics
and its dangerous work. But now…

If he’d faked his own
death, hidden for nearly three years…

Did he still love me?
Was he still trying to help me escape? Or was he just a slimy spy,
intent on some purpose of his own, using me and everybody else to
achieve his ends?

My body began to
quiver uncontrollably.

Robert. Alive.

To see his face again,
hold him in my arms and feel his arms around me… and… what?

Believe he loved me?
After lying and abandoning me?

I should kick his
sorry ass to hell and back. No, scratch that. Kick his sorry ass to
hell and leave him there, the bastard. Let him feel some of the
pain he’d put me through.

But what if he had an
explanation? And what possible explanation could there be?

And why the
hell
would he contact John Smith, of all people?

I pushed myself to my
feet.

A few minutes with a
damp paper towel converted the spatters on my T-shirt to wet spots
flecked with paper fibres. Not exactly the look I’d had in mind
when I dressed in the morning, but it beat puke stains.

When I emerged
shakily, the small cafe was nearly empty. True to her word, Honey
was leaning against the wall beside the bathroom door. She
straightened and handed me a can of ginger ale and some soda
crackers, and this time my gratitude was authentic. I sank into the
nearest chair to sip and nibble.

She slid into the
opposite chair, and Kane sat beside her, swinging his chair
slightly to the diagonal to give him a better view behind him.

“I’ll watch your
back,” I murmured, and a flash of something, surprise maybe,
flickered in his expression before he nodded and gave me a smile
that almost reached his eyes.

“Tell me what
happened,” he said.

I shrugged. “Nothing.
I guess I must have eaten something that didn’t-” I cut myself off
with sudden horror at my tactlessness. No way I’d even hint his
magnificent meal might have made me sick.

“I ate some fruit for
breakfast this morning, and I thought at the time it tasted funny,”
I lied. “I guess I should’ve thrown it out.”

“Oh.” I thought I saw
Kane’s shoulders relax, but he might have just been shifting
position. “How are you feeling now?” he asked.

“I’m okay. Thanks to
Jack.” I gave her a smile and toasted her with the ginger ale
can.

She smiled back,
looking almost shy. “I’m glad I could help.”

I shot a look around
the now-deserted cafe. “Where’s Smith?”

“Gone back to the
office,” Kane said. “You can ride with us.”

When I trailed into my
office still clutching the ginger ale can, Spider sprang to his
feet. “Aydan, you look awful! I mean… you never look awful, but… I
mean, are you okay?”

I blew out a long
breath and sank onto the sofa. “I’m fine. My stomach was a little
upset, but I’m okay now.”

He frowned. “Maybe you
should go home and rest.”

“I think you should,”
Honey agreed.

Home, solitude, and
bed. It sounded like heaven.

“I’ll do that last
decryption,” I said. “Then I think I will go home.”

“You can do it
tomorrow. Don’t bother with it,” Spider said. “She shouldn’t,
should she?” he appealed to Kane.

Kane’s cop face
appraised me. “Her choice.”

Suddenly I couldn’t
bear the thought of facing his icy chill in the sim again. “You
know, Spider, you’re right. I feel like crap. I’m out of here.”

“Wait,” Smith said. “I
got the rest of your lunch wrapped up.” He handed me a cardboard
takeout container from the Greenhorn.

My stomach heaved, and
I swallowed hard. “Uh…”

“Take it,” he urged.
“You’ll probably want it by supper time.” He met my eyes
pointedly.

“Thanks.” I took the
container and left.

When I drove into my
yard, my heart gave a little skip at sight of the shiny car parked
in front of my house. Red! It was red!

For a moment, I
struggled against the lure of my new automotive toy, but Smith’s
mysterious concern for my nutritional needs trumped the car by a
small margin.

I drove into the
garage and waited impatiently for the door to roll down behind me
before opening the takeout box. The message was scribbled on the
underside of the napkin.

“Blue Eddy’s 8
tonight.”

