Conard County Spy (7 page)

Chapter 5

O
utside, the snow continued to blow, covering the world in a pristine white cloak. Trace wondered if he stood out there, if the storm would cover his sins. Then a bubble of amusement rose in him. Sure, go outside and freeze into a snowman. That would make everything better.

Julie brought him more espresso, and a cup of regular joe for herself. She sat at her desk again, but this time kept the task chair turned so she could see him. “Should I be quiet while you think?”

He gave a small shake of his head. “I've lined up the ducks in my mind. Now I'm going to just let it sit for a while and see if any of them quack.”

A light laugh escaped her, and he noticed again what a beautiful woman she was. Who'd ever have thought he'd be envying kindergartners? Certainly not him.

“I've never had anyone want to kill me,” she remarked. Then added, “Well, that's not exactly true. One woman threatened, and said I should have been strangled at birth.”

He arched a brow. “What brought that on?”

“I reported that her son was being physically abused. Social Services agreed and removed all the children from the home. Dad liked his drink, I guess, and she was covering for him.”

“Did she ever come after you?”

Julie shook her head. “Our sheriff—you met him, right?”

“Yeah.”

“Well, he paid her a visit and told her that she'd better hope I never so much as twisted an ankle, because she'd be the first one they'd look at.”

Trace began to smile. “I like that man.”

“Most everyone does, unless they get on the wrong side of the law. He's a good man. His wife is the county librarian, and everyone loves her, too.”

“There seems to be a lot of love running around this town.”

“Depends.” She screwed up her face. “Like everywhere else, we've got both good and bad apples. Mostly good apples, but still. I wouldn't want you to get a Currier & Ives picture, because it wouldn't be true. We've got a few families everyone would cheerfully disown, the requisite number of youngsters who get stupid ideas and the occasional really bad seed. Overall, though, it's a pretty good place to live, unless you're a hermit with privacy issues.”

That made him laugh.

She smiled at him. “Anyway, we need your cover story. Where we met, how long we've known each other, what brought you to visit me after all these years. And what name you're going by. Because sooner or later the storm will blow out and people will notice I have company. They're going to ask, Trace. Natural curiosity.”

“And it'll get around?”

“To every point on the compass.” She laughed quietly and shook her head. “Not a great place to be the secret agent man.”

He stiffened a bit, but she moved on so easily he figured she was joking.

“Anyway,” she continued, “it'll get a lot of attention because I haven't dated in a while.”

Curiosity grabbed him. “Why not? You're a beautiful woman.”

“Thanks. But beauty, or lack of it, has nothing to do with it.” She sipped her coffee. “Boredom has everything to do with it. If you took a census of the available men in this county and selected those who are of an age that might interest me, the list would be fairly short. And I've dated all the ones who caught my attention and who were interested in me. That's the downside of such a low population. I suppose I could take a summer and haunt the singles bars in Denver...” Then she laughed again. “I'm happy with my life, Trace. Honestly. But all of a sudden a strange man is staying with me? I can already hear the gossip mill revving up. So we need to agree on a story.”

With slight variations, it was exactly the kind of thing he'd done multiple times in his life. Create a character and live it. Cover stories for how he'd known an asset, why they encountered each other occasionally. Inventions that would protect the asset. Now he needed to protect Julie, from his past, from a tiger and from the talk that might make her life more difficult.

“Okay. You already suggested I could be an old college friend. But will that work? How many people here knew you at college?”

“Good point,” she acknowledged. “Give me a break, Trace. I'm not used to this and it was the first thing off the top of my head.”

His smile widened. “Let me show you how the pros do it.”

And with that he'd probably revealed a whole lot more than he should have.

They used the bar because Julie's desk was still covered with work. She kept a piece of paper to take notes, although he warned her they'd have to destroy it as soon as they'd settled on the story.

“First is to keep it simple,” he told her. “Use no verifiable facts. For example, it would be easy for someone to find out if I actually went to college with you, so that's off the table. Do you have any family around here?”

