Missing Lynx (20 page)

“Jilly left her supply bag here. I need to take it back over to her house then I’m heading over to the Millers’ to run Beetle and Bella through the agility course. I don’t think I need a watchdog, if you want to go do something else besides hang with me.”

“Nah, I got nothing planned. I’d like to see Beetle and Bella in action, though.” Gater didn’t need to change; he was always dressed for battle in his Iniquus uniform. He called over to the barracks; Blaze and Deep wanted to come, too. They headed over with a van so we could all fit in together.

Meanwhile, Gater and I walked up to Missy’s house with my pups in tow. As soon as we stepped onto the porch, the girls’ ears flattened. They growled low, in the backs of their throats. Hackles raised. Danger. I scanned to find a reason.

“It must be me,” the leopard woman sprang from behind the holly tree. I gave a start and Gater slid between us. How did I miss her? Why was she there? “Dogs and I don’t get along.” She chuckled.

Consuela moved onto the porch and extended her hand, Gater reflexively angled his body to stay between us. “I’m new to the neighborhood; I think I waved to you the day I moved in. You were in a Hummer?”

I ignored her question and stepped from behind the cement wall Gater had formed. I was in full-out “cute-girlie-next-door” mode. “
Innocence is your best defense, Lexicon. Never tip your hand. The enemy should always underestimate your capabilities
.” Spyder’s words rang in my head. No fear – just fluff.

“I’m Lexi and this is my housemate, Gater.”

“Gater? Nice to meet you both.” Her accent was heavy, not Mexican, not Puerto Rican…Hmm. I wondered if we could get a linguist to identify her country of origin. I’d ask over at Iniquus when I went back into the office.

Jilly opened the door.

“I hear we have some things in common,” Consuela said.

“Oh?” I asked blankly. I turned my attention to Jilly-bean and handed her her bag. “This is too important to leave behind, baby doll.” I gave her a friendly wink.

“Yes, ma’am.” Jilly hugged the backpack to her.

“I’m told you like to cook. Jilly says you make wonderful burritos, and you speak Spanish.” Consuela pushed on.

Friendly, vacant smile, Lexi
. “Ha. No. I know some basic phrases. My husband was from Puerto Rico; he’s the one who spoke Spanish, and his aunt is the one who taught me to cook burritos. I’m sorry, but we’re running a little late. Beetle. Bella,” I called stepping off the porch. Consuela jostled us as we passed by, and there was a moment of confusion and re-balancing, then we were down the walkway onto the sidewalk.

“Good thing you have command of your pups,” Gater started. I squeezed his arm and gave him a death glare. He stared down at me, confused. Deep and Blaze waited in the van for us; I signaled them into my house.

As soon as we were inside, I turned to the three guys with my finger to my lips, to signal for quiet. “I think our hostess likes chocolate cake. I’ll whip one up, and then we can go over after lunch.”

Gater cocked his head to the side, trying to figure out what he should do. I opened my eyes wide and nodded at him, willing him to respond affirmatively.

“Yes, ma’am. I think she’d really like one of your chocolate cakes,” he said brightly. We walked to the kitchen where I took off my coat and searched it thoroughly. While I banged around with pots and pans in one hand, I patted down all my clothing with the other. The way she shoved past us felt too deliberate. I hummed loudly to myself as I wiggled out of my boots. Then I pulled off my pants. I was glad I had on my demure black cotton panties today. The men had seen me in all states of dress and undress; they didn’t seem fazed by my stripping down in front of them. I found the transmitter adhered to the inside of my waistband. I held the gizmo up triumphantly. Ta-da!

I was actually relieved to find something, or this would have taken a lot more explaining. I pointed at Gater who followed my actions. He found a monitor in his pants as well.

I made a lot of racket, then, “Ahhhh! Gater! Look what you did. I had everything ready to go in the oven, and now we’re covered with batter.”

“I’m sure sorry, ma’am,” Gater said, standing in his boxer-briefs. I tried very hard to keep my eyes on his face.

“Here let’s get these clothes into the washing machine, so they don’t stain.” I trounced down the stairs, opened the lid, and put the GSM bugs in with the load of towels already in there. I ran the washer on hot water - heavy soil. I’d dispose of the bugs when I returned.

