Spy Games (8 page)

“Twelve hundred,” Van said. He seemed to be the only other CT capable of speech. “Stop exaggerating.”

“That’s two-thirds of my daily allowance. For one meal. And I already had breakfast.” I pawed through the contents of my MRE. “I’ll trade my cookie for someone’s Charms candy.” I playfully elbowed Van.

“Charms are bad luck, R,” Ace called from the next table before Van could respond.

“Okay, thanks for the warning. I withdraw my offer.” I made a pouty face at Van.

“More urban legend. You know I’d give you my Charms any day,” Van said with a wink.

“No way. I’m not taking any chances with giving someone bad luck.” I forced a smile. “My oatmeal cookie’s up for grabs.”

“I’ll eat your cookie, R.” So much innuendo in Van’s voice!

“You got it. Anyone want my gum?” I cupped my hand around my mouth as if I was talking aside to an audience. “I hear it’s laced with laxatives.”

“Urban legend, R,” Ace yelled over.

“Everything’s urban here. Thanks for setting the record straight.”

We fell into silence again, nothing but the sounds of eating everywhere. Miss Manners would probably say that checking phone messages at the table is bad form. But since she wasn’t present, who was going to rat on me? Anyway, I was dying of morbid curiosity. Which isn’t, actually, the best way to go.

I’d just opened my phone when Van, who sat to my right, cleared his throat.

“Something on your mind?” I asked, staring at the phone. Ten new voice mails! Ket had been a busy boy.

“I was wondering,” he started.

The morbid won. Almost against my will, certainly against my better judgment, I was dialing my voice mail. “Yeah?”

“You’re not eating your meal. Maybe you’d call it stirring or playing, but definitely not eating.”

“Uh-huh.” A call about Ket. Delete. I listened to my messages with half an ear and Van with the other. I would have given him my full attention—he was definitely full attention worthy—but those darn messages were like a siren song calling me to my own destruction. I needed to know if there was anything new. If anyone had seen Ket in the flesh or knew where he was. Finally, the eighth call in, Nicki, my VC, called with the startling news of Ket’s release. That inspired my trust. Half of LA knew before she did.

“You’re probably going to be starving later.”

“Yeah, probably.” I nodded. Nothing new on Ket that I could tell.

“You have any dinner plans?” he asked.

Suddenly, I was one part pleased and nine parts panic. Flirting with Van under the innocent guise of playing basketball was one thing. But going on a date with him, alone, with Ket out there, was suicide. Or murder, depending on who Ket would kill, Van or me. Or both. I looked around at the group. “I don’t know. Have we made any plans?”

Undaunted by my sudden reserve, Van grabbed my hand and pulled the phone away from my ear. “I was thinking, we could make plans. You and me.” He pointed to me and then him. “Just the two of us. Eating together somewhere nice. I have the feeling you’re a local girl. You could suggest somewhere. I could pay.”

I turned to stare at him, my heart melting to mush. “Are you asking me out? Like for a date?”

“Yeah. Like for a date.”

My phone beeped. I had a text message.

I looked around slowly, feeling my pulse rise like a tide in my ears. Ket could be anywhere.
Anywhere
. Across the train tracks. On the roof of the neighboring warehouse. Hiding in the wooded area across the road with his high-powered binoculars trained on me. I felt the hairs on my arms stand up and shivered despite the afternoon heat, wondering how in the world Ket got my new number. I was petrified he’d threatened one of my friends.

“Reilly?” Van stared at me. “Earth to R.” He waved his hand in front of my face. “What’s wrong?”

“I can’t go out with you. I’m sorry.” I spoke like an automaton, still slowly scanning, watching for Ket.

Van pried the phone from my hands. “Who the hell called you? And what in the hell did they say?”

“Is it Huff?” Cliff leaned toward me. “What’s happened to him?”

The instructors were on their feet and at our table in a second, crowded around me, a great big barrier of men.

“What’s going on?” War asked as Van read my text message.

