The Spy Is Cast
Authors: Diane Henders
Tags: #thriller, #suspense, #mystery, #espionage, #canada, #science fiction, #canadian, #technological, #spy, #hardboiled, #women sleuths, #spicy, #spy stories, #calgary, #alberta
Book 2 of the NEVER SAY
SPY series
By Diane Henders
Published October 2011
by PEBKAC Publishing
Smashwords Edition
v.9
ISBN
978-0-9878188-5-0
The town of Silverside
and all secret technologies are products of my imagination. If I’m
abducted by grim-faced men wearing dark glasses, or if I die in an
unexplained fiery car crash, you’ll know I accidentally came a
little too close to the truth.
This is a work of
fiction. All of the characters, organizations, and events portrayed
in this novel are products of my imagination or are used
fictitiously. Any resemblance to persons living or dead is entirely
coincidental.
Please respect my hard
work by complying with copyright laws. This e-book is licensed for
your personal enjoyment only. You may not resell this e-book under
any circumstances.
Thank you for
reading!
Copyright © 2011 Diane
Henders
All rights reserved,
including the right to reproduce this book, or portions thereof, in
any form.
SPY series:
Book 1: Never Say
Spy
Book 2: The Spy Is
Cast
Book 3: Reach For The
Spy
Book 4: Tell Me No
Spies
Book 5: How Spy I
Am
Book 6: A Spy For A
Spy
Book 7: Spy, Spy
Away
Book 8: Spy Now, Pay
Later
Book 9: Spy High
Book 10: To be released
2015
Henders
Probably
Inappropriate
Definitely
Inappropriate
Totally
Inappropriate
More books coming! For
a current list, please visit
www.dianehenders.com
Or sign up for my New
Book Notification list at
For Phill
Thank you for being my
technical advisor and the most tolerant husband ever. Much
love!
To my beta
readers/editors, especially Carol H., Judy B., and Phill B., with
gratitude:
Many thanks for all your time and effort in catching
my spelling and grammar errors, telling me when I screwed up the
plot or the characters’ motivations, and generally keeping me
honest.
To Rick and Sandy H. at Hand Crafted Images:
Your talent
makes my covers extra-special, and your sense of humour makes photo
sessions fun even for a camera-hater like me. Thank you!
To Steve A. and the
staff at The Shooting Edge:
Thank you for lending us your
excellent facilities for our cover photo sessions. You guys
rock!
To Doug S. and the
staff at Glenmore Audi:
Many thanks for giving me the thrill of
sitting in a real Audi R8, and for letting us use your showroom for
our cover photo sessions!
To everyone else,
respectfully:
If you find any
typographical errors in this book, please send an email to
[email protected]
.
Mistakes drive me nuts, and I’m sorry if any slipped through.
Please let me know what the error is, and on which page (or at
which position in e-versions). I’ll make sure it gets fixed as soon
as possible. Thanks!
The ring of the phone
made me swear. Extricating one arm and half my face from the toilet
tank, I stumbled over the tools strewn on the floor. On the fourth
ring, I snatched up the receiver with a dripping hand just as my
answering machine kicked in.
“Hang on,” I advised
the caller, waiting for the message to finish playing. I held the
phone to my ear with my shoulder and dried my hands on my baggy
jeans while I waited.
“Hello?” I inquired
when the line was clear.
“Is this Aydan
Kelly?”
“Speaking.”
“Aydan, it’s Clyde
Webb calling…”
“Spider!” I
interrupted, smiling. “How the hell are you?”
He sounded pleased.
“You remembered!”
“Of course I
remembered. You never forget your first.”
“Your first what?” he
asked warily.
“The first guy you hit
‘til he pukes. I still feel bad about that.”
He laughed. “It’s
okay, it wasn’t your fault… but, uh… about that…” His voice took on
a wheedling note. “Aydan, how would you like to go to a gala
affair? Dining and dancing, fabulous food and drink, rubbing
shoulders with the cream of society?”
I looked down at my
sweaty T-shirt and grubby jeans. “Um, Spider, I think you’ve got
the wrong number.”
“No, I haven’t,” he
insisted. “It would be a thank-you for all you did for us back in
March. You deserve a luxurious evening out!”
“Spider…” I paused,
trying to be tactful. “I hate dressing up. I hate crowds. I hate
making small talk with strangers. And I hate to remind you, but I’m
the same age as your mother.” I thumped my forehead with my free
hand. I don’t really do tact well.
“Oh, I wasn’t asking
you to go with me. Although I’d be proud to go with you,” he added
gallantly.
I laughed. He was such
a nice kid. Well, twenty-something. Not really a kid.
“Okay, what’s this
about, then?” I asked.
“I’m asking you to go
with Kane.”
“What, you’re Kane’s
social secretary now? Tell him he can ask me himself. He’s a big
boy.”