Back in the kitchen, we gave ourselves another once over, checked the dogs, put on our clothes, and left. 

“Was that woman’s intuition?” asked Deep, once we were safely in the van.

“No. That was a pathetically amateur attempt to bug us. I can’t believe anyone could be so bad at it.”

“Only because you’re so good, ma’am. I didn’t realize what she was doing. I thought she was clumsy. But now I know to strip down to my skivvies if I ever get bumped like that again.” Gater grinned.

“The van is clean? We’re sure there are no GPS units stuck to the under carriage?”

“I just gave it another scan. We’re good to go,” Blaze said.

“Yeah, it won’t help, though. I told Missy that we’re headed for the Millers’, and she won’t know to keep my location quiet.” I sighed.

“Do you think it’ll matter?” Blaze asked.

“Beats me. I don’t know
what this woman wants from me.”

Twenty

N
ona Sophia Alfonz was my Kitchen Grandmother from Italy. Every night her apartment would fill with noise and family, family and noise. Sometimes the noise was light-hearted and teasing, sometimes someone broke out in song. Many times they broke out in fights.

Deep came from this background - born and raised on Staten Island. He missed it. Joseph-Pasquale, his mother called him — Joey to the rest of his family. I still don’t know why we called him Deep.
A “Deep” dark secret
, I giggled to myself, popping the garlic bread into the oven. Tonight he was bringing a new girl – Ghianna — to dinner. Honestly, he goes through girls like I go through a bag of potato chips.

Deep rang the bell right on time; I turned the burner under the sauce to off and headed to the door. Deep always showed up at my house for dinner on Thursdays — didn’t even bother to ask. He’d call to check on the time, and to see if I needed anything besides the bottle or two of good, red Italian wine he always brought. I’m not supposed to drink any until my birthday, March third, when I’d turn twenty-one. But I liked to have them to set on the table for whoever showed up for my weekly Italian dinner. Deep and I had started a tradition, and it was pretty much open door night - anyone who was hungry or wanted a little
famiglia Italia
was welcome.

Okay, almost everyone. Tonight, not so much. As Manny and his boys burst through the front door I spotted Consuela trailing them in. I quickly ducked into the kitchen and flattened against the wall. Holy cow.

Manny’s Italian comes from his father’s side, and Manny liked to eat. Manny and his boys coming for Thursday dinner was a given. But how in the world did Consuela glom on to Manny’s crew? Was she making inroads with the neighbors? First Missy, now Manny? What were they telling her about me? What did they know?

The neighbors all thought I did data entry for Iniquus. They’ve run into my team from time to time, but I introduced them as my friends, which they are. Manny knows I shoot and do martial arts – I wracked my brain for any other information that would benefit Consuela. I didn’t think any of them knew I spoke anything but a little Italian…Shit. I hated this.

Think. Think. Tonight I had a full house. Good. That might help. Gater, Amy, Amy’s friend, Nicki, Deep, Ghianna, Manny, his two boys, and now Consuela. How can I get rid of her? I stirred my sauce manically, sloshing the tomatoes up the sides of the pot and splattering the wall.

Amy and Gater appeared in the kitchen, interrupting my thoughts. “Hey, do you need any help in here?” Gater asked.

“Yes, thanks. Can you open the wine and put the bottles on the table? Amy, would you grab some of the platters?” Amy picked up the antipasti and serving forks and moved to the dining room.

“You hiding out in here?” Gater whispered in my ear, as he twisted the corkscrew into the bottle.

“For as long as possible.” My hand trembled as I reached for the pasta pot. Why was I so unsteady? My brows drew together. What could she possibly do to me in a house full of people? My rational mind scolded my limbic system. The leopard purred arrogantly and swished a long lazy tail.

“Can you seat everyone and make sure you and Deep are on either side of Consuela at the far end of the table? Put the little boys up near me on the stools. They’ll make enough noise that I can seem distracted.”

“Wilco.” Gater popped the cork out of the second bottle and headed into the dining room.

I swirled my food in my plate. My stomach refused even a single bite, though the night seemed to be passing drama-free. Deep and Gater deflected the conversation into ankle-deep, banal waters whenever Consuela tried to take a plunge into some aspect of my life. She seemed especially intent on bringing up my homeschool days — my neighbors apparently
had
been talking. She wanted to chat about my teachers, and where I got my dogs, both of these things connected me to Spyder. Luckily, my neighbors didn’t know anything about him – well, that wasn’t true. Dave Murphy did. But he also knew how to keep his mouth shut.