“Not anymore. A strange thing happens to people when they get into their sixties.”

“What's that?”

“They hate winter. They complain about their bones aching. They move somewhere warmer. I told you my folks live most of the year in Florida. My aunt and uncle practically live next door to them. Cousins all over the map, none here.”

“That's it?”

“I have a sister who fled for California with a notion about being an actress. Instead she got a different job in the industry and spends an extraordinary amount of time on location in Canada directing some TV show. We talk on the phone nearly every week.”

“No one else?”

“Just friends around here.”

“All of whom would reasonably expect to have heard about me if we knew each other that well.”

“Ouch.” She frowned. “I hadn't thought about that.”

“These are the things that kill a cover story,” he said quietly. Truth was, he was strangely reluctant to make one with her. He'd much rather play a caveman—as if he could with his hand—and drag her off to bed, then shout from the rooftops, “I'm making it with Julie Ardlow.” Right.

It shouldn't concern him, but it did, to think that he'd be starting in this town with lies. He knew he wouldn't be here long, however matters turned out, but he felt like he was about to make a major misstep that might haunt him forever.

“We need,” he said, “to stick as close to the truth as possible for a variety of reasons. Not the least of them that whatever we come up with is going to linger with you long after I'm gone. It needs to be believable, but unverifiable. How much traveling have you done? On your own, not with a friend from here.”

There was suddenly a twinkle in her green eyes. “I am about to shock you.”

“How?”

“I've traveled a lot. I have long summer breaks and I take a month each year somewhere else. So let's see. I mentioned the Jamaica trip. I've also been to Peru—my God, Machu Picchu is never to be forgotten. Mayan temples. Egypt, the pyramids and temples, of course. In between the years when I blow my entire savings on big adventures, I take smaller ones. I camped and hiked for a month in the Cascade Range in Oregon and Washington. I spent a few weeks in Nova Scotia. I go skiing over winter break in Colorado...”

“Stop,” he said. “When was that camping trip in the Cascades? Were you alone?”

“Um, two summers ago. And yes, I went alone. I had a guide a few times for the more rugged areas...”

“Did you mention the guide?”

“Only that I had one.”

“Photos of him?”

“No.”

He smiled. “There we go. Spice it up a little and I have a reason to have dropped on your doorstep.”

He watched her grow excited. “That'll do. I can say we've kept in touch, that I really liked you when I was out there and if you hadn't been engaged at the time...”

“What?” he asked jokingly. “No torrid affair?”

“I'm not sure I could carry that off without actually having ever had one.”

Her honesty was touching, but her statement fell into the room almost explosively. He tried to lighten the moment when he saw her cheeks start to color. How many women still blushed? he wondered. “We could always have one now.”

He gave her a few seconds to stare at him wide-eyed, then he laughed. “Just joshing you. I mean, sure, I'd love to, but under the circumstances, it wouldn't be wise.”

Not when someone was trying to kill him. Not when he might have to leave at the drop of a hat. He had limits, and taking advantage of a woman was a bright line for him. He had a few bright lines left, and not crossing them was all that kept him feeling he wasn't simply scum.

Then she left him stunned. “What makes you so sure it wouldn't be wise?” she asked pertly as she slid off the bar stool. Then she headed for the bathroom, saying she'd be back in a minute to work on the story.

For the first time, Trace wondered if he'd wandered into a new kind of quicksand.

* * *

Julie stood in the bathroom pressing a cold washcloth to her face, easy enough to do at this time of year. The water that came out of the tap was refrigerated-by-the-outdoors cold.

But oh my. He'd alluded so casually to having an affair, had said he'd love to but that it wasn't wise. Then she'd said... She was no shrinking violet when it came to sex, but sometimes she couldn't believe her own mouth. The man was a complete stranger. An attractive stranger, but still a stranger who was running from a killer and who'd probably vanish at the first opportunity. She wasn't even sure he'd told her his real name when she'd asked.

She stared at her reflection in the mirror, reminding herself of something she'd learned long ago. In college, she'd played a lot of poker with friends on free evenings. She was lousy at it because everyone could tell when she had a good hand.

But then she'd realized that life was a lot like poker. Chance always played a role, whether in cards or life. So the best you could do was estimate the odds of whether you held a good hand, and then decide whether to bet. And when you did, you should never, ever bet more than you were willing to lose.

She'd applied that philosophy to romantic relationships after her first big heartbreak. How strong was her hand, how much was she willing to lose, was it worth the bet? And if so, how big should the bet be?

Not since her first awful mistake had she ever gone all in on a relationship with a guy. Playing cagey, she waited to see whether the odds were improving or not with each step in the relationship. So far she'd never bet more than she could walk away from, and so far she'd always walked away with her heart.

Sometimes it had gone against her grain to be so cautious. In most things, she was anything but. She loved adventure—hence her solo trips all over the world—loved new experiences, and sometimes even thought about trying skydiving. She wasn't afraid of risks. Every date was a risk. But only in dating did she calculate the odds at some level. Once burned, twice shy, as they said.

For the first time, she wondered if her own caginess about dating hadn't caused some of her relationships to blow up before they were fully born. Maybe Adventurous Julie should have come out to play, and damn the risks. She'd survived one broken heart. Surely she could have survived another.

She stared back at herself and realized her mouth had twisted with something like self-disgust. Well, if she got the opportunity with Trace, she was going to take it. He wasn't going to be around long enough for her to worry about the odds.

The only odds that should concern her right now had to do with survival. Trace was a hunted man, and he was sleeping in her apartment. Somehow that threat seemed a lot easier to deal with than dating.

Well, they wouldn't date. Nothing like that. It would be a sheer sexual romp before he moved on. She could deal with that.

Laughing silently at herself, she left the bathroom and returned to the living room, where he was now sitting, his eyes half closed. Scrumptious, she thought. Delicious. Well worth throwing a chip or two into the pot.

But given what he was trying to deal with, she didn't think he'd risk it. He needed time and space to think. Thoughts he couldn't share with anyone. His life depended on it.

“Coffee?” she asked as she passed him on her way to the kitchen. “And I'm thinking about a ham sandwich.”

“Yes to both,” he answered quietly. “You okay?”

“I'm fine.” And it was true. She'd walked into the middle of a deadly situation, and the more that understanding sank into her, the more alive she felt. “Latte? I'm going to have one.”

“That would be great. What can I do?”

“Sit there. The most important thing you can do is rest and think.”

“Thinking too hard is often a waste of energy,” he remarked as she began pulling food out of the fridge.

“How so?” Turning, she found he'd risen and now stood in the doorway.

“If you think too hard about something, you can fail to make room for anything else. Overlook things. Quash your subconscious. So, like I said, I lined up my ducks and I'll wait to see.”

“Sure you've got all the ducks?” she asked as she opened the package of sliced ham.

He laughed. “I hope so. Ryker was right. Something like this hasn't been simmering for a decade. I can probably trace it to something that happened in the last two or three years.”

“Any way you can get more information about those, um...people?”

He shook his head slowly. “Not really. So what I'm waiting for is a ping in my neural net.”

She gaped at him. “Okay, that's too science fiction.”

He laughed quietly. “My brain is churning. All those connections are taking turns firing. At some point, with any luck, something I know, something I didn't think of as terribly important at the time, is going to surface. If it clicks, I'm off to the races.”

“Now that's something I understand.”

“A lot of what I did had to be intuitive. I had to rely on instincts, on a feel for a situation, on my impressions of someone I was working with. I didn't have time to think out every move as if it were a chess game. Too much has to happen fast when you're dealing with people. So, yes, I rely a whole lot on my intuition.”