I grinned, remembering
tall, muscular John Kane with salacious appreciation. He was
definitely a big boy. Too bad I’d never gotten the opportunity to
find out exactly how big.
“Oh, he doesn’t know
I’m asking you,” Spider replied.
“Whoa, hold on,
Spider. What’s really going on?” I asked, instantly suspicious.
“I can’t tell you over
the phone,” he confessed. “I was hoping you’d be able to meet me.
It’s important.”
I churned my free hand
through my tangled hair, pulling the elastic out of my ponytail and
yanking the knots out of the curly bits at the nape of my neck.
“Important, as in ‘national security’ important?”
“I really can’t talk
about it over the phone,” he repeated.
I sighed. “Okay. Where
and when do you want to meet?”
“Can you meet
now?”
“Why, are you standing
on my front step?”
“No,” he replied
sheepishly. “I meant, how soon can you get here?”
“I presume ‘here’
means your office in Silverside?”
“Yes. Sorry, I’m just…
Can you come? I hate to bother you, but it’s…”
“Important. Yeah, I
got that. Okay,” I agreed reluctantly. “It’ll take me about half an
hour to get there, though. Unless you really want me to show up in
the same clothes that I wore to fix the toilet.”
“Um, no.” He sounded
uncomfortable. “Business attire would be better.”
“What the hell,
Spider?” I demanded. “Business attire? Since when?”
“Just… can you?
Please?”
“Okay, for you. I’m on
my way.”
I hung up the phone,
frowning. The disorganized and stilted conversation was so unlike
Spider that a tingle of apprehension made me hurry to my
closet.
I scowled at my
business clothes, hanging clean and pressed, neatly organized by
colour.
I really hate dressing
up.
I swallowed a growl
and stripped off my dirty clothes, yanking on a pair of slim
cream-coloured pants and a short-sleeved green blouse.
Doing a quick mirror
check, I flapped my hair up and down in an attempt to dry some of
the sweat, and reassured myself the blouse adequately camouflaged
the extra ten pounds around my waist.
Someday I’d lose
that.
Right.
I dragged a brush
through my hair and decided to leave it loose. If Spider thought I
needed to dress up, it probably meant I’d be meeting somebody
important. My long red hair was my best feature. Well, mostly red.
The grey wasn’t too noticeable yet.
I put on a pair of
flat shoes and stuffed my waist pouch inside one of my enormous
handbags. Normally I wore the waist pouch everywhere, but even I
didn’t have enough chutzpah to defy the fashion police and wear it
with business clothes.
On my way across the
yard I slicked on a bit of tinted lip gloss, managing to keep it in
the general vicinity of my lips.
Despite my growing
sense of urgency I let my steps slow while I enjoyed the view. I’d
moved onto my farm in March when everything was winter-brown, and
the greens of July were still a delightful novelty. I let my eyes
rest on the long vista of rolling farmland and took a deep breath
of country-fresh air before hurrying into my beloved four-car
garage, patting the hoods of my automotive friends as I passed.
My faithful ’98 Saturn
waited in the last bay, and I skimmed my fingertips over its front
quarter panel as I made my way to the driver’s door. The local body
guy had done an excellent job. You’d never know there had been a
bullet hole in it.
Turning off my gravel
road onto the pavement, I headed for town, curiosity warring with
nervousness. The last time I’d gotten involved with these guys it
had cost me in blood. Spider’s agitated demeanour hadn’t reassured
me one bit.
In the tiny town of
Silverside I navigated through the two-block business district and
turned into the semi-residential area that housed Spider’s and
Kane’s shared office. Pulling up in front of the small house, I
swallowed a faint queasy sensation.
In the summer, the
yard was mowed and well-tended. Perennial shrubs framed the house
and accented the modest sign that read ‘Kane Consulting’ and
‘Spider’s Webb Design’. It looked welcoming and benign. I wasn’t
fooled.
I took a deep breath
before walking up to the front door. Tapping the knocker, I stuck
my head inside. The shared office space in the converted
living/dining area was empty but I went in anyway, calling out a
hello.
Spider appeared from
down the hallway, his tall skinny body and lanky limbs clad in a
dark suit, blue shirt, and tie. My mouth fell open.
“Who are you and what
have you done with Spider?” I ribbed him.
He grinned and
twitched his shoulders in a nervous shrug. “Aydan, it’s great to
see you. You look great. As usual.” He gave me a quick, awkward
hug. “How are you?”
“I’m fine,” I replied.
“You?”
“Great!”
I frowned. “I keep
hearing the word ‘great’. Why does that make me nervous?”
He shuffled his feet.
“We need to go into our meeting now. Would you like something to
drink?”
“Just a glass of
water, please.” My trepidation cranked up a notch while I waited
for him to return from the kitchen. Something was definitely
up.
He handed me the glass
and ushered me down the hallway to the converted bedroom that
served as a meeting room. I paused in the doorway, surveying its
two occupants.