Van handed the phone to War. “Who’s K? The guy you warned that Cindy Lou to look out for?”

I nodded. “Yes. Ket Brooks, my ex-fiancé.”

“Possessive bastard,” War said.

“Brooks? Owner of Brooks Gyms?” Jim asked.

I nodded.

Jim squinted in the sun and frowned. “I thought Brooks was in jail for contempt.”

“He’s out. Yesterday evening or early this morning. Some kind of legal mistake. Someone didn’t file the charge in time or something.” I was rattled, weighing my options and coming up empty.

War handed my phone back. “Brooks is obviously watching R. He’s seen us react. He’s getting a kick out of watching R panic and the rest of us respond. He feels like he’s in control and pulling the strings. The longer we stay out here, the more power we give him.” War paused and looked around the group. “If we move inside, we frustrate him.”

War nodded to Kyle and Ace, who helped me to my feet and closed in to shield me. “CTs, form up around R.”

Van rose and War shoved him back down with a hand to his shoulder. “You’re the guy on her right. You stay in the center, under cover.”

Once inside the building, War showed me to his office and closed the door as the others watched. He ushered me into a chair by his desk and got me a bottle of water. I guess that’s what you do for upset people, hydrate them.

War went around to his side of the desk, took a seat, and pulled a file from his in-basket. He opened it and slid out the picture of Ket I’d sent him before coming to camp, spinning it around for me to see. “This the guy we’re dealing with?”

I nodded. “I’m so sorry. I just found out. That call I took earlier—”

He held up a hand to silence me. “No apologies necessary.”

“I’ll go home.” I didn’t want to go home!

War pierced me with a look. “There will be no going home, CT. This camp is designed to teach people how to protect themselves. Most people come here for fun. We rarely get the opportunity to help someone in real need. You mentioned when you signed up that this Ket character has stalked you. How dangerous is he? Has he hurt anyone?”

“Other than me?”

“I’m sorry, CT.” War sounded like he meant it. His voice was laced with compassion.

I sighed. “He got into a fistfight with a guy I dated a couple times after we broke up. I stopped seeing the man in question. Other than that, no. Ket’s threatened to kill anyone I’m with. But that’s it.” I took a deep breath. “Though it’s hard to tell what Ket would actually do. I’ve pretty much avoided dating because of him.”

“Since you broke up has he…?”

I shook my head, no. “He’s harassed me. Tried to scare me.” I laughed bitterly. “Succeeded in scaring me.” I told War about the matchbook I’d found, and my theory that Ket had someone plant it. War didn’t jump in to say that FSC
had
planted the matchbook, verifying my assumption that Ket was involved. “I’m worried about Huff. I danced with him last night. Before…”

War nodded. “Don’t beat yourself up. You didn’t know. Personally, I don’t believe Huff’s disappearance has anything to do with you. It doesn’t fit the pattern you’ve described.” He paused, watching me fiddle nervously with my hands in my lap, obviously weighing whether he should confide in me. “We had someone at the hotel check Huff’s room,” he said at last.

I simply stared at him, waiting for him to continue.

He ran his fingers through his hair, looking tired and frustrated. “You all signed a waiver giving us permission.”

I nodded. “I know. I don’t blame you. What did you find?”

“Nothing. Everything’s gone. His wallet, keys, clothes. All gone. No sign of a struggle. Don’t worry about Huff. It looks like he left voluntarily.”

“But he didn’t check out. The front desk would have told us when we asked about him.” I paused, mulling things over. “He didn’t check out, right?”

War shook his head. “No. He didn’t check out. He may be planning to return.”

“It’s odd, though.” But I had to agree with War that Huff’s disappearance didn’t fit the pattern of him being attacked by Ket. Now if they’d found Huff beaten unconscious…

“Maybe we should file a missing persons report on Huff?” I wondered aloud.

“We can file,” War said. “Doesn’t mean anyone’s going to go looking. Not without any physical evidence of violence.”

I sighed and nodded my agreement.

