Tell Me No Spies (27 page)

“Oh.” Embarrassment
flooded me. “I was in a bad accident quite a few years ago.” I
shrugged, watching the road. “It was just a flashback. No big
deal.”

“Are you okay
now?”

“Yeah, fine.” I hoped
he’d drop it, and he mercifully did.

I kicked myself for my
stupidity as I shoved four dollars into the parking machine for a
lousy half-hour. Note to self: Next time, find a place with free
parking.

I approached the
computer kiosk in the mall warily, Dave trailing a few feet behind.
I glanced back to see him swivelling his head back and forth,
looking nervous.

“Dave.”

He caught up to me,
and I leaned close to whisper. “You look like you’re about to
shoplift something. Try to look casual.”

“How?” He gazed at me
imploringly. “Tell me what to do so I don’t screw up again.”

“Come here.” I put an
arm around him and guided him to the counter. “Just lean against
the counter beside me and pretend to be bored waiting for me. Stare
off over my shoulder so you can watch my back.”

He placed an elbow
beside the keyboard and propped himself up stiffly, still looking
anxious. I patted his cheek. “Relax. Think happy thoughts.”

I turned my attention
to the terminal and got in the game.

“Spider.”

“r u OK?”

“Yes. Did you find
N?”

“no”

I swore without much
surprise, and Dave jerked beside me, his worried eyes glued to the
screen. I squeezed his hand. “Dave. Watch my back. Look casual.” He
nodded and cast a nervous gaze over my shoulder, and I returned to
the chat screen to find Spider’s text scrolling.

“r u there? r u
there?”

“Yes. J might have a
contract out on Kane.”

“u mean a hit?”

“Yes. Make sure he’s
careful. And he needs to protect D. Might be a contract out on him,
too.”

“who’s D?”

Shit, of course he
wouldn’t know who Dante was. I racked my brain for Dante’s last
name and came up completely blank. Surely Nichele had mentioned it,
but I hadn’t been sober at the time. I hissed frustration through
my teeth.

“Dante. Sorry, don’t
know his last name. Friend of N’s. Underwear model.” I felt a pang
as I imagined Spider’s blush, wondering if I’d ever see him
again.

My fingers trembled
over the keyboard for an instant before I added, “Find out if D’s
still alive.” I couldn’t bear the thought that he might be dead,
but I had to know. I swallowed hard and pressed the Send key.

Dave’s arm settled
around my shoulders. “It’ll be okay, Aydan,” he said.

“Thanks.” I swallowed
again and turned back the screen where Spider was again demanding
my attention.

“r u there?”

“Yes.”

“u need anything
else?”

I was just about to
type ‘no’ and sign off when a thought occurred to me. I took a deep
breath. If anybody could find out, it would be Spider.

“Can you find out,” I
hesitated, afraid to ask the question, afraid to hear the answer.
Dave’s arm tightened around my shoulders as I took another deep
breath, hands frozen above the keyboard. I let the air leak out
between my lips. “…if S killed my parents and Uncle R, too?”

“WHAT??”

I saw no need to
repeat myself. “I’ll check back later. Over & out.”

I logged off and
cleared the cache, then stood staring at the screen for a few
seconds. I barely prevented myself from jerking in shock when Dave
pulled me gently to him and kissed me. A soft, vanilla kiss.

He stroked my hair
back with a tense hand and leaned close to whisper in my ear.
“There’s a guy watching us.”

“Thanks, Dave, let’s
get out of here.” I pulled away and smiled at him, and he slid his
arm around my waist as we turned to stroll back to the parking
lot.

Inside the car, I shot
a look around. “Do you see him?”

“No. He didn’t follow
us.” Dave’s hand closed over mine as I reached for the ignition.
“Aydan?”

“Yeah?” I turned to
face him.

He flushed. “Uh… Could
I, uh, could I… kiss you for real?”

I felt heat rising in
my face as I gawked at him, wondering what to say.

“Sorry, never mind,”
he muttered, blushing scarlet. He turned to stare out the window,
his ears fiery red. “Forget I said that.”

“Dave…”

“It’s okay, forget it.
Let’s go.” His fingers closed convulsively on the hem of his
T-shirt, bunching it in his fist. The muscles in his forearm
rippled as he worked at the fabric.

Oh, God.

“Dave, you have been
kissing me for real.”

“I meant…” More abuse
of the T-shirt. “…Like maybe you’d kiss me because you want to, not
because you have to.”

