Spy Games (19 page)

He shrugged. “It could be.”

Which meant it was.

“If we let one dirty PI get away with it, what happens to the system? Who’s safe?”

My turn to shrug. “So Canarino has the encrypted audio files.”

Van nodded. “When Canarino was arrested on weapons charges earlier, Wagner destroyed the wiretapping equipment and software. Only Canarino knows the key to decoding his files. We’ve spent nearly nine months trying to decode them without success. This is where your theory about the dongle comes in.” Van’s eyes lit up.

“In August, Canarino suffered a mild stroke in prison. While he was recuperating in the prison hospital, someone tried to kill him.”

“Nice,” I said.

“Canarino realized that someone was trying to guarantee his silence. If he dies, his secret dies with him. So he ‘let it slip,’” Van made quotes with his fingers, “that before his arrest, he had made a dongle that contains the key to the decoding algorithm. He’d entrusted an associate with it and should he die, his associate would turn it over to the cops. Now he’s shifted the balance of power.”

“But is he telling the truth?” I asked. “He could be bluffing. What if there is no
real
dongle? Only the fake one? You all could be searching for the Holy Grail. And I have no intention of swinging by my neck from the rafters with you for an imaginary item.”

Van looked puzzled by my ramblings.

“
Excalibur?
” I said. “King Arthur. There’s always a Mordred to mess up the plans and cause death and destruction.”

“I get it now. Slow down. We have verification of the dongle from other sources.”

“I hope you don’t mean me.”

He smiled. “More other sources.”

“Huff was the associate,” I said. “I was right.”

“Yes. We’ve been following him. When he registered for camp, I did, too.”

“So you’re not a math man at all?” I couldn’t hide the disappointment in my voice.

“I have a degree in mathematics and computer science. I was a lab rat for CRRU before I went into the field as a special agent. That’s why I’m on this case. Does that make you feel any better?”

“It might if I knew what CRRU was?” I rolled my eyes and muttered about people using industry specific acronyms and jargon and expecting everyone else to understand.

“Cryptanalysis and Racketeering Records Unit.”

“Good to know. Where is Huff now?”

“We don’t know.”

“I feel so safe,” I mumbled under my breath. “On to the plan then.”

Van swore me to secrecy. “This is where it gets fun.” He went on to describe a plan where I was indeed bait. “You play out the final day of camp like nothing has happened. We don’t think they’ll try to take you here again. Too risky.”

I nodded, but I didn’t necessarily agree.

“After our last session, the instructors will suggest we all go out for a celebration dinner at a prearranged restaurant. We’ll make it common knowledge that we’re going out and where we’re going. We’ll have you wired. We’ll have agents and law enforcement officers undercover everywhere. We’ll put you out in the open and wait for Goon, and Ket, to make their moves.”

I frowned. I didn’t like this plan. “You get a career-making case. But what do I get out of all this?”

“Protection twenty-four seven until we find the dongle.” He gave me a steely-eyed look as only a man with a black eye and an ice pack can. “Right or wrong, the bad guys believe you have the dongle. Until they either get it back or determine to their satisfaction you don’t have it, you won’t be safe.”

“For cripes sake,” I said, sounding more like Dutch by the minute. “But I don’t have the dongle. If they manage to steal me away somehow”—I gave him a look that said I thought it was definitely possible, “they’ll try to torture it out of me. And I’ll have no recourse. Because
I don’t have the dongle
! They’ll think I’m just being brave when I’d give it up in a heartbeat.”

“Drama queen. We won’t let them torture you,” he said.

I rolled my eyes and winced.

“We won’t.”

“Is that the same kind of ‘won’t’ as in I was safest here at camp?”

“Trust me.”

“I’m not overly trusting of cops,” I said, giving him a steely look of my own. “And you’ve got a bad track record of lying to me since we met. Plus, if you guys were so sharp, why didn’t you know about the dongle in the bathroom?”

Van looked sheepish again. “We knew about the dongle in the bathroom. We swapped it out and replaced it with a fake—”

“You what? You…you…” Words and epithets failed me.

“We were guarding you.”

I shot him a look that told him what I thought of their protection.

“I just got word from our cryptanalysists at CRRU this afternoon. The dongle Huff gave you was a sophisticated fake,” Van continued, unfazed. “What we don’t know is why they think you still have the real one.”

“Does it matter?” I asked.

“Not to me. Not if you go along with my plan.”

I considered my options. I didn’t have any, only bargaining chips. “Only if you promise me that you’ll stick with my case until you catch Ket.”

“Hey, the bastard tried to run me down. I want him, too.”

“You’ll put out an APB on him? You’ll plaster his picture in post offices?”

“He isn’t exactly one of the ten most wanted.”

“He’s my number one,” I said.

