How Spy I Am (40 page)

I rested my fists on
his desk and leaned closer. “Just give me the goddamn trank gun.
Please.”

Stemp rose, his
masklike face rearranging itself into an expression of regret. “I’m
sorry, Ms. Kelly, but I can’t approve your request. Now, if you’ll
excuse me.”

I was on the verge of
exploding when his hand dipped into his desk drawer to withdraw a
small trank gun. He laid it on the desk as he turned away before
striding out of his office without a backward glance.

I clapped my gaping
jaw shut and scooped the gun up to tuck it into my jeans and tug my
sweatshirt over top.

I trotted for the
door. “Director, wait!”

Stemp paused halfway
down the hall and turned. “Arguing is pointless, Ms. Kelly. I’ve
made my decision.”

I applied my best
crestfallen expression and nodded. “I realize that. But I was
wondering if it would be possible for me to go home and check my
email and get my truck. Is the farm secure?”

“For the time being.
I’ll inform the guards you’ll be arriving. I recommend you don’t
stay long.” He turned and continued down the hall into the men’s
room.

“Do you want a ride to
the farm? The Expedition’s just outside,” Kane offered.

“Thanks, that’d be
great.”

Once on the highway, I
rethought my gratitude when Kane turned his cop face in my
direction. “What do you plan to do?”

“I can’t tell
you.”

“You can tell me.” The
cop face dissolved into impatience. “Aydan, I’m a trained agent. I
can keep a secret. Let me help you.”

I blew out a long
breath, feeling the tension ratcheting up in my shoulders. “If it
was anything else, I’d tell you, but this time I can’t. If I do,
it’ll put you in danger.”

“It’s more dangerous
for me to be uninformed.”

“No, it’s not. The
less you know, the safer you are. You already know more than you
should.”

Kane drove in silence
for a few minutes. “At least let me come along as backup,” he said
at last. “If you’re planning to trank and capture someone, you’ll
need help.”

“I told you, you can’t
get involved.”

His knuckles whitened
on the steering wheel. “Call Richardson, then. Don’t try to do it
alone.”

“Richardson can’t know
anything about this. Nobody can. You and Stemp are too many
already.”

“Aydan, you can trust
us.”

“I trust you. I don’t
have a choice with Stemp.”

“You can trust
Richardson.”

“Yeah, and get his ass
busted right along with mine if this blows up. Not happening.”

Kane braked in front
of my house and turned to face me. “Aydan…”

“Thanks for the ride.”
I yanked the door handle, but nothing happened. I shot him a look.
“Please unlock the door.”

“We’re not finished
yet.”

“We’re finished.”

“Aydan…”

“John. I can’t tell
you anything more. You can’t help me. Nobody else can know about
this. That’s all. End of story.”

His fist clenched. “At
least set up a check-in with me. So if something goes wrong, you’re
not completely on your own.”

“I don’t know how long
it will take. I might not be able to make a check-in.”

“Aydan, dammit-”

“John!” I overrode his
rising voice. “This morning you told me I was being overprotective
of you. That cuts both ways. If I’ve been undercover all this time,
do you really think I’m incapable of taking care of myself on this
op?”

Kane froze, muscles
working in his jaw. “I don’t think you’re incapable,” he murmured
at last. “I’m just… I don’t want to lose you.”

He gave me that
vulnerable look again, and I fought a guilty smothering sensation
while I stared back helplessly.

“I’m sorry,” he said
suddenly. “This is exactly why you try so hard to avoid
attachments, isn’t it?” He scrubbed a hand through his hair, his
brows drawing down. “I promise I’ll leave you alone and let you do
your job if that’s what you need me to do. But if I can help in any
way…”

I drew a breath of
relief. “Thank you.” Sudden inspiration made me add, “There is one
thing you can do.”

“Name it.”

I fumbled the tiny
tracking device out of my change purse and held it out to him along
with my cell phone. “Take these back to the bunker with you.”

His face twisted.
“Aydan, no! Without the tracker, if anything goes wrong, we’ll
never find you. You know the kind of hell you’ll go through if
you’re captured. Don’t take the chance.”

