Reach For the Spy (43 page)
Authors: Diane Henders
Tags: #thriller, #suspense, #espionage, #canada, #science fiction, #canadian, #technological, #spy, #hardboiled, #women sleuths, #calgary, #alberta
“What have you done?” I
could read the anguish in his eyes now.
“How does it feel?” I
asked him softly. “Imagine what John’s father went through when you
told him his son was dead.”
Stemp’s face twisted, a
shocking change from his usual emotionless facade. His knuckles
whitened on the gun as he surged forward over the desk. “What have
you done to Anna?”
I frowned. “I don’t
know who you’re talking about.”
“Don’t play games with
me! What have you done to my daughter?”
As I stared blankly up
into the tortured eyes of a man who’d lost his child, my stomach
churned with slow nausea. I hadn’t known they had a child. He’d
been in Bulgaria for the first time seven years ago. She’d be about
six years old. Maybe younger. My throat closed up.
“I’m sorry,” I
whispered.
“
What have you done
to my daughter?
” His voice was raw agony, the gun shaking in
his hand.
He understood Doug
Kane’s pain better than I ever could. I couldn’t believe I’d done
this to him. Making him suffer wouldn’t atone for the pain of the
people I cared about, it only made things worse. More suffering in
the world.
“I haven’t done
anything,” I told him shakily. “Katya is fine. Anna is fine. Nobody
knows they exist. I’ll never tell anybody they exist. They’re safe.
I never said I’d done anything. You just assumed.”
I sucked in an unsteady
breath. “I thought I wanted you to suffer the way you’d made others
suffer. I was wrong. It was petty and vicious and I’m sorry. I
would never, ever hurt a person by hurting somebody they love.”
He sank back into his
chair, breathing heavily. We watched each other in silence.
At last, he drew a long
breath. “Why stop torturing me so quickly? You warned me you’d make
me pay. You would have killed me without a qualm if you’d had
bullets last week.”
“I thought it was
necessary last week. I’ll do what has to be done, but I can’t...
won’t... cause unnecessary suffering.”
“Neither will I.” We
met each other’s eyes again, and his face composed itself into its
usual emotionless mask. “That was stupid,” he said.
“Yes. It was. I’m
sorry.”
“I didn’t mean it was
stupid of you to want me to suffer. That, I understand.” He put his
gun away. “I meant it was stupid of you to admit you hadn’t hurt
them. And it was stupid of you to admit you’ll behave honourably no
matter what. You just gave up all your leverage.”
I slouched down in the
chair and rubbed my aching temples. “Leverage is useless if you
don’t have the balls to use it. I obviously don’t.”
“That’s not necessarily
a bad trait,” he said quietly. “But you realize your knowledge of
my weak spots gives me another reason to make sure your project,
and you, get terminated as soon as possible.”
I blew out a long,
exhausted breath as I got up and turned toward the door. “You don’t
need another reason to kill me. This is just a reason to enjoy
giving the order.”
His voice stopped me as
my hand touched the doorknob. “I won’t, you know.” He sounded very
tired.
I turned to face him.
“Won’t what?”
His weary eyes met
mine. “I won’t enjoy giving the order. When the time comes.”
I thought that over for
a moment and gave him a short nod. “Thanks.”
I let myself out.
A Request
Thanks for
reading!
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Books in the NEVER SAY SPY
series:
Book 11: To be
released early 2016
Henders
More books coming! For
a current list, please visit
www.dianehenders.com
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About Me
By profession, I’m a
technical writer, computer geek, and ex-interior designer. I’m good
at two out of three of these things. I had the sense to quit the
one I sucked at.
To deal with my
mid-life crisis, I also write adventure novels featuring a
middle-aged female protagonist. And I kickbox.
This seemed more
productive than indulging in more typical mid-life crisis
activities like getting a divorce, buying a Harley Crossbones, and
cruising across the country picking up men in sleazy bars.
Especially since it’s winter most of the months of the year
here.
It’s much more
comfortable to sit at my computer. And hell, Harleys are expensive.
Come to think of it, so are beer and gasoline.
Oh, and I still love my
husband. There’s that. So I’ll stick with the writing.
