Meaning what? The old one he’d given her after she’d learned he was a spy had always been ineffective? Or she was in more danger now? Which, given the events of the last few days, was probably true.
Her new gun was a petite little thing, definitely a purse pistol that would fit her hand. What did this mean? That he trusted her now? “What about my old gun?”
She had a gun at the house. Drew had taught her how to shoot right after he gave it to her, insisting she needed to know how to defend herself.
“Traded it in for this one.”
“My gun purse is still at home,” she said. She had a special purse with a built-in zippered holster. Drew had given it to her for her birthday one year. After he left, she stopped carrying it.
“We’ll get it tomorrow. I’ll take you to the range for some practice with this one. In the meantime, if you need to use it, remember to get close and aim for the right eye.”
She gave him thin, suspicious eyes.
“Sleep with it when I can’t be here. I’ll arm the system while I’m gone. Don’t go downstairs. Keep the bedroom door locked. The door’s reinforced and the lock is sturdy. This room and the connecting bathroom are where you live.”
She stared at the gun. “Do I get bullets?”
He tossed her a box of them.
“You’re showing a lot of trust. I could always shoot you.”
“Then who would you salsa with?”
The wine was wearing off and her head was clearing. She stared at him. He looked too hopeful. She had to set him straight. “You know this was a two-off, right?”
He returned her stare, his eyes going cold. “What are you talking about?”
“I said the last one was a one-off and we slipped up, too much wine and salsa, and here we are in a two-off. But this can’t keep happening. We’re almost divorced.”
He shrugged. “Almost only counts in horseshoes and hand grenades.”
“Yeah, about those hand grenades—be careful tonight.”
The smile returned to his eyes.
“Just saying,” she said.
* * *
Staci was left alone to bask in the afterglow. Unfortunately, that was not an atypical situation. James Bond may have been “love them and leave them,” then they later turned up drowned in a vat of crude oil. But Drew had always been love her, leave her, and return. Duty called at the most inopportune times, but he’d managed to keep her safe from all manner of horrific deaths and return to love another day.
And now, while she was glowing, she was also worried. Drew had been too happy and bounced back too quickly from her two-off comment. Her husband was a confident man, but he wasn’t cocky, not about their relationship.
Still, he was also a man who knew how to pry intel out of the most belligerent, tight-lipped, opposing forces. He could read people’s minds as well as a mentalist. Maybe better. Which meant Drew absorbed intel through his skin. Just what intel did he think he had?
She tried to think back to what had changed between the spy store and now.
Mandy. She’d only left Drew alone with Mandy for a dance and a half, maybe two and a half. She’d been having so much fun on the dance floor with Noe, she hadn’t been counting or paying particular attention to Drew and Mandy at the table. But when she had caught a glimpse of them, she’d relaxed. They’d each been engrossed in their own texting.
She grabbed her cell phone and called her. “What did you say to Drew while I was dancing with Noah?”
“You woke me up to get the scoop? Couldn’t it wait until tomorrow?”
Staci shook her head. “Don’t mess with me. You don’t sound a bit sleepy. And anyway, Drew’s out so now’s the only chance I may get until Monday.”
Mandy laughed. “I asked him, Who’s, Noah, really?”
“And did he tell you?”
“What do you think?”
Staci blew out a breath, relieved. “That’s it?”
“I told him to dance with you.”
“So you’re to blame for that.”
“Guilty as charged. Hey, I was just on Facebook, trying to find the dirt on Noah.” There was a tease in her voice. She sounded as if she didn’t expect to find out his true identity. “Shouldn’t you update your status to ‘reconciled, back in a relationship with the husband’?”
“What?”
“It would give more credibility to your cover. You might tweet about it, too. Think about it. And now, get some sleep.”
Mandy hung up.
Update her social media status? What a ridiculous idea. Staci shook her head. She was not changing her status. What was the point?