I bit down my
frustration. “I really need you to take it. I can’t risk Stemp
following me. And if I get captured, they’ll leave this stuff lying
wherever they grab me, so it won’t help a bit. You know that as
well as I do.”

“Stemp won’t follow
you,” Kane said firmly. “Not after he gave you the trank gun. He
can’t afford to know what you’re doing. Take the tracker with you.”
He gave me a beseeching look. “Aydan, please. Stemp won’t
interfere. I promise I won’t interfere. The tracking device just
gives you a little insurance.”

I thought that over. I
didn’t want to admit even to myself how scared I was. If Robert was
working for the bad guys, and if anything went wrong with my plan,
I knew exactly what my fate would be, and ‘hell’ described it with
chilling accuracy.

I blew out a long
breath. “Okay. How about this. Can you monitor my tracking device?
If it stops in one place for more than two hours, come looking. But
if Stemp wants to come after me, talk him out of it. He can’t know
what I’m doing.”

Kane straightened, his
shoulders relaxing. “I’ll do that.”

“Thanks. See you later
at the bunker.”

I was reaching for the
door handle when he spoke again. “This better not be the last time
I see you. I can’t even kiss you for luck with the guards
watching.”

I hoped the smile I
gave him looked more confident than I felt. “Consider yourself
kissed.”

Inside the house, I
went directly to my office and fired up the computer. I didn’t even
attempt to work. With all the adrenaline gushing through my veins,
it would have been pointless. Instead I fidgeted in the chair, eyes
riveted to the screen.

Surely Robert must be
monitoring my computer usage. He wouldn’t just randomly try to
contact me, would he? That would be stupid.

Come on, Robert, I’m
on the damn computer. Contact me!

Maybe I had to be
moving the mouse or something. I clicked on the crossword puzzle
icon. There. I’m here, using the computer…

My heart kicked my
chest when the tiny blinking square appeared. I didn’t wait for a
message. As soon as the text screen opened, I typed, “Silverside
Park, 23:00, by the monkeybars. Be there.”

I was just beginning
to curse myself for my foolish grade-school phrasing when the
cursor zipped across the screen.

“Confirmed.”

The window
vanished.

I sat shaking in my
chair. Kidnapping Robert had seemed like such a good plan at the
time. Now it seemed like the world’s stupidest idea. What was I
going to do? Ask him to, pretty please, tell me what the hell was
going on?

But I had to see him
face to face. Had to look into his eyes and know once and for all
whether our marriage had been a lie. Had to know whether he was
trying to save me or blow me to hell in a thousand juicy shreds.
And if he was trying to kill Kane…

Unable to sit still
any longer, I lurched to my feet and stumbled down the hallway.

Into the living room,
around the coffee table, back down the hallway.

Into the office and
back out again. Down the hallway.

Staring into the hall
mirror, I spoke to my fearful-looking reflection. “And what the
hell are you going to do if he refuses to tell you anything? Or if
he lies and you know he’s lying?”

My reflection didn’t
answer, but I didn’t like the look in its eyes.

In the garage, I
loaded up the truck. Polyethylene tarp. Duct tape. Cable ties.
Wrestling the wheelbarrow in, I cracked my head on the fibreglass
box topper and swore. My voice shook almost as much as my hands,
and I sank down to sit on the tailgate while I took a few slow,
deep breaths.

Ocean waves. Stay
calm. This was going to work.

It had to work.

I arrived at the park
early to unload the wheelbarrow and tarp. The crunching of the
gravel sent tingles of dread down my back while I wheeled along the
path in the darkness. Nothing moved in the deserted park, and the
silence felt heavy with menace.

In the bushes near the
playground, I bunched up the tarp and left it in the wheelbarrow.
Nothing to arouse suspicion. Just the groundskeeper’s
equipment.

Now I needed Robert to
get here and believe I hadn’t arrived yet. I hurried back to the
truck and parked a couple of streets away, wishing I could leave it
closer. After quivering in the driver’s seat for a few moments, I
hissed pent-up nervousness through my teeth and slid out to hike
for the park.

Crouched in the bushes
beside the playground, I had a moment of panic when I realized it
was too dark to see the open sights of the trank gun. I frantically
considered and discarded the idea of firing blindly. The gun was
quiet, but it wasn’t silent.