Diane Henders
People frequently ask
if my protagonist, Aydan Kelly, is really me.
Yeah, you got me. These
novels are an autobiography of my secret life as a government
agent, working with highly-classified computer technology… Oh,
wait, what’s that? You want the
truth
? Um, you do realize
fiction writers get paid to lie, don’t you?
…well, shit, that’s not
nearly as much fun. It’s also a long story.
I swore I’d never write
fiction. “Too personal,” I said. “People read novels and
automatically assume the author is talking about him/herself.”
Well, apparently I lied
about the fiction-writing part. One day a story sprang into my head
and wouldn’t leave. The only way to get it out was to write it
down. So I did.
But when I wrote that
first book, I never intended to show it to anyone, so I created a
character that looked like me just to thumb my nose at the
stereotype. I’ve always had a defective sense of humour, and this
time it turned around and bit me in the ass.
Because after I’d
written the third novel, I realized I actually wanted other people
to read my books. And when I went back to change my main character
to
not
look like me, my beta readers wouldn’t let me. They
rose up against me and said, “No! Aydan is a tall woman with long
red hair and brown eyes. End of discussion!”
Jeez, no wonder readers
get the idea that authors write about themselves. So no, I’m not
Aydan Kelly. I just look like her.
Here’s the beginning of
Book 4: Tell Me No Spies
I suppressed a curse
and furtively shifted the concealed holster to a more comfortable
spot at my waist, rearranging my sweatshirt over it. A tension
headache pounded sullenly at the base of my skull.
The vibration of my
phone made me start, and I snapped a glance over my shoulder before
I snatched it up.
I could barely hear the
whisper on the other end. “Aydan, can you stall him for a few more
minutes?”
“How long?” I hissed.
“What’s wrong?”
“We just need a few
more minutes to get everybody into position.”
“I’ll try.” I punched
the disconnect button with more force than absolutely necessary.
Why the hell did I let myself get sucked into this?
I knotted my fists in
my hair and tugged, but quickly desisted when the door latch
released behind me. Trying to look relaxed, I leaned back in the
chair and stretched my legs out. The security guard glanced my way
and I gave him a quick smile, heart thumping.
At the sound of
footsteps, I turned my smile toward my quarry as I stood. “All
finished?”
“Yes.” He stretched,
grimacing. “Long day.” He made for the door.
“Hang on a second,” I
blurted.
“What?” He shifted from
foot to foot, obviously eager to leave.
“Um...”
Goddammit, what could I
say to stall him? My mind was completely blank. The silence began
to stretch. His forehead creased ever so slightly and his eyes
darted toward the door.
Think, think,
dammit!
Absolutely no
inspiration came to mind.
Shit!
I did my best sheepish
laugh and slapped my forehead. “Forgot what I was going to say.
Sorry, you’re right, it’s been a long day.”
He let out a short
laugh and turned away again. “See you.”
As he disappeared out
the door, I whisked my phone out and hit the speed dial. Still
attempting nonchalance, I wandered out of the building, raising a
farewell hand to the security guard.
The phone rang
interminably at the other end while I muttered, “Pick up, dammit,
pick up!” When I finally heard the whisper on the other end, I
snapped, “He’s on his way!”
“Crap! Can you get here
before him?”
“I’ll try.”
When I was sure nobody
was watching, I launched myself into a silent sprint toward my
car.
I lunged into the
driver’s seat and swore violently when the door slammed on my long
hair and nearly dislocated my neck. I wasted precious seconds
opening and closing the door to free myself. The tires chirped on
the still-warm asphalt as I stomped on the gas.
Minutes later, my car
skidded to a halt in the gravelled alley and I dashed through the
twilight to let myself in the back gate. I spun at the last second
to catch it before it banged behind me, then flew across the yard.
As I reached the top step, the door to the darkened house opened. A
disembodied hand yanked me inside.
My eyes hadn’t adjusted
to the dimness, and I allowed myself to be towed rapidly through
the house. A jerk on my arm made me duck behind the sofa just as
the scrape of the front door key sounded, loud in the listening
silence.
***End of Tell Me No Spies, Chapter 1 excerpt***
