Spy Games (11 page)

After a brief consultation with the police, the FSC staff announced that camp would resume the next day for those who were interested. I was just cynical enough to think that shutting down would make FSC look like sissies and do major bottom-line damage. Excitement and danger were, after all, their business.

As it turned out, all of us were interested in continuing our camp experience. More out of morbid curiosity than anything else, I thought. And possibly out of a desire to learn a few extra self-defense techniques in case the killer came calling again.

War and staff were fully cooperating with the cops. They turned over all their security tapes, etc. And War promised that he was consulting with the police and his security experts to beef up security so that this could
not
happen again. Although he kept a surface cool, it was easy enough for the casual observer to discern that the fact that murder most foul had happened on his watch at his camp infuriated and puzzled him. He didn’t like being made a fool. My take—though exciting and adding a touch of realism, a dead body was basically bad for business.

But, as Van said with a touch of rhyme and the logic of Garp, “We’re probably the safest we can be at FSC. What are the odds of another dead body turning up at camp?”

I wondered. I also wondered if one of us was a murderer.

One good thing
had
resulted—the cops put out a missing person bulletin on Huff. Although whether they viewed him as a person of interest or another vic, I couldn’t say.

The bus ride back to the hotel was quiet. Speculation and gossip had been wrung to death in the break room. Now people were exhausted. I know I was. We each retreated to our own thoughts. Mine ran toward retrieving that flash drive I’d hidden for Huff. With his disappearance, and Jay’s murder…well, I don’t know, it just seemed like the drive might mean something, give some clue. Did that mean I’d told the cops about it? No.

Why?

Because they hadn’t asked. Childlike and obtuse, maybe. But there you had my logic.

I wasn’t sure the drive meant anything anyway. Once I had it back in my possession, if I got it back, then I’d decide.

Steve pushed past Van as we got off the bus and took up residence next to me. I had nothing against Steve. But I had nothing for him, either. I definitely preferred Van to him.

Steve began chattering in my ear as we entered the hotel lobby.

I nodded along to his drivel as we strode into the lobby, wondering how I could ditch him. “Holy cow!” I said on seeing the lobby.

The Cindy Lous had completely taken over. Banners, posters, pictures of jewelry, information desks, and tons of jewelry displays and flowers everywhere. Not to mention more bedazzled, bejeweled women wearing more costume jewelry than I’d seen in a lifetime. The Cindy Lous covered the sofas, the chairs, the ottomans, and filled the lobby with the buzz of female-pitched voices.

“It’s an explosion of glass beads and rhinestones in here,” I said.

Beside me Steve scowled. “I hate Cindy Lous.”

“You know them?” I asked, feeling afresh like a piece of meat as dozens of pairs of customer-calculating eyes spotted a completely unjeweled me.

“My ex is a self-centered bitch in every form of the word,” Steve said with all of the passion of love gone bad. “Even in entertaining. She
loves
to throw a party. But only if she’s the center of attention and walks away with free goodies and half-priced hostess gifts—candles, makeup, jewelry…” He trailed off, looking dazed. “She drove me crazy and bled me dry.”

“You could always sue for half,” I said helpfully.

Steve rolled his eyes.

Having had the pleasure of a Cindy Lou encounter earlier, Van avoided any eye contact with them. He stopped next to me and grabbed my arm. “Stick with me and I’ll get you to safety.”

Which sounded like a good plan to me.

Not to be outdone, Steve grabbed my other arm. “After a day like this, I could use a drink. Stiff one.” He smiled at me, ignoring Van on my left. “You look like you could use one, too. Buy you one?”

Steve’s tone sounded suspiciously friendly, like a drink was a prelude to a flirt or an ask-out for dinner and a date, or a quick screw if he could get it. He was a lonely, bitter divorced guy. The kind of man I wanted nothing to do with. But I’d been plotting on the entire bus ride home how to get to the ladies’ room in the bar without drawing attention to myself. And Steve had just handed me a golden opportunity.

Van’s hand scorched on my left arm. He was one hot man. Life would have been perfect if he’d been the one to ask. “Can you match him? One drink or best offer?” I whispered to him.