She’d already been through the pain of the social media circus once when she announced her divorce. She couldn’t stand to go through it all a second time. And no way was she telling a public lie.
Staci stared up at the ceiling. Even her former boss, Bill Walker Junior, had IMed her, expressing how sorry he was. He’d introduced them and felt particularly bad about the way things ended up.
Poor Bill, his heart had been in the right place. He had no way of knowing he was setting up his most honest junior buyer with a lying secret agent. To this day, Bill still believed Drew had just been a common salesman.
Staci had worked for Bill at Walker Manufacturing, a small local plant on the Duwamish that made custom plastic moldings and parts. It wasn’t an exciting job, but it was a foot into the world of business and they paid half of her graduate tuition as she worked toward her MBA. Bill was a middle-aged family man who loved to play jokes and tease.
As a buyer, he wanted her to meet the suppliers and took her with him on supplier lunches to teach her the biz.
“Get to know your vendors and suppliers as people, and they’ll respect you when you go head-to-head in negotiations,” Bill told her. “I know the names of all my suppliers’ spouses, kids, boats, and pets. All their hobbies. The books they’ve read in the last year and the movies they’ve seen. You’d do well to follow my lead.”
Though supplier lunches were typically good old middle-aged boy-fests, the food was free and meant she didn’t have to cook after work. Bill teased her about setting her up with the single vendors who came by. And then followed it by saying, of course, that was a bad idea, probably leading to something unethical like getting his supplies for a steal. He always said it with a twinkle in his eye. “It never hurts to have a pretty girl along to distract them.”
For her part, after the first time, she was prepared to be disappointed by Bill’s idea of a hot match for her. A premier online dating service he was not. He had no grasp of her many points of compatibility, and chemistry was a failed subject for him.
“This is how you see me? As some old, fat guy’s girl?” she’d said.
“He’s settled and has plenty of money,” Bill said. “What more could a girl want?” Then he’d paused. “Oh, that.” He’d grinned.
She’d rolled her eyes and given Bill her specs. She told him she didn’t want a father figure. She preferred her men young, handsome, intelligent, and honest.
At last, the day came when Bill was ready to send her out to lunch solo. “This one’s a hot prospect. For both the company and you. He matches all your requirements. He’s the perfect man for you.”
She pretty much laughed in his face. “Right, boss. There is no such thing as the perfect man. Why are you really sending me into the line of fire?”
Bill grinned. “Because I’ve taught you well. And this is a prime opportunity for you to use those skills to find out everything you can about this young man. And maybe flirt a little, in a highly professional way, of course. So when we start to negotiate, we’ll have him in the palm of our hand. For this job, you’re better suited than I am.”
“I’m playing spy now?”
“You’re playing skilled buyer.” Bill’s eyes danced. “Twenty bucks says you’ll love this guy. He’s a great kid.”
“Oh, no fair. You’re just trying to throw me off by calling him a kid, r
ight?”
Bill winked. “Are you refusing a sure bet?”
“Okay. Deal. You’re on. I’d love to make twenty dollars the easy way. You didn’t give him my number ahead of time, did you?”
Bill’s grin deepened. “I always give them your business cell number. Just promise you’ll name your first child after me.”
When she got to lunch, Drew was waiting for her in a round corner booth.
He looked up at her as she approached the table and her heart stopped—blond, the clearest, deepest blue eyes she’d ever seen, and dimples when he grinned at her. They started off sitting a wide berth apart. By the end of lunch, they were comfortably close, well into each other’s personal space.
She learned he was single, never married, had no children, loved dogs, but a pet was out of the question because he traveled too much, and his favorite color was blue. She told him way too much about herself. So much so, he probably had the material advantage over her in any negotiation. But she’d never tell Bill that.
Lunch flew by. All too soon she glanced at her watch. “I have to run.”
“So soon?”
She nodded and frowned, making an expression that showed she was sorry.
“Boss keeps you on a tight lunch schedule?” Drew asked.