Jittering with fatigue
and nerves, I pulled the Legacy into its new home in the garage and
explored under the hood until exhaustion turned my bones to lead.
Then I dragged myself into the house for a couple of hours of
restless sleep.

Promptly at six
o’clock, I locked my front door and headed for the garage, wound up
too tightly to stay in the house any longer.

Might as well
road-test the new car. Tough job, but somebody had to do it.

The snow was gone
except for a few areas in deep shade, and the wide-open highway was
bare and dry. Instead of turning toward Silverside, I headed west
into the setting sun.

With no other traffic
in sight, I took a breath of anticipation and settled my foot onto
the gas pedal, enjoying the smooth acceleration. After checking to
make sure I was still alone on the highway, I slowed and tried a
few quick lane changes, testing the responsiveness of the steering.
Definitely a different feel than my old Saturn, but it was good.
Really good.

Grinning, I slid back
into my own lane and put my foot down to let the horses run. I was
just easing off the gas when flashing blue and red lights in my
rearview mirror made adrenaline spike through my veins.

Son. Of. A. Bitch.

I pulled over, heart
pounding. I might have been a couple of kilometres over the speed
limit, but certainly no more than three or four. Usually they let
you away with that.

When the RCMP officer
approached, I fumbled with the unfamiliar controls for long,
embarrassing seconds before locating the correct button to power
down the window.

“May I see your
license and registration, please?” he asked.

Oh, shit.

I assumed Stemp would
have taken care of the registration, but he hadn’t given me the
pink card. I nearly fainted with relief when I opened the glove
compartment and discovered the magic piece of paper.

Then the full
significance of the situation hit me. I was Arlene Widdenback, not
Aydan Kelly. Suddenly Stemp’s words made a lot more sense. Remember
that. I was Arlene Widdenback. I scrounged in my waist pouch and
handed over my new license, hoping the officer didn’t notice my
shaking hands.

He leaned down toward
the window. “Have you had anything to drink today?”

“No.”

“You were driving very
erratically back there. Did you realize you were speeding?”

“I’m sorry.” I tried a
smile. “I just got this new car today. I’ve never had all-wheel
drive before, and I was just testing it out. I guess I got a little
carried away.”

“Please wait here.” He
paced back to his own car, and I scrunched down in the driver’s
seat, concentrating on staying calm.

How the hell had I
missed seeing him? He must have been tucked in behind that sign
advertising the Tyrrell Museum. Dammit, I knew that was one of
their favourite hiding spots.

“Ms. Widdenback.” His
voice made me jump, and I released my clenched grip on the wheel.
When I looked up at him, I thought I saw something flicker in his
eyes, though his face betrayed nothing. Of course, dammit, the
whole porn star thing had been in the news, and my sleazy cover
self had a police record.

Fuck.

“I’m going to write
you a ticket for stunting, failing to signal when changing lanes,
driving left of centre, and speeding.”

I couldn’t prevent my
groan, and he eyed me sternly. “Be glad I didn’t decide to add
careless driving. That would rack up enough demerits to suspend
your license. And it’s a mandatory court appearance.”

“Th… thank you,” I
managed feebly.

He wrote out the
ticket with hard strokes of his pen and slapped it into my hand.
“Shape up,” he snapped, and strode back to his car.

I stared at the ticket
in my shaking hand. Twelve demerits. I’d only had one traffic
ticket in more than thirty years of driving, and now I’d almost
lost my license in one fell swoop. I wondered light-headedly if
Stemp would have arranged to get it back if the cop had decided to
be a real hard-ass about it.

He’d have to.

Wouldn’t he?

I sat trembling in my
new car, staring out the windshield until long after the police car
had driven away.

When I finally pulled
up at Blue Eddy’s at a quarter to eight, I was still shaking. A
beer would have been heavenly, but I never drank if I was going to
drive. And now, I barely dared breathe the air where alcohol was
being served in case it somehow got into my bloodstream and I got
caught again.