He leaned in and whispered into my ear, “I thought it was too dangerous to be alone with you?”

“That’s why I’m asking. Let’s make it a group encounter.”

Van arched a brow and glanced over at Steve, who still had a death grip on my arm. “Three would be a crowd. I’ll pass.”

“You have a death wish for Steve?” I whispered back to him.

Van smiled and dropped my arm. “I’ll join you with the rest of the gang for dinner. See you both in the restaurant later.”

Steve nodded to Van. “Later.”

I turned back to Steve. “Let’s ask the others to join us. We’re safer in groups.”

“No worries. The hotel’s completely safe. War notified security.” He looked smug.

I was not so confident in security’s ability to keep me safe and secure.

Van was still standing beside as he waited for the others to catch up. “Good luck,” he whispered, looking amused, then headed for the elevators and safety.

Peewee, Cliff, and Jim followed on his heels, diving through the crowd with scowls on their faces to ward off any brave jewelry ladies.

Steve smiled and, taking my arm, led me to the bar.

“What would you like?” he asked me as we settled in at a small table.

“Anything with rum, except rum and Coke,” I said, for once not in the mood for a drink that doubled as dessert. Rum was my poison of choice, but Coke ruined the flavor.

A cocktail waitress appeared, left the little napkins, and took our order.

I eyed the ladies’ room. Curses, foiled again! There was a
RESTROOM CLOSED FOR CLEANING
sign in the doorway. I was forced to listen to Steve complain about his ex.

“Ever been married?” he asked.

“No.”

“Smart woman. Don’t do it.” Steve scooted his chair around close to mine.

Oh, shoot, I thought. I didn’t have the strength to fend off an advance. I glanced back at the ladies’ room, hoping for an out. No such luck.

“I’ll take that under advisement if I’m ever tempted,” I said. “In the meantime I’m happily single.”

We made small talk. Our drinks arrived. I had to resist the temptation to down mine in a single gulp. Personally, I was in the mood to drown out my life.

I had the feeling Steve was working up to something, probably asking me out. I tried to steer the conversation, far away from that topic.

“Jim and Cliff seemed upset by Huff’s disappearance,” Steve said.

At last, a safe topic. “We all are.”

Steve leaned into me and spoke with a conspiratorial tone. “But Jim and Cliff particularly.” He looked around the room like he was scanning to see if we were being watched. Considering lunch, probably a good move. “Huff has something they want. Cliff and Jim approached me, asking me if I knew anything about it.”

I tried to look bored and nonchalant. “Do you?”

Steve laughed. “Why would I?” He paused. “They’re offering a reward. I could use a reward.”

I didn’t speak.

“I assume they approached you, too?”

“Maybe,” I said.

“You and me”—he pointed between us—“would make a good team, I think. I’d like to propose—”

“A toast, I hope,” I said, glancing again at the restroom and that damned cleaning sign. What in the world was taking the janitor so long? “’Cause I think I just mentioned I’m happily single and it’s a little early in our acquaintance for anything else.”

Steve smiled. “Funny lady. A partnership.”

I just stared at him.

“I say you and me team up, find Huff, claim that prize, and split it. Fifty-fifty.”

I couldn’t take it anymore. I had to get into that bathroom. I looked at Steve. “Excuse me,” I said. “I have to visit the ladies’ room.”

“It’s closed,” he said.

“Too damn bad.” I smiled at him. “I’ll be right back.”

I strode past the sign and right into the bathroom and…chaos in the process of being cleaned up. The room had been trashed. Tossed absolutely upside down.

A female janitor stood with her back to me. Her bucket of cleaning supplies sat on the counter by the sink.

“This place doesn’t need a janitor,” I said, absolutely stunned. “It needs a repairman. Have you called security?”

She turned around and scowled at me. “They sent me. This bathroom is closed. Don’t you read?” She picked up her broom and swooshed it at me.

I ignored her, taking in the scene with a sick feeling building in my stomach. What in the world had Huff turned over to me and asked me to hide?

The hand dryer had been pried from the wall, leaving a nice hole in its wake. Someone, probably Miss Janitor Lady, had propped the dryer up neatly against the wall by a stack of drywall bits and paint flecks of a color that matched said wall above. Toilet paper rolls had been torn apart and strewn about the room. She’d made a tidy pile of them.