“Goon’s worse,” Van said. “He should be your number one.”

“He only wants the dongle and then he goes away,” I countered.

“Goon’s a hired killer. He has mafia connections behind him. You don’t want to mess with the men paying him. You don’t want to mess with him.”

“Are you trying to scare me off?” I frowned at him.

Van held his hands up in a “no contest” kind of gesture. “Just saying.”

“You can’t get Ket on post office walls?”

“I don’t have that kind of power. But I’ll bring him in and do everything in my power to see he’s locked up for the maximum the law allows. What do you say?”

I believed the resolve in his voice. “Do I have a choice?”

Van called several of his agents back to the room and made me repeat to them everything that had happened to me since arriving at camp.

“We’ll need to go through your car and everything you have with you at camp again,” he said.

“Again?”

Van had the decency to look sheepish a second time. “You can cooperate or we can get a warrant.”

I waved him off. “Fine. Go ahead and look.”

I hesitated. “Are you going to tell me what you find?”

“I’ll tell you what I can.”

“Cop-out.” I gave Van’s guys my key card and the password to the in-room safe. “You’ll send someone right out to protect my family?” My voice broke and it took me a minute to get control back. “If Ket gets desperate enough, he’ll go after them. And the bad guys…”

“We’ve got someone on it already.”

The team dispersed.

“FSC has arranged for an armed escort back to the hotel when we’re ready for you,” Van said.

“You mean when your team’s finished pawing through my belongings.”

“Yeah.” He was packing up to leave.

“Tell them to paw gently and clean up after themselves. I’ve seen the cop shows. They manhandle the shoes and they’re gone.”

“Sure.”

“Liar.”

He smiled and turned to go.

I caught his arm. The startled, optimistic look he gave at my touch was almost enough to thaw my anger. Almost.

“I want to leave before the press does. Get me out to the car while the cameras are rolling.”

“You don’t want to avoid the press?”

Almost subconsciously, I rubbed my big, fat goose egg. “Not this time. I’m not Ket’s girl anymore. And I’m not modeling, making my living on my looks. I don’t have a perfect professional image to protect.” I gave him a pleading look, begging him to understand. “I want people to see what he did. I want them to know who to blame. I don’t want to be afraid.”

He stared at me for a long minute. “Don’t say anything that will compromise the case.”

“Wouldn’t dare.”

“You didn’t hear that from me.”

“I never even talked to you.”

When it was time to leave, Van came to get me in the “sick” room where I’d been resting. To preserve his cover, he was riding back with the rest of us.

“We’re ready to go. The reporters are still out there waiting for fresh blood.” He gave me a look that asked if I’d changed my mind about braving them.

“I’m ready.”

His gaze flicked over me, and it wasn’t exactly the most appreciative, lusty gaze I’ve ever received. “Do you want to freshen up first?”

“I want them to see me exactly as he left me.”

“Preserve the evidence?”

“My VC is always nagging me to keep a victim’s diary. Let them have a photo essay.”

“Let’s go then. War wants to meet with everyone in the lobby before we leave.”

“What about?”

“Another discussion on whether we should continue to sally on with our camp.” Van paused. “We need you to insist that you want to come back for the final day.”

I nodded. I wasn’t real keen on being on my own quite yet, anyway. Not with Ket and Goon on the loose.

“The new security guys are fresh from the security company and we’ve checked them out. No Goon.”

I gave him a half smile. “Good.”

“They’ll be guarding our floor at the hotel all night.”

“Good PR stunt,” I said.

“My guys will be watching us, too.” Van touched my arm. “Thought you’d want to know. We found the real security guy locked in the trunk of his parked car in a grocery store lot near his home.”

“Is he?”

“Shaken up, but fine. Ready?”

Our meeting with War lasted only minutes. We all quickly agreed to come back.

War introduced our bodyguards. “This is Bob. And this is Bob.”

Tall, sturdy, no necks. Sunglasses. Black tees and jeans. They looked like guys you’d hire from Bodyguards and Bouncers R Us, Hollywood office. Next time War could hire Pete and Re-Pete.

War turned the show over to the Bobs. Bob and Other Bob gave us instructions on how to safely get to the bus. We formed up and prepared to move out with Bob and Bob flanking us.

I took off my jacket. I’d been huddled in it ever since War had brought it to me in sickbay. I shivered.

“Put that back on. It’s cool out there and you’re still in shock.” Van gave me a stern look.

I shook my head and glanced down at my bare right arm where a handsome set of welts in the shape of Ket’s hand had formed, underlined by the distinctive purple of bruising. “When we go out, stand on my left. I want the reporters to see this arm. Ket’s handprint is so clear, there’s no way they could miss it.”