“No, but lunch that spills into dinner is probably over the top. And I owe him twenty dollars. I’m sure he’s dying to get it.”
Drew’s brow creased in confusion. “You owe him twenty bucks—why?”
“He bet me I’d love you. And I just lost.”
His eyes danced. “You love me?”
“That’s just a figure of speech. I like you,” she said.
“Boy, you really can’t lie, can you? Not even for my vanity’s sake.” He made a look of mock hurt that was so boyishly charming she nearly melted.
She laughed. “I never lie. I can’t. If I even think about lying, I blush.” Though her cheeks felt hot as she spoke and she certainly wasn’t lying right then. “Besides, this is a business lunch and I’ve only just met you! How could I love you already?” Her heart pattered out of control.
“Ever heard of love at first sight?” He looked so sincere. “I’ve been searching for an honest woman all my life. When can I see you again?”
They married a year later. Everything was bliss at first. Until little things he said started not adding up. He wasn’t where he said he was when he was “on a business trip.” There were a hundred little inconsistencies. Which was why she was sympathetic to her mother’s concerns about Sam.
Staci never suspected Drew of having an affair. No, instead she thought she’d married either a sociopath or a pathological liar. She did a lot of research and finally decided Drew had to be a compulsive liar, which was difficult for her to accept, though much better than him being a sociopath. Sociopaths have no empathy or concern for others. That wasn’t like Drew at all.
Compulsive liars, on the other hand, didn’t lie to cheat or benefit or hurt others. They lied as an addiction, as a means of comfort. Her heart broke for him. She blamed his parents. They had to have tainted him, harmed him somehow at an early, formative age to make him turn to fabrication to feel whole. But she, Staci, would help him turn away from all that. Her love could replace the comfort of lying. She’d show him that honesty was best and absolutely necessary in a relationship.
She agonized for months before she finally confronted Drew and begged him to get help. He confessed that she was right. He was a liar. Of sorts. But not what she thought. He was a spy. And she was his rock. In a world where no one told him the truth, where deceit was as valuable as currency, she was his one island of honesty, the one person he could trust.
She was touched. In a way. And though she was reassured, no matter what the circumstances, living with a liar isn’t easy. And worse still, his job forced her to try to become a liar, too. And she just couldn’t do it. Not effectively. And now look where it had all led.
You know what she really wanted? Her twenty dollars back from Bill. He’d missed one key qualification she’d asked him for—honesty.
Staci sat up and leaned back against the headboard. Why would Drew be hopeful and happy now? He couldn’t possibly still be in love with her, could he?
And if he was? What did that change? She was still a liability to him.
She couldn’t play this charade much longer. She already felt as if she were losing herself.
She sighed, too wound up to sleep. She twisted her hands and caught a glimpse of her nails. They needed a touch-up. She got up and grabbed the new nail polish she’d bought earlier. She’d left the cling fingers next to it on the counter. The cling fingernails really needed a manicure. She grabbed them and the polish, and returned to bed.
Drew had a TV in the bedroom. Might as well watch something while she worked. She grabbed a clicker from the nightstand and turned the TV on. There wasn’t much on at three AM. With any luck, it would put her to sleep.
Though she knew the truth—she’d have a hard time sleeping until Drew was safely home.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Drew and Noe sat in Hook House Ale’s security control room, each with an amber ale in hand, as they watched the silent surveillance video from Thursday night. They hoped the video feed would reveal Martel’s killer.
Drew wished he’d been successful in getting into the brewery last night. But he’d had to stay with Staci until he was sure she was safe from the poison Grimley’d scratched her with. Then he’d gone to Grimley’s nursing home room and found a couple grand stashed in his sock drawer. He’d been paid cash to hit Staci. No surprise there.
Next he’d hit Martel’s apartment. By the time he’d gotten there, someone had already tossed it. Then dawn broke and he’d run out of time. The brewery was open for breakfast on Saturday. The morning crew would have already been arriving for work.