“I read fine,” I said. “But I need to go and the Cindy Lous are hogging all the other ladies’ rooms.”

She eyed me, taking in my men’s clothing and disheveled appearance and the fact that I was far from being one of those pesky Cindy Lous. She softened toward me.

“Those Cindy Lous.” She looked like she was going to spit. “They make a big mess.”

I nodded, but I didn’t think the Cindy Lous had done this. I was petrified that someone had been looking for that darn flash drive and gotten it ahead of me. The way my day had gone that wouldn’t surprise me. I did a little dance to emphasize my need to go.

“Fine. Go.” She nodded toward the stall where I’d hidden the drive. “But be quick. And tell nobody.” She tossed me a roll of paper. “You’re going to need this. Somebody stripped it all out of the stalls.”

I caught the paper, nodded and dove into the stall, closing the door behind me. The paper seat cover fixture had been pried loose from the wall. There were scratch marks on the feminine protection disposal receptacle and the lid was wrenched open. Someone had more might than I did.

Mercifully, the ladysafe bag dispenser was untouched and still bolted to the stall wall. Even still, I felt sick. What if I was too late?

With trembling fingers and not much hope, I searched the inside lip of the dispenser. Much to my surprise, whoever had done the damage, had missed it. It was still stuck in place with a bandage. Either the destroyers had missed it in their frantic hurry or maybe our sweet janitor lady had interrupted them. I was just glad they hadn’t slit her throat.

I tucked the drive in the pocket of my camo. I was about to flush to keep my ruse up when the automatic toilet flushed on its own. Some things never change.

I left the stall. As I was washing my hands, I thanked the janitor lady.

“You see those Cindy Lous,” she said. “You scowl at them for me.”

“You got it.”

At the table, another drink and Steve were waiting for me.

“So?” Steve said. “What do you think of my proposal?”

“I think I don’t have anything to offer.” The drive was practically burning a hole in my pocket, but I forced myself to sit.

“You have brains and beauty.” His gaze rested on my braless chest.

But not the desire to team with him.

“You’ll keep my offer in mind?” He lifted his gaze to mine.

I sighed and nodded. But I had my fingers crossed so it didn’t count.

He grinned and his gaze slid back up to my chest, but he didn’t have the budding effect on me that Van did. “Now. How about dinner? What do you say we ditch the rest of the group and have a nice, quiet dinner somewhere decent? Just you and me.”

I slid my chair back. “No thanks. I’m beat.”

He nodded. “I hear you. Another time?”

I stood.

He pushed his chair back, too. “I’ll walk you back.”

“Thanks, but I’m fine. Finish your drink.” I flashed him a smile and dashed for the elevators just outside the bar before he got out of his chair.

Mercifully, no Cindy Lous. Break must have been over.

The elevator pinged and the doors slid open. A tall, big-boned woman wearing a gaudy pants suit was the only occupant of the elevator. She was next to the control panel, looking down, thumbing through a brochure. She was covered in so much dangly Cindy Lou jewelry that she looked like a necklace tree. A stout necklace tree.

I hesitated for just a sec before entering. I did
not
want to be corralled with a sales-pitching Cindy Lou. But the safety of my room and a chance to check out the drive awaited. I slid in and pushed the button for my floor.

The elevator had barely begun to move when Miss Cindy Lou reached over and hit the manual override to stop the elevator. She had hairy knuckles and chipped, dirty nails.

I screamed and lunged for the buttons.

When she looked up, I realized she had stubble and an Adam’s apple. And a horrible, evil glitter in her eyes.

“Give me the dongle,” the goon dressed like a woman said.

“Dongle, dingle, dangle,” I said. “You’re speaking gibberish.” I ran my gaze over him. “You’re horribly over-accessorized. If you’re going to impersonate a woman, try to do it with a little class.” Brave words, scared girl. I cowered in the far corner of the elevator.

Goon pulled a switchblade from his pocket and snapped it open. “Give me the dongle or I cut you.”