I spoke to the back of
his head. “I’ve never
had
to kiss you. If I didn’t like you,
I wouldn’t let you within ten feet of me. And I sure as hell
wouldn’t be tongue-wrestling with you.”

His fingers stilled,
but he didn’t turn. “Oh. Uh.” A long pause. “But you’re not really,
uh… enjoying it. Are you?”

I grimaced, resisting
the urge to pound my forehead against the steering wheel. Tact.
Summon up some tact, for once in your life.

“Dave, I’ve been too
shit-scared to think about enjoying it. This isn’t the movies, and
I don’t get off on danger.”

My conscience twinged
as I flashed vividly back to Hellhound in the passenger seat. I bit
my lip and ploughed on. “I’m sorry, I know I’ve been giving you
some really mixed messages. I really do like you, but…”

He turned at last and
met my eyes briefly before dropping his gaze to study the torn
carpet on the floor of the car. “But not that way,” he finished
matter-of-factly.

“I…” I stared at him,
struggling for something kind to say. But not too kind.
Complimentary and encouraging, but not… encouraging. Goddammit…

“It’s okay. Just had
to ask.” He shrugged. “We better go.”

“Dave…”

“Forget it.”

I watched him for a
few seconds, but he didn’t look up. I sighed, reached to guide his
chin to me, and leaned over to kiss him. Plain vanilla. I didn’t
rush.

When I pulled back, I
met his puzzled eyes. “I wanted to do that,” I told him.

He smiled.
“Thanks.”

I fired up the car and
listened to its smooth, soothing rumble for a few seconds. I love
cars. They’re so uncomplicated.

“How are we doing for
time?” I asked.

“Forty-five minutes
before we have to call Hellhound or get back there.”

“Good. I want to stop
and grab something for supper. I’m starving.”

I chose a large, busy
grocery store and gave Dave the mission of raiding the deli while I
grabbed some apples, cereal bars, and juice. When we met at the
checkout, he eyed my basket. “Sorry, guess I didn’t do so well with
the groceries earlier,” he muttered.

“No, you did fine. I
just like to have the juice in case I need a quick blood-sugar
boost, that’s all.”

“Is this okay?” He
held his basket out for inspection. My stomach growled audibly.

I clapped a hand over
it and grinned at him. “Gets my seal of approval.”

I dug into my waist
pouch for my wallet, feeling Dave’s eyes on my dwindling sheaf of
bills. Back in the car, I consulted my watch. “Good, we’ve got
enough time to get gas. I don’t want to let the tank get too
low.”

“What’ll we do when we
run out of cash?”

“Worry about it when
the time comes,” I told him with more confidence than I felt.
“Maybe Arnie has some.”

“Yeah.” He fell silent
as we pulled onto the road.

Back at the industrial
park, I waited for a couple of trucks to vacate the parking lot
before I parked in front of the overhead door and trotted over to
the keypad. I punched in the number and relaxed when the door began
to roll up.

I was turning back
toward the car when motion flickered in my peripheral vision. I
sprang back, twisting to face the movement, and tripped over my own
feet.

My butt hit the
pavement as a tire iron whistled by inches from my nose. I yelped
and rolled, vaguely aware of Dave’s shout as he started to scramble
from the passenger seat.

My short, skinny
assailant swung again and I scuttled crabwise on my knees and one
hand, scrabbling for my ankle holster with the other. He might not
be big, but those sinewy arms could sure swing.

I jerked away from his
next attempt, and the iron swished through the ends of my hair
where my head had been seconds before. Rolling frantically, I
managed to fumble my gun out of its holster. Dave was hobbling
toward us, yelling.

Everyone froze when I
swung the Glock up.

“Drop it,” I gasped,
and stood carefully, trying to keep the gun steady. “Back in the
shop. Slow.”

God, where was Arnie?
If this asshole had harmed him…

The asshole’s
prominent Adam’s apple bounced as he gulped and dropped his
weapon.

I steadied the Glock
with both hands. “Back up. Nice and slow, into the bay.”

I panted open-mouthed,
trying to catch my breath and slow my pulse. As he backed away,
hands in the air, I followed, maintaining our distance.

“Dave, pick up that
tire iron and drive the car in. Don’t get in my line of fire.”

I didn’t spare him a
glance, just kept my eyes locked on my target. I registered
movement out of the corner of my eye and heard the car door close.
The Caprice eased forward at the same pace as I did.