Drew had crossed his fingers, hoping no one decided to do a spot check of the security recordings. At that point, no one connected with the brewery even knew Martel was missing. Martel hadn’t been scheduled to work on Friday. It wasn’t standard protocol to check the tapes if there wasn’t an incident. The bungled amateur break-in attempt didn’t count. They had the guards account for that.
But still, Drew had been sweating it. Chance was a crazy, unpredictable bitch.
Noe reached for the bowl of peanuts between them. “How long ’ave you been back with the wife?”
“Huh?” Drew was concentrating on the monitor as intently as if it were a football play-off game. “A few days.”
Noe nodded. “A few days? What a coincidence, aye? You’re investigating her stepfather, and suddenly you’re back together, the ’appily reunited couple.”
“Yeah.” Drew didn’t feel like elaborating.
“I’m pretty good at reading people. You don’t seem like you’re faking it to me. But then you are good, mon ami, one of the best. I ’ope Staci won’t be hurt in the end. She’s a good woman.”
Drew didn’t take his eyes off the screen. Neither did Noe, but Drew felt his disapproval. “Why would she get hurt?”
“Well, RIOT is trying to kill her, no? Because they suspect she knows something, maybe?”
It came as no surprise that Noe knew about that, too. “That’s not what you meant,” Drew said.
“No, indeed not. The reconciliation is genuine then?”
“Sure.” Drew nodded.
“Then I ’ope you don’t get hurt, my friend.”
“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” Drew glared at the screen.
Noe chuckled.
Drew frowned and watched Martel making the rounds of the brewing room on the video before him. The timestamp indicated it was nearly nine o’clock on Thursday night. Just minutes before closing.
The door to the brewing room opened. Martel paused and looked toward the door, obviously on alert. When he saw who it was, he smiled.
A middle-aged man walked in, greeted Martel, and slapped him on the back like an old
buddy. He wore a baseball cap that hid his hair completely, jeans, a soft-shell spring jacket, and a Hook House polo shirt, the kind the gift shop sold thousands of. Whoever the man was, he was savvy enough to avoid the camera as much as possible and keep his face hidden. There was no audio on the feed, but you could see the two chatting and the other man asking questions.
Drew frowned. His heart raced as he experienced a glimmer of recognition.
He concentrated, studying the movements of the newcomer. He knew that walk and those body movements. The man turned just enough so that the top of his cap was fully visible to the camera. Drew caught the faint hint of an inkblot-shaped stain on top. He felt nauseous. He knew exactly how that stain had gotten there, whose hat that was, and who was wearing it. “Sam!”
Noe flashed him a quick look before returning his attention to the screen.
Martel turned away from Sam to point at one of the vats. While his back was turned, Sam pulled a gun from his coat pocket and put two slugs into Martel’s head with a movement so quick there was no way Martel knew what hit him.
Seasoned and as used to death as Drew was, he blanched and felt sick. He set his ale down on the desk.
Noe paused the video and looked at him. “Are you okay?”
“My stepfather-in-law is a cold-blooded killer.”
“You’re sure it is ’im?”
“Positive. See that stain on the hat? That’s blood. His. I was with him when he got that spot on it, helping him work on his deck. He cut his finger. He wasn’t even aware he was bleeding when he reached for his hat and bled on it. I rinsed it out with cold water while he bandaged his finger.
“The blood left a light-brown stain, exactly that shape. Sam cursed and threw a fit. That’s why I remember it so well. That’s his favorite cap.”
Noe nodded sympathetically. “Some of us ’ave worse in-laws than others.”
“There’s an understatement. My stepfather-in-law is not only a greedy bastard of a traitor, he’s also a killer. And experienced with a gun. Look at the way he handles it.”
He replayed the video, forcing himself to watch. “No hesitation. Just bang, bang. Then he hides the body in the hops, and turns and walks away as if nothing’s happened.”