Seeing that black, sleek, very sharp-looking blade, I felt sick in the “upchuck and pass out” way. At least the knife wasn’t serrated. Serrated was supposed to hurt more. And leave a ragged scar, should one survive. Almost made me feel sorry for bread. Serrated or not, the thought of being cut made me nauseous and dizzy.

“Security will notice this elevator isn’t working properly and respond any minute.” Damn, I didn’t have my gun. Why didn’t I have my gun? I didn’t even have my FSC-issued Airsoft on me.

Goon shrugged. “Any minute I could have you cut into ribbons that would make my mama’s angel hair pasta look thick like fettuccini. Like lasagna, even.” He was really getting into the analogy thing.

At the pasta reference, I looked him over more closely and decided beneath the blond wig, he could be Italian. The thick, dark brows, brown eyes, and Mafioso attitude gave him away. He belonged on a vendetta order on an episode of
The Sopranos
, not in my elevator.

He waved the black blade at me and I remembered Jay and his smiling slit throat and thought better of asking.

“Nice switchblade,” I said, trying to quell my fear. If in doubt, compliment to win friends and buy time.

“Thank you. I like it myself. It’s Italian made, like me.” He laughed.

I smiled weakly.

“Just so you know, switchblade is a politically incorrect term. Automatic knife is the PC term. This is a tactical black bayonet automatic knife sharpened to shave the hair off my arm. I like using it. Why have a weapon you don’t use?” Goon grinned evilly. “So, the dongle? You going to give it to me, or am I going to use this high-precision instrument on you?”

“A bayonet’s overkill for little, old me,” I said.

Goon waved the knife. I went spitless.

“Okay, okay. You have my full cooperation,” I said through my thin, tight throat. It wasn’t a sexy, or even a helpful, sound I made. More like a croak. “Just…just tell me what a dongle is.”

I must have looked genuinely panicked and confused. Goon smiled. At my breasts. I was shaking. And so were they.

“It’s a little piece of hardware. A flash drive or the like,” he said.

“Any flash drive?”

“I’m looking for a specific one. Huff had you hide it in the ladies’ john.”

I was trying to keep my face impassive, but something must have given me away because the Cindy Lou goon smiled. “Yes, I know about that.”

“What have you done with Huff?” Not that I really wanted to know. Not if it meant Huff was fish food. But I felt indignant and indignant was definitely better than panicky scared.

Goon shrugged.

I made thin eyes at him. “Huff better be all right.”

Goon was unmoved. “I already searched the ladies’ john and came up empty. I figure you know where the item in question is.”

“
You’re
the dastardly fiend who tore up the ladies’ room!” I put my hands on my hips and tried to look stern. “You’re giving Cindy Lous everywhere a bad rep.”

“Too damn bad. Those broads deserve it.”

“And yet you chose to impersonate one,” I said. “Now. What have you done to Huff?” I had images of torture in my mind.

“That bastard’s fine.” He sounded annoyed. And sincere.

Which made it hard not to believe him. But given the circumstances…

Goon held out his hand. Huff’s words echoed in my mind.
If anyone comes after the drive, let them have it
.

At this point, his wish was my definite command. I would have loved to let Goon have it. Only, sadly, I had no hairspray, no perfume, no rolled up magazines on me. And neither did the elevator. It was damningly bare.

“If I give it to you, you’ll let me live?”

When he hesitated, I stumbled on. “I can’t identify you. Look at you. You’re an ugly woman with stubble and a bad manicure. And too much Cindy Lou jewelry, which describes over half the women downstairs. You aren’t a consultant, are you? Sorry. Scratch that question. I don’t want to know. I don’t want to know anything.”

“Lady, shut up,” he said at last, grinning. “You give me the drive, you live. I don’t get paid extra for killing. Just delivering the goods.”

“I have your word? I can trust you,” I asked.

“You ain’t got much choice.”

“True.” I was stalling, wondering if I could get a hold of that wig of his, yank his head back and sucker punch his neck. Every CT needs one lethal move. Only War never said what to do if your target was wearing a wig. Somehow, I didn’t think wigs had the adherence, or pain factor when pulled, of natural hair. I didn’t even have a key on me. Nothing but a stupid key card. And that was hardly lethal.