When my captive
reached the door of the bay, his gaze flicked sideways.

“Try it and die,” I
barked.

He paled and swallowed
again, and I took stock of him while we continued our slow progress
inside. Grubby sleeveless T-shirt. Skinny legs encased in dirty
jeans. A skull-patterned black do-rag that didn’t conceal the
strands of greasy hair that drooped to his shoulders. Bad skin and
a weedy moustache. Ground-in dirt on his hands. Blotchy blue
tattoos on his forearms. And now I knew the true meaning of ‘shifty
eyes’.

A LeSabre convertible
was parked in the middle of the bay. Dave snuggled the Caprice up
to it and got out slowly.

“Close the door,
Dave.”

I heard the door roll
down behind me. My arms were beginning to tire with the strain of
holding the gun steady while my heart tried to hammer its way out
through my backbone.

“Where’s Arnie?” I
snarled.

Do-rag’s eyes widened.
“Jesus, lady, why didn’t you say so? He’s in the shitter.”

“Dave, go find
him.”

Dave was spared the
trouble when Arnie appeared through the grimy door at the end of
the bay.

“Fuck, Weasel,” he
snapped. “What the fuck’re ya doin’? I told ya they were
comin’.”

“What do you mean,
what the fuck am
I
doing?” Weasel protested. “This crazy
bitch pulled a gun on me, man!”

I blew out a breath of
relief and let the Glock down.

“Don’t you dare call
her that!” Dave stumped furiously over to shove his glare into
Weasel’s face. “She should have shot you, you scumbag!” He turned
to glower at Arnie. “He tried to kill her!”

“Ya tried to kill
her?” Hellhound loomed over the other man.

“Jesus, no, I wasn’t
trying to kill her!” Weasel’s gaze darted between the three of us,
looking for an escape route. “I was just -”

“Swinging at her head
with a tire iron,” Dave finished grimly.

“I wouldn’t have hit
her,” Weasel denied. He turned to Hellhound with a self-righteous
expression. “It wasn’t my fault. She didn’t say she was with
you.”

“Ya fuckin’ dumb
shit,” Hellhound said with resignation. He turned to me. “This’s
Weasel. In case ya didn’t figure it out already.”

I eyed Weasel. “I’m
Jane. This is Dave.” I moved to the car and pulled my waist holster
out of my backpack, then made a show of putting it on and stowing
the gun in it.

Weasel’s gaze
skittered to the LeSabre and back to my gun. “You’re not a cop, are
you?”

“No.”

He relaxed visibly.
“Want a beer?”

“Yes.”

He hurried toward the
front of the bay.

“So. Jane.” Hellhound
raised the eyebrow that wasn’t obscured by bandages.

“Yeah.”

“Weasel’s a slimy
little shit,” he said. “But he’ll keep his mouth shut.”

“Just playing it safe.
What happened to your pants?”

“Wet. Tryin’ to get
the blood out.”

I gave him an
up-and-down look, grinning. “Nice kilt.”

He did a slow
three-sixty, and I admired the way the thin material of the former
T-shirt showed off his assets as he turned. He plucked at the
crusty, tattered fabric and gave me a lopsided leer. “Like it?”

“Uh-huh.”

Dave groaned. “Didn’t
need to see that.” He limped over to one of the chairs and lowered
himself carefully into it as Weasel returned with the beer.

“You’re lucky,” Weasel
said. “When I came in, he was balls-ass naked. Like I wanted to see
that. Jesus.”

He strolled over to
pass a cold one to Dave. “No hard feelings?”

“I’ll think about it.”
Dave shot him a dark look and accepted the beer.

I tottered over to the
chairs, too, knees quivering with my massive adrenaline
overdose.

Dave glanced over as I
sank down beside him. “Need to eat, don’t you?”

I took a shaky swallow
of beer. “Yeah, probably.”

He was beginning to
hoist himself up when Arnie limped over. “I’ll get it.” He reached
for the grocery bag lying beside the chair.

“No, we got better
stuff,” Dave said. “In the car.”

Arnie nodded and
leaned in to extract the new batch of groceries. “Good.” He nodded
approval as he handed me an orange juice. “Here, darlin’, drink
this first.”

“Thanks.” I sipped at
the juice while he unpacked the roasted chicken and tubs of potato
salad.

“That’s more like it,”
he said as he tore off a drumstick and took an enormous bite. “Got
forks?” he mumbled through the mouthful.