War changed the subject back to Ket. “Do you have a restraining order against that bastard ex of yours?”

I laughed the bitter laugh again. “No. He has one out against me.”

War gave me a quizzical expression. “The crazy bastard! He put a restraining order on you?”

I nodded. “Wild, huh?”

“You didn’t fight it?”

“And play into his hands? Go broke paying legal fees? No thanks. He filed in California after I’d come back to Washington, hoping to draw me down there. The order is a nuisance. Nothing more. Anyone who’s known me more than thirty seconds knows I would never voluntarily go anywhere near Ket.”

War gave me another sympathetic look. I was so damned tired of being the object of pity.

War picked up on my mood. “We’ll help you get your life back, CT. I’ll call the hotel and alert them. I have a few friends in the department. I’ll call them and give them a heads-up about Brooks. See if they can send someone around to patrol the area. In the meantime, I suggest you call your lawyer and get a restraining order here.”

I nodded.

“I’ll personally oversee your training this afternoon. Should this guy come calling, you’ll be prepared.”

War made copies of the photo of Ket to distribute to the group. After he and I made our calls, we met up with the others in the mock city. War sat me in an overstuffed chair inside a mock living room in a mock apartment in the mock city, and passed out Ket’s mug shot. Actually, it was more of a publicity photo that Ket looked damned good in. Seeing his handsome face threw people off. How could such a gorgeous, charming-looking man be evil? It didn’t compute. Ket’s appearance worked against me. Women fawned over him. Men? Their reactions varied from envy to dislike.

Nestled within the apartment’s three walls, I felt secure and homey in a creepy, gothic sort of way. The others gathered around, filling the sofa, the chairs, even the floor, waiting for War to make the next move. I watched their reactions to Ket’s picture.

Peewee tossed it aside and threw me a dirty look, mouthing, “I didn’t tell him.” Van studied it thoughtfully. Cliff and Jim took a cursory look. Steve stared at it for some time.

“Listen up. Time for debrief, CTs.” War stood behind me.

Everyone stared at me.

“Sorry for ruining lunch, guys.” I settled back in my chair, trying not to appear nervous. I hated people knowing about my situation with Ket. It always changed the way they viewed me. And not for the better.

“The MREs ruined lunch,” Van said.

“You provided the excitement,” Steve said. “What do we do now? Call the cops?”

“This is not a camp game, CT.” War put a hand on my shoulder and squeezed before praising the men for their quick action and the way they obeyed orders, and giving them a quick rundown on the situation with Ket. “Slight change in the afternoon plans,” War said in closing. “R will come with me for some advance lessons on hand-to-hand combat. The rest of you will go with Kyle and Ace for more practice at the firing range before we begin our instruction on reflexive shooting.

“Ace, Kyle, or I will always have our eye on R while she’s here. I expect the rest of you to watch over her at the hotel. If anyone gets any word on Huff, notify me immediately.”

War and I remained in the mock living room after Kyle and Ace led the others away. War sat across from me, ostensibly coming up with a way for me to defeat big, bad Ket in a fight where I was out of my weight class.

“Done much fighting?” he said at last.

I shook my head. “I’ve always been more of a pacifist. If battle must be done, I prefer to use words. I’m pretty quick with an insult.”

He raised a brow. “No experience at all?”

“I have two older brothers so I have to lay claim to my fair share of horseplay.”

“How’d you come out in that?”

“When I squirted them with my perfume, I was pretty victorious. They tended not to like that a lot. No boy wants to be a girly-smelling guy.”

War nodded his approval and smiled at my attempt at levity. “A squirt to the eye with just about anything can be temporarily disabling and give you time to escape. Anything can be used as a weapon, R. Keep that in mind at all times. Do you ever carry hairspray with you?”

I nodded.

“Good. Hairspray is particularly effective when sprayed into the eyes or directly into the mouth or nostrils,” he said.

“Good to know,” I said. “And, now that I think about it, patently obvious. All the boyfriends I’ve ever had have run for cover whenever I’ve pulled out the old hairspray. Men fear it.”