I wondered if I could bluff. Tell him I didn’t have it on me and then escape when we got off the elevator. I was quick on the start, and fast.

Goon motioned for me to hand the dongle over. “The sooner you give it to me, the sooner we both can go. I’m not being paid by the hour here.”

“I don’t have it on me,” I said.

He sighed like work was a bore and he was tired of the setbacks. “I saw you go in there and then rush off and leave your date.”

“He wasn’t my date.”

“Whatever.”

“Did it look like a date?” I was thinking of Ket’s reaction if it looked like I was on a date with Steve and Ket found out. “’Cause I was definitely
not
flirting with him. You saw that, didn’t you? There was no flirting. No eyeing. And absolutely no lust.”

Goon took a menacing step toward me. “Don’t make me search you.”

Reluctantly, I reached into my pocket and held it out to him. “What’s so important about this drive?”

He took the drive and shrugged. “Oh, what the hell. It’s the key to some sophisticated encryption software. Without it, the software don’t run.”

“Whose software?”

He grinned again and grabbed me, putting the blade to my throat. He held me from behind and looked down at me over my shoulder. I nearly fainted from fear, and the thought of the blood to follow.

Goon laughed and hit a button on the control panel. The elevator jolted to a start. “Since we’re swapping fashion advice, anyone ever tell you that a big-busted girl like you ought to wear a bra?”

He was watching my jiggle.

“Without one, you’re courting trouble. Too bad I don’t have more time.”

Before I could reply, the doors opened. Goon shoved me forward onto my knees, then took off past me at a run, disappearing down the stairs at the end of the hall.

I was trembling so badly, I couldn’t stand. Didn’t even try. I collapsed to the floor, stunned to be alive.

Something trickled down my neck. When I brushed it away, my fingers came up bloody. The bastard had cut me. Static interrupted my usually clear vision. My ears rang. As I fought to stay conscious, I clawed at my throat, feeling for a huge, gaping slit.

The more I clawed and felt up my neck, the more I calmed down. My head was still attached to my body by my pretty much intact neck. I rested my head against the carpet in relief. I had nothing more than a surface scratch. A long, knife-length one. I’d live. In fact, I probably needed nothing more than a bandage.

I took a deep breath. The static began to clear. It’s not curtains, I thought. I was not going to bleed out on the red and gold diamond-patterned, low pile carpet. Good thing, too. I hadn’t even clawed a chunk of flesh from the bastard, or pulled loose any strands of his wig, or taken a souvenir necklace so CSI could track him down.

The elevator pinged and the door opened. I jumped, startled, and tried to get to my feet to run. Peewee stepped out. I relaxed.

“Peewee! What a relief.” Words I never thought I’d speak. “I’ve been attacked. I need help. Call—”

He stared at me, but made no move to help. “Where’s the dongle?” he interrupted.

“What?”

“The dongle.”

He was a big, ugly thug. Cliff and Jim didn’t like him. At that moment, I despised him.

I was cold and shaking from the shock of the last few minutes. Peewee wore a sports coat, a warm-looking one. He didn’t offer it to me. Or drag out his cell phone to call for help. Or even offer me a hand up. I wiped my bloody fingers off on my pants leg. Another camo outfit headed to the cleaners.

“The dongle?” He sounded frustrated and angry.

“Selfish brute.” I pushed to a stand. “Why should I help you?”

He reached into his jeans pocket and tossed me a packet of tissues. “Do something to your neck.”

I pulled a tissue from the pack and dabbed at my wound.

“You’re a smart chick. You don’t want to get involved here,” he said. “Give me the dongle and I take care of you.”

“I don’t particularly like your way of taking care of me,” I said, with a flash of anger. “You haven’t shown great proficiency at it so far.” I dabbed some more, buying time to think. “Anyway, I don’t have it.”

“Then who does?”

Goon was dangerous. There was a good chance he was behind Huff’s disappearance. And that he’d killed Jay. For being such a callous prick, Peewee deserved Goon. The two deserved each other. And I wanted out of whatever I’d stepped in.

“A big, ugly woman, who was really a man.” I did my best to describe him and pointed to the stairs. “He went that way.”