It was hard to peg the look Van gave me. Kind of a mixture of sympathy and pride. “They’ll be in our faces. They know who Ket is. And you. And Cliff and Jim. Everyone here but Steve and me are high-profile fodder for the story.”

“You’re high profile. You’re the hero, the knight in shining armor of this tale.” I don’t know why I said that. I was still mad at him. I took a deep breath. “Anyway, I’m counting on the fodder. You can stop trying to talk me out of this now.”

Bob and Bob got the group of us moving.

“Let them see your good side,” I whispered to Van.

“My good side has a black eye.”

“That’s the side I mean.”

Flanked by Bob and Other Bob, we stepped out into a crush of reporters, who let their questions fly rapid-fire. Some at me. Some at Cliff. Some at Jim. Some at Van. Steve, they pretty much ignored. And it may have been my imagination, but Steve seemed steamed by that.

Given a day or two, my cognitive powers would have returned to normal, but at the current moment, I was still finding it hard to think straight and focus on the questions directed at me. Mostly, I just cued in on my name and took it from there. Ahead of me, Cliff was trying to steal the show, to the point of breaking with the pack and being herded back in by Bob and Other Bob. Cliff blatantly played the PR card for his upcoming film, answering questions that weren’t even his with answers that extolled the virtue of his soon-to-be shooting movie.

“Ms. Peterson? Reilly?” A local female reporter I recognized from the five o’clock news stuck a mic in my face. “What happened in there?”

Bob, or maybe it was Other Bob, brushed her back.

I tucked my head down. “I can’t comment on that.”

“We heard your ex-boyfriend Ket Brooks tried to abduct you?” someone else shouted.

I neither denied nor verified.

“Did he hurt you?” Still another reporter.

I turned my full face to the bank of reporters long enough for the photographers to get a clear shot of it and my arm, and then looked down and away.

“What were you doing at Fantasy Spy Camps?” another reporter yelled.

“Vacationing.”

“This session teaches participants self-defense, close quarter combat, and hostage rescue techniques. Do you find that ironic? Is that why you’re here? Were you afraid of Brooks?”

I teared up a bit. “No comment.”

“How did you escape?”

Van was walking next to me. I touched his arm, did a Nell looking at Dudley Do-right, and flashed him a “my hero” look. “No comment.”

“Were you afraid for your life? Did you fight back?”

I reached the shuttle bus steps. “I used what I learned here at FSC.”

It was rush hour. The radio news—traffic, news, and weather every fifteen minutes—repeated the day’s top story. Ket Brooks, celebrity trainer to the stars, was wanted for the attempted kidnapping of his former girlfriend, former UW fastpitch star pitcher and sports model Reilly Peterson, and an attempted vehicular homicide for trying to run down her rescuer, math professor Van Keller.

By the time we got back to the hotel, the story was blaring all over the five o’clock news. Bob and Other Bob escorted us through another rabid pack of reporters and back to our rooms.

Van and I were the last to be dropped off. As we reached our side-by-side doors, Cayla popped her head out from her door across the hall.

“So it’s true! Look at you two.” Her gaze flicked over Van and she suppressed a wince, her thoughts written all over her face. He definitely wasn’t as pretty as he used to be. She may as well have clucked her tongue.

Her gaze bounced to me and she flashed me her sympathetic look. When she shook her head, her myriad of beaded necklaces rustled. “At least you’re all right.” She smiled at Van. “You’re being hailed a hero.”

“Yeah, he’s my hero.”

Cayla looked taken aback by the obvious sarcasm in my voice. “Didn’t he—”

“Yeah, he saved me.”

Next to me, Van did his half-face grin.

“I didn’t think you’d be coming back to the hotel tonight.” Cayla looked uncertainly between us and then at Bob and Other Bob.

“We have protection.” I nodded toward the two security guys. I’d memorized Bob and Other Bob’s every facial detail on the bus ride back. No more switcheroo for me. Not that Goon could ever do a convincing impression of either of those two pieces of beefcake. “Meet our bodyguards.” I introduced them.

“And as an added bonus, the hotel has beefed up security and the cops will be making extra rounds by here tonight. We’ll all be safer than we’ve ever been.” Where had I heard that before?

Van paused at his door, watching my conversation. We hadn’t spoken on the ride back.

Cayla looked over my two hunky bodyguards, sizing them up as potential jewelry customers and one-night stands.

Bob and Other Bob were a little too buff for my personal tastes. And a little too strong-silent-type, heavy on the silent. Under normal circumstances, she was welcome to them. But tonight I needed them on duty and standing between me and the Grim Reaper dressed as Ket or Goon.

Cayla ogled the Bobs as she spoke to me, putting out some strong come-hither vibes. Cayla was attractive in her own heavily bejeweled Sweet Gypsy Rose way, rings on her fingers and bells on her toes. She actually didn’t have the bells on her toes…yet, anyway. Maybe one of the Bobs would go for her. Stranger things have happened.