War smiled and tapped his temple. “Way to think like a warrior. Any other experience? Think vicious.” He laced his voice with sinister to emphasize his point.

“Right, Reilly Vicious.” I paused, nodding. “Think eeeviill.” I pursed my lips. “My mom tells me I was a biter when I was young. But I haven’t used that skill since I was five and bit my cousin at his birthday party. I got punished for that, by the way.”

“Different social situation. Different protocol.” War rubbed his chin in thought. “Biting’s a skill you’d be wise to recover. In this case, I’d reward you for defending yourself with a good chomp.”

I nodded in understanding. “Gotcha.”

“I’m not kidding.”

I must admit, he sounded serious. “Neither am I.”

He nodded. “Good. Ears are an excellent target for a bite. They’re readily available and he won’t be expecting it.”

I nodded again.

“Ears are a good bet in other ways, too, if you can get to them. Clapping both your palms simultaneously over Brooks’s ears will produce a nasty numbing pressure change to his brain. It’s even been known to cause unconsciousness. A quick, sharp movement is best.” He demonstrated the motion, though not on me.

“Is it more effective than the Vulcan shoulder pinch?”

War grinned. “Much.” He gave my shoulder a reassuring squeeze. “From what you’ve told me, you have good, natural fighting instincts, R.”

Bless his heart, he was trying to bolster my confidence.

“Maybe I did as a kid.”

“Then think like a child. Let go of your socially imposed restraints. Trust your basic instincts in a fight,” War said. “The key is to keep your attacker off guard and fight dirty. There’s no such thing as a fair fight when you’re fighting a bully or for your life.” He gave me a penetrating look. “Got that?”

“Got it.”

“Good. Now look around this room and tell me what you could use as a weapon.”

“Lamp?”

“Sure. What would you do with it?”

“Swing it like a bat. Or crash it over his head.”

“Okay. What else?”

“Chair. Use it as a shield.”

“Fine.”

I scanned the room. “Ashtray.” I paused. “Ashtray? Not many of these left anymore. Maybe in a bar.”

“What would you do with it, R?”

“Whack them with it.”

“Or throw the ash in their face.” He raised his brows in a look that asked if I was following him.

I nodded.

“Fireplace ash would work as well. You could use the ashtray or a coaster as a Frisbee-type missile. What else?”

I looked around the room. It was pretty sparse. I shrugged.

“Newspaper or magazine,” War said, picking one up. “Roll it up and use it as a baton. It’s a great weapon to use to fight off a knife attack.”

“Oh,” I said, feeling inadequate.

War tapped his head. “Think like a warrior.”

“Right.” I nodded again. I was doing so much nodding I felt like a bobble-head doll.

War stood and reached into his pockets, pulling out a handful of change. “I don’t recommend getting into a fistfight with Brooks. He’ll have the advantage on you there. Most girls fight like girls. No wallop to their punches. But if you absolutely have to, a fistful of change will add weight to your punch.”

Then he showed me how to make a proper fist and throw a blow. Which he followed with how to use my elbows, knees, heels, and feet as weapons.

“Ever wear a belt?” War asked me.

“Only as fashion dictates,” I said, wondering where he was going with it.

“There’s a reason besides fashion that cowboys wear those gigantic belt buckles. They make a hell of a weapon. And they’re perfectly legal to carry.”

“And here I thought they were just to hold up pants or draw attention to small waists and curvy hips. I’ll definitely keep the weapon potential of any belt in mind next time I’m in the market for one.”

War smiled. “On to the next topic—every spy should learn one effective move and use it when necessary,” he said after we’d practiced the body-parts-as-powerful-weapons drills. “I’m going to show you one that is potentially fatal. Use it only if you have to. But don’t be afraid to use it if you must.”

I kept up the bobble-head act.

“Listen and watch carefully as I demonstrate,” War said. “Facing him, you grab the crown of the attacker’s hair and pull his head back sharply. You have to do this quickly, catching him by surprise.”