Without a backward glance at me, Peewee took off after him.

Should have. Would have. Could have. Story of my life. I rushed to my room. I should have called the cops, only there was no way I was going to. I’ve seen
The Godfather
—you don’t rat out the family. Melodramatic? Maybe. But if
I
called the cops, and they caught Cindy Lou Goon, they’d make me testify. Then I’d have to go into protective custody or risk a horse head in my bed. Protective custody and a complete identity change might be a good way to escape Ket, but that wasn’t the plan I had for my life.

I was on my third attempt at sliding my key card into the lock of my door when Van came down the hall, carrying an ice bucket.

He smiled at my feeble attempt to connect card with reader. “Steve really liquored you up. You should have insisted he buy you some potato skins. Mojos take the edge off alcohol.”

“Shut up. I’m not drunk.” I hadn’t realized I was so pathetic. Someday the shakes would stop. Hopefully that wasn’t just another empty promise like someday my prince would come.

“Really? Prove it—walk a straight line. Or close your eyes and touch your nose.”

“Forget it.”

“Too bad. I could use the entertainment. It’s a slow TV night.”

“Getting the card in is harder than removing the funny bone in Operation. Why do they have to make these slots so narrow?” I went for a fourth failed attempt and banged the door with my fist, resisting the urge to kick it.

“To frustrate the terminally unsteady of hand. And invite lawsuits from drunks. Allow me.” Van pulled the card from my hand and slid it into the slot without a problem. There was a click. He pushed the door open.

I caught the door with my foot.

“Okay,” I said. “Maybe some of us weren’t cut out to be surgeons.”

“Or Hasbro board game champion of the world,” Van said, eyeing my neck. “What happened to you? You’re bleeding.”

“Still?” I wiped at my neck. Sure enough, blood.

Van was staring at me, looking worried, and waiting for an answer.

“Cut myself shaving.”

“Good. For a minute there I thought you were doing a Jay imitation. Have you considered going electric?” he said. “It cuts down on those nasty nicks. Not to mention ingrown hairs. I hear electrolysis is good, too.”

“That’s not funny about Jay. And this hall is not a safe place to loiter around in,” I said. In truth, I felt vulnerable and exposed out in the open. Like Cindy Lou Goon or Peewee would appear at any second to machine gun me down, execution style. I’ve seen the endings of all
The Godfather
movies—like Shakespearean tragedies, too much death for my taste.

“Paranoid now, are we? Next you’ll tell me the FBI is after you and the U.S. government assassinated President Kennedy.”

“Shhh,” I said, “don’t talk so loudly. Big brother might hear you.”

“All right then, invite me in. Let me take a look at that. I’m good at playing doctor.” Van was leaning against the doorjamb, giving me one of his fabulous, charmingly sexy smiles. His invite-me-in had an “in like Flynn” tone to it.

Under ordinary circumstances, my knees would have nearly buckled and I would have grabbed him by the collar and dragged him in like my prize. Which is to say that I would have smiled at him demurely and we would have had a fine time. But I was simply too scared to tango. Or even make out.

“I think you promised me dinner first,” I said, totally without guile or innuendo.

“Oh, yeah, the safe group dinner,” he said, lacking enthusiasm. He leaned into me and my heart went into overdrive. Great. Now I was scared and lusty. “Let’s be nontraditional. Mix things up a bit. Why don’t I come in, you tell me what happened to your neck, and we can do dinner later?”

I stared back at him, wondering if that killer smile was merely a cover. Could he be a crazed, dongle-chasing maniac like the rest of the guys at camp? Was seduction his ticket to the dongle?

“With an offer like that, how can I resist?” I said.

He moved to brush past me into the room. I stopped him with my arm. “You can’t brazenly breeze into my room. Someone might be watching.”

“Oh, right. I forgot,” he said with enough sarcasm to take most people back. But not me.

I leaned in to whisper to him. “Pretend nothing has happened. Go into your room. Meet me at our adjoining door.”

He shook his head in that “she’s a crazy dame” way, but pulled out his key card.

“After you,” I said, waiting for him to enter his room. “Sucker,” I whispered to myself as I slid into my room and closed the door behind me.