Consuela spent the night annoying me by speaking in Spanish. I had to be cognizant of which language she spoke, so I wouldn’t respond either by word or facial expression to anything Spanish, as Spyder instructed. It was a lot of work and irritating as hell. Good God, but I’ve been swearing a lot lately. Stress…I couldn’t for the life of me figure out why Consuela was baiting me. What did it matter if I spoke Spanish or not?

Finally, Deep looked over at Consuela and asked, “Why do you keep talking to everyone in English but Lexi? She doesn’t know how to speak Spanish. Lexi’s second language is kitchen Italian. And if you ask me, she speaks it very well.”

“Hear, hear!” Manny raised his wine glass. “A toast to Lexi’s kitchen Italian!”

On that, I smiled and escaped to the kitchen to get the cannoli and coffee.

“Okay, all clear. Table tidied. Guests gone. You can stop hiding out in your kitchen now.” Amy burst through the door with a platter in her hand and a smile on her face. I put a finger to my lips and shook my head. Gater must have been thinking my same thoughts. He walked into the kitchen holding up the Tektronix to sweep for surveillance equipment. I gave him the thumbs up, and he went to work in the dining room. As I turned on the dishwasher, Gater walked in with a little gizmo resting on his palm. After showing me, he opened the dishwasher door, threw it in, and adjusted the setting to disinfect.

“That’s all of them?” I leaned my hips against the counter with a big exhale.

He glanced at the dishwasher. “You’re clean.”

For some reason this struck me as wildly funny, and I bent over laughing.

“Y’all are weird.” Amy shook her head with exasperation and went to get her coat from my hall closet.

***

“In Honduras?” I doodled leopard ears on my pad. I was talking on the phone with a linguistic professor who specialized in Latin America accents. “You’re sure she’s originally from Honduras? Okay, I’m taking notes … and the capital Tegucigalpa, specifically?” I asked.

I sent this guy declassified tapes three days ago with a bonus check if he prioritized my project. Maybe I had a starting point or maybe he just wanted his money – hard to tell from his voice alone. I should have Skyped. Well, at least I knew how I’d spend the rest of the day. I’d be searching Honduran vital records. Huh. Honduras. Sylanos was Columbian…

I lay in bed, lonely and wondering what Striker was doing. My mind went to dark, dangerous places as I remembered the tales Spyder had told me about their down-range assignments. I decided my own disaster was easier to deal with than thoughts of Striker in peril, or hurt, or…
Don’t you dare go there!

I derailed my Striker’s-in-mortal-danger thoughts with grim determination and locked onto today’s discoveries. According to Honduran Vital Statistics, Maria Castillo was born in the capital. Kudos to the professor; I have to say that was impressive. She had married there, too. Her husband’s last name was Rodriguez. Julio Rodriguez. Now
that
name was familiar to me. I’d researched Julio in the past - in connection with the Marcos Sylanos. Excitement bubbled in my veins. I had a new name to look for in American files, Maria Castillo Rodriguez; a new line to fish for information.

The piece of the Sylanos case I worked had to do with illegal arms distribution out of Colombia. Hmm. I needed information from the source, Spyder, but he was recuperating undercover in Somewhere, America. I could try to find him, but that might endanger both of us. I also thought about the high-security storage unit where I stowed Spyder’s things when he took off on assignment. I cosigned the contract so I had the key. Surely, the files I puzzled for him were still boxed up.

If that didn’t work, I’d try to get hold of the file Striker brought to the safe house. Just two little problems. First, Striker didn’t have a complete file; Spyder’s information proved much more comprehensive. Second, there was a good chance Iniquus had classified the file, and I hadn’t been read into that program. Come to think of it, Striker never told me what happened after I broke the case. I had never heard anything about Sylanos being taken down – surely that would have made the newspapers. So he didn’t get off on a technicality; he didn’t go to trial…I remembered my rat dream where they collared the beast and let the humongo thing go. Holy cow – they watched while Sylanos morphed into a Hydra. Anger and frustration vied for my attention – the battle of emotions raged loudly in my head

Twenty-One