“If there’s anything I can do for you?” Cayla said.

“No. Thanks.” I answered for all of us, even though the guys might have had other ideas.

Cayla bobbed her head up and down, but made no move to retreat into her room. Maybe she was still hoping for an opportunity to slip the Bobs her number.

There was an awkward pause while we all stood silently in the hall. I glanced at the Bobs. As soon as I was safely in my room, they were free to go about their business and protect life, liberty, and the American way, not to mention the hall. Kind of like the guards at Buckingham Palace, they weren’t moving or smiling, simply standing and guarding. Maybe once I was inside my room they’d turn into total cut-ups. Maybe it was only in the presence of the guardee that they had to act like statues. They were probably eager to be on their way. I glanced at my door.

I really, really did not want to be alone in my room. Not with two very real boogeymen after me. I had the same creepy feeling I’d had as a kid when, against my parents’ orders, I’d watched the old horror flick,
The Shining
. It’s pretty scary when your dad goes psycho and tries to kill you. It’s not so different when your boyfriend does the same and could show up with an ax at any minute.

Van stalled at his door, too, waiting for me to go into mine. Which only irritated me. I made a flicking motion, indicating that he should head on in. He ignored it.

I rubbed my red, raw wrists. Goon’s binding hadn’t been kind to them.

Cayla lingered, watching the action, or rather inaction, and looking like she wanted to say something more to me. Maybe like did I know the Bobs’ numbers?

So there we were, standing in the hallway, staring at each other. Very boring. Someone had to say or do something.

Cayla spoke up first. “You poor thing. Your wrists look horrible. I have some nice lotion that might help. And some beautiful bracelets that would hide those wrists. Hypoallergenic. Just the thing. Want to come in and see?” She motioned me to her room.

If I hadn’t been so desperate not to be alone, or so curious as to what Cayla had to say that she obviously couldn’t in the hall, I might have declined. The sudden, ridiculous image of me emerging from her room wearing huge cuff bracelets like Wonderwoman almost scared me off.

I turned to my bodyguards, sounding a little overeager. “Thanks, boys. You can go now. I’ll just be across the hall.”

Van had been watching the whole exchange. He shook his head.

Cayla had my arm.

“We’ll wait out here until you’re finished,” Bob said.

“I will, too.” Van leaned against his door.

“You, go in your room. Get some rest.” My words said one thing. My tone said go to hell.

Cayla’s eyebrows shot up.

“I won’t be long,” I said to Bob and Other Bob, and followed Cayla in, leaving the door open.

Cayla got me the lotion. Pink, with a nice sweet pea scent. Reminded me of my mother’s scented lotion obsession. As I put it on, Cayla dragged out one of her large cases of jewelry and laid it on the bed. “Van and you and a picture of your old boyfriend have been all over the news.” Cayla picked up a bracelet she thought might work and handed it to me.

I nodded. The bracelet wasn’t half bad. I tried it on and admired my wrist.

“All the Cindy Lous agree. They’d remember seeing a man as handsome as your ex.”

I snorted. I hadn’t thought of Ket as handsome for a long time. Now I mostly thought of him as the Source of All Evil. And evil, once exposed, isn’t all that pretty. “You’re telling me no one’s seen Ket?”

She nodded. “No one. I don’t know where he got that necklace, but it wasn’t from us.” She paused significantly.

“Yes?”

“Well, you know what
is
odd? I did a little sleuthing of my own, trying to find out who all had sold the black and crystal necklace you were asking about?”

I paused in my perusal of the jewelry and looked at her. Cayla was sharper and nosier than I’d given her credit for. “Uh-huh.”

“Only one person has sold one all conference. Linda Small. She sold it to your friend Steve on Monday.” Cayla walked to her dresser and returned with a business card in hand. “Here’s her card. In case you want to talk to her.”

I took it, frowning. Wondering the same as Cayla at the coincidence. “Thank you.”

“It’s the least I could do.”

“Don’t mention this to anyone else. Please.” I gave her a sharp look.

She got my message. “Never.”

Ten minutes later, I walked out of Cayla’s room humming “Hello, sweet pea, won’t you dance with me,” and wearing two cuff bracelets that weren’t all that Wonderwoman-like and looking pretty decent. I carried two of Cayla’s business cards and had Linda Small’s in my pocket.

Back in the hall, Van had ignored my command and was chatting with Bob and Other Bob, who evidently weren’t mutes after all. The three were all having a jolly time. I felt a twinge of jealousy. I wanted the Bobs to like me better. Like me better, guard me better. Or so my reasoning went. And I wanted Van to…