I gulped at the
realization that an agent like Robert would shoot first and ask
questions later if he thought somebody was shooting at him. I’d
only get one chance. I’d have to walk right up to him.

God, there were so
many ways this could go wrong.

I summoned up every
remnant of courage I owned. I could do this. He was expecting me,
after all. He wouldn’t shoot me on sight. Theoretically.

I could barely make
out the shapes of the playground equipment, and I strained my eyes
and ears, heart thumping.

Come on, Robert.

Adrenaline blazed into
my bloodstream when an indistinct shape detached itself from the
trees and moved quietly toward the playground.

Could it be him?

Impossible to tell in
the darkness. The height and build looked about right, but there
was no way to know for sure.

Hell, who else could
it be? Innocent people don’t sneak around in deserted parks in the
middle of the night without a flashlight.

The figure stopped
beside the climbing frame and stood still.

Showtime.

I stood from my
concealment and forced my trembling legs to walk toward the dark
figure. When I was a couple of yards away, he spoke, his voice
barely audible.

“It’s Robert at
last.”

“Hi,” I said, and shot
him.

Relief and panic
fought for equal space in my brain when he crumpled to the ground.
I stood paralyzed for a few seconds before floundering into action.
Cable ties to bind his wrists and ankles. Duct tape over his mouth.
I winced at the feel of stubble under my hand. That was really
going to hurt when I pulled the tape off.

Never mind. Move.

I scrambled up, nearly
tripping over my own feet as I stumbled for the wheelbarrow.

Wrestling his limp
body into the tarp, the laxness of his muscles recalled all the
frantic horror of the night I thought he’d died, and I swallowed
nausea. When I got him wrapped up at last, I hunched over, elbows
on knees, drawing in deep breaths through my mouth.

Suck it up, for
chrissake. Get on with it.

Moments later, I
discovered another major flaw in my plan. An empty wheelbarrow is
high and unstable. An unconscious man is a heavy sack of sticks and
Jello. I muffled curses, straining to lift him in.

After the second time
the wheelbarrow tipped over with a resounding thud, I gave up,
heart hammering.

Hell, he was going to
be black and blue by now anyway. Time for Plan B. Leaving the
wheelbarrow in the bushes, I began to drag his tarp-wrapped body
down the path.

The noise was
appalling. The crackling of polyethylene and scraping of gravel
seemed to fill the entire park, and my grunts of effort and panted
obscenities didn’t help. By the time I got him down the short path
and into some low bushes at the edge of the park, I was drenched in
sweat and shaking like an addict coming off a week-long bender.

I crouched beside the
tarp, gasping for breath and cursing my own stupidity. Nice work,
Jane Bond. Way to think things through.

I heaved to my feet
and was about to head for the truck when it occurred to me that the
tranks were only good for a short time. When Richardson had shot
me, I was conscious again in about twenty minutes.

I couldn’t take the
chance.

“Sorry,” I muttered
pointlessly, and shot him again just for good measure.

Getting him into the
truck wasn’t much easier than getting him into the wheelbarrow. I
backed the truck over the curb and up to the bushes, praying the
deserted street would stay deserted.

After a sweat-popping,
curse-laden struggle, I managed to flop his upper body onto the
tailgate, undoubtedly awarding him some new bruises in the process.
Then a final strain to lift his flaccid legs and bundle him into
the truck box, and I leaned against the truck for a moment, panting
and shaking.

No time. Move.

I closed the tailgate
and the back of the topper, staggered around to the cab on rubbery
legs, and got the hell out of there.

My panting gradually
slowed while I drove through the open country north of my farm, but
my heart refused to ease its pounding. The sweat turned clammy on
my body, and I cranked the heater up. I hoped Robert had a warm
jacket on. It was pretty damn nippy outside.

I shook my head
vigorously. No room for sympathy. I had to be ruthless. Do what had
to be done.

Be a spy.

Something that sounded
suspiciously like a whimper escaped me.

At the abandoned
farmstead I’d scoped out earlier, I idled the truck in behind the
ruins of the house and cut the lights and engine. My pulse pounded
in my ears, and my shaking hands didn’t seem to want to close
around the flashlight